Pony Boy

"So, you're saying I won't have to have sex with the customers," I asked.

"You'll have to put up with a certain amount of groping but, by the looks of things, you won't mind that." He pointed at my still hard prick. "But I'll let it be known that you don't do private sessions. I can't say fairer than that. Now, are you in or out?"

I had one of those moments. A huge chunk of me knew that I should be running away as far and as fast as I could but something, and it wasn't just the money, made me think twice. As long as I didn't have to do private sessions....

"I'm in," I said with more conviction than I really felt.

"Good lad," Mr H replied. "Now, get your kit back on."

As I turned to the pile of my clothes Tracy took my details back to the front office where she, presumably, typed them up and filed them away.

"Look, sonny," Mr H said once I was finally dressed again. "A word of caution. Some of the guys, well, they can be a bit rough. We don't normally get kids like you in here and, well, you'll stand out as a bit different. Don't let people push you around too much and you'll be OK. I've got a meeting coming up on Thursday where I can use you. Can you make that?"

"Yeah, I can do Thursday, Mr H," I replied.

"We'll phone you Thursday morning and tell you where the pick up point is. Now, don't let me down."

"I won't, Mr H."

And so it was that, come Thursday evening, I was standing on the corner of Station Road and Mill Street just as I had been told in the phone call I had got that morning. Shortly after seven o'clock a minibus pulled up and the side door opened. As I went towards it two others emerged from the shadows. I obviously wasn't the only one being picked up.

When I climbed into the minibus it was already half full. I looked around, found an empty seat and sat down. The lad in the seat next to me wasn't very friendly so, rather than chat I tried looking out of the windows. That was when I realised that they had been blacked out and if it weren't for the dim glow of the ceiling light we'd be in darkness. It seemed that we weren't allowed to know where we were being taken. That was none of our concern.

Five minutes later the minibus stopped again and two more lads got in.

"Good evening my pretty little ponies. Is everybody ready for another night of shaggin'?" One of the new arrivals said.

"Evenin' Jed," came a number of mumbled replies.

"Hello, what do we have here?" Jed asked looking at me. "Fresh meat. I don't think we've seen this one before. What's you're name, fresh meat?"

"Ben," I replied.

"And which gutter did you crawl out of?" Jed asked.

"I didn't crawl out of a gutter," I replied, remembering Mr H's suggestion that I should stand up for myself.

"Oh, posh. I didn't crawl out of a gutter," Jed mocked my accent. "Well, you're in the gutter now. I think I'll call you 'scumbag'. What's your name, scumbag?"

"My name is Ben and that's the only name I'll answer to," I replied firmly.

"Well hark at this one. Grab him, guys!"

Hands reached out from behind me and I was pinned down. Jed, bracing himself against the swaying of the van, came over and stood next to me, leaning against the opposite seat. He unzipped the fly of his jeans and pulled out his prick.

"You can start by sucking me off. Now, open wide, scumbag."

I clamped my mouth shut but he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. A cry of pain escaped.

"If you put your prick anywhere near my mouth I'll bite it off. I'll make you into the eunuch you deserve to be," I snarled. I just hoped my real fear didn't show.

Jed just looked at me. I wondered what he would do next. One of us would have to climb down. I just hoped it wouldn't be me but I wasn't sure. And then the partition between the cab and the back of the minibus opened.

"What the fuck's going on in there. Oh, it's you, Jed. I might have known. Now settle down and behave. We'll be there in another ten minutes."

As the partition closed again Jed sat down muttering 'it's not over between us' but, for the moment at least, the pressure was off. I could also sense that by standing up to Jed I had earned a certain grudging respect from the rest of the lads. The lad sitting next to me even turned towards me and said 'Hi, I'm Jamie' and we shared a smile.

Ten minutes or so later the minibus pulled to a halt. The door opened and we all got out. The van had actually parked inside the warehouse and we mooched about waiting to be told where to go. I looked around, seeing how it was all laid out. The warehouse itself was vast, it's roof supported at various points by cast iron pillars. Along two sides there banks of crude wooden seating. In between these an elongated oval course about fifty metres long had been laid out using the sort of temporary barriers you get at road works. This enclosed the centre area where I could see the sulkies arranged in a line. There wasn't much to them, just a light tubular metal frame holding a small seat positioned over two bicycle wheels and with a pair of shafts running forward for harnessing the pony. People were busy setting up bars and refreshment stands as well as three bookies stalls, one at each end and one in the centre circle.

While we were waiting another minibus arrived and then another, each disgorging its collection of ponies who came over and joined us. It was easy to spot the ponies, not only were we hanging around in a bunch, we were generally much younger than every one else. I did a quick head count and there seemed to around twenty of us in all. Most of the others looked a bit rough; they were dressed in cheap clothes and in need of a bath and a haircut. I'd heard the term 'rent boy' and guessed that this was what most of them were. Mr H had said I would stick out as different and I definitely did. This didn't help my nerves at all. But we weren't the only ones milling around. There were plenty of others, some busy, some less so. This including quite a few dressed as jockeys in the traditional silks. Mr H ran a pretty big organisation and there was obviously quite a bit of money involved.

"Come on girls, shower time," the minibus driver called out and we all trooped after him to a room off the back of the warehouse. He seemed to be acting as mother hen, making sure we were all going to be ready on time. Along one wall there were a number of chairs and, without needing to be prompted, the lads went over and started getting undressed. I followed suit, keeping as far away from Jed as I could. On each chair there was a large white plastic bag and, following the example of the others, as I took off my clothes I put them in the bag. A felt tip pen was passed around and we each wrote our name on the bag so that we could identify it later.

Getting undressed in the warehouse was nothing like as embarrassing as it had been in Mr H's office. For a start I wasn't the only one and, well, everyone seemed to be treating it as if it were normal. It was no stranger than it had been in the changing rooms at school. I had quite deliberately brought nothing of value, no wallet, no watch, no mobile phone, just my house keys which were in the pockets of my jeans.

Once we were naked we were led to a communal shower area. Following the others I picked up some hair shampoo and soap from a bucket, got under the showers and started to wash myself down. All the while the minibus driver was walking back and forth, keeping an eye on things and reprimanding those who he felt weren't making enough effort to get clean, especially around the groin. He reminded me of a gym teacher I had suffered from at school. It wasn't quite clear how much of his enthusiasm for ensuring we washed every nook and cranny was professional and how much was more prurient.

"Hey, scumbag," Jed called out. I purposely ignored him.

"Hey, scumbag," Jed called out again. "I bet you haven't got one this big."

This time I couldn't help but glance across. Jed was soaping his prick, openly playing with himself and, to be fair, he was pretty well endowed.

"See this prick? See how big it is? You'll be on your knees, sucking every inch of it before this night is over, scumbag. Just you wait and see."

This provoked laughter from some of the other ponies. I just turned away from him and went back to washing myself.

By the time we were clean and dry Mr H had arrived. Shivering slightly and dressed in nothing but our trainers, the minibus driver lined us up along a wall and Mr H came over and inspected us closely. Every inch was scrutinised, foreskins were pulled back and ponies were told to bend over and spread their arse cheeks. I don't know whether Mr H had any real medical training or just lots of experience but he rejected a couple of the lads as 'having the pox'. Another was rejected because he had an open sore on his leg, another for being high on drugs. Dejectedly they were told to go and get dressed again. By the time he had finished he had whittled us down to sixteen.

Now that he had selected his ponies he went to a table and fetched a pile of tabards, each one a simple slip over vest with a large number on the front. He wandered up and down the line handing them out. I was last with number sixteen.

"All right, you know the drill, get in your pairs," he called out. The pony wearing number one went to stand next to number two, number three with four and so on. I found number fifteen and we stood together. Once again we lined up against the wall and, once again, he looked us over critically.

Because, even then, he wasn't quite satisfied. After some discussion with the minibus driver some of the pairs were swapped around. I began to understand the point of all this. He knew most, if not all, of the ponies, knew their capabilities, knew how fast they were and he was seeding us so as to get the most competitive races. He was taking this just as seriously as if we were real ponies and this was Ascot or Newmarket. Finally he was happy with the order and it was time to get us into harness. The minibus driver went to call in the jockeys and, as the came into the room, Mr H assigned each one to a pony. The one who came up to me was middle aged and looked pretty grumpy but at least he was small and light.

"Come on then," he said gruffly and, along with the others, he led me back into the main body of the warehouse and over to where the sulkies had been laid out in a row. As with the tabards the sulkies had numbers clearly displayed and, inevitably, number sixteen was right down at the far end.

When we got to the sulky there, on the ground between the shafts, was a collection of leather strapping which I took to be the harness. My jockey ordered me to stand between where the shafts lay on the ground, took off my tabard, and picked up a leather belt, eight inches wide and with three buckles fastening it at the back. At either side of this there were 'D' rings from which hung leather cuffs attached by a short length of chain. He fastened the belt around my waist and then cuffs around my wrists and tightened the buckles until all was snug.

Then he had me kneel down so that he could fit the bridle. I've no idea how authentic it was. After all, a pony boy's head is a very differently shape from a real pony, but, by the time all the straps and buckles were fastened, my head was all but encased, my vision had been limited by a pair of blinkers and my mouth was full of a metal bit which acted as a pretty effective gag. What I wasn't expecting was the way the blinkers didn't just point forward. They could also be folded inwards which my jockey did so that I was not just gagged but also effectively blindfolded.

But, if the blinkers were unexpected they had nothing on what came next. My jockey guided me forward, holding my shoulders to stop me falling and lowering me down until my head was touching the ground and my arse was uppermost. This really should have warned me but I was so naïve that, even when hee pushed my knees further apart, I didn't know what he was doing. Then I felt something cool being squeezed into the crack between my arse cheeks. Almost immediately this was followed by something hard and blunt being pushed against my sphincter. I didn't know what it was but I was making wild guesses and, whatever it was, it felt far too big to fit where he was trying to push it. I tried to cry out and squirm away. My jockey stopped what he was doing but only to come round and crouch down next to my head.

"You're new, aren't you?" he asked. I just nodded, well as much as I could with my face against the floor.

"Ponies don't talk, they don't complain, and they certainly don't muck around when it's time to put on their harness. You just kneel on the floor like a good little boy, shut up and take what's coming," he snarled. "I haven't got time to mess around with silly little pillocks. This is part of your tail, the part that gets shoved up your arse. It's what ponies have, all of them, and it's going in whether you like it or not. Now, it can go in easy or it can go in hard so I suggest you get used to the idea and get used to it fast. Are you going to stay still or am I going to have any more fuss?"

I just knelt there and he took my silence for acquiescence so he went back to my rear end and placed one hand on my buttocks. With his other he returned to pushing what I now knew to be my tail into my anus.

"Don't fight it. Push back, like you're taking a shit," my jockey advised now that I was cooperating. When I did so, it seemed to get easier. Mind you, easier is still a relative term. The 'tail', or rather the plug on the end of it that he was forcing up me, was far, far wider than my sphincter and the only way I could stop myself from screaming out loud was to bite down on the bit so hard I must have left teeth marks.

And then, just when I thought I couldn't take any more, the widest part went past my sphincter and it got a lot easier. There seemed to be some sort of neck around which my sphincter had closed, holding the plug in place. Now that it was in it was no longer agony but, for certain, I wasn't ever going to forget that it was there. I'd be walking, no make that racing, with a waddle when the time came.

My jockey wiped the excess lubricant from my arse cheeks and helped me to my feet. He told me to stand with my feet wide apart while he finished off the last part of my harness. This appeared to be two straps which connected to the intruder in my arsehole. One ran up between my arse cheeks and fastened off to the belt. The other end was led forward. I wondered whether I was going to be fitted with some sort of cod piece and, in a way, I guess I was. The strap which ran up the front seemed to widen like a cod piece but, instead of covering me up, there was some sort of hole though which my prick and balls were none too gently squeezed. This front bit was then fastened to my belt so that it was as if I were wearing some sort of leather 'G' string. As a finishing touch he took my prick, played with it until I had an erection, and then placed it against the leather front of the 'G' string where he fastened it in place with three smaller straps maybe an inch or so apart. He did these straps up very tightly and it was clear that my prick, and my erection, were going nowhere.

Now that the harnessing was completed my jockey pushed me gently backwards until he had me in position. As I moved I could feel something, presumably my tail, tickling the backs of my thighs. He took my right hand and held it out as far as it would stretch. I felt the shaft of the sulky being placed against my palm. I curled my fingers around the rubber grip and held it tight. Not that I needed to particularly. There was a brief tug on my wrist and a metallic click as the wrist cuff was chained to the shaft. By the time my jockey had got to my left hand I had already reached out and found the sulky shaft so all he had to do was fasten the clip. I gently pulled against the shafts to test how the sulky rolled but it would seem that the wheels were locked as they didn't want to move.

The final piece of the jigsaw was a short hobble, maybe six inches of rigid bar fixed between two ankle cuffs. With this fitted I was blindfolded, gagged, hobbled and chained to the sulky. I was going nowhere. My jockey told me firmly that if I didn't stand up straight and make him proud then he would use his whip to make me do so. I had no reason to disbelieve him so, as best I could, I stood to attention. And then..., and then nothing. I listened hard trying to see if I could make out where my jockey was but I couldn't hear a thing and, I presume, he must have just left me.

Since we had been taken to the showers everything had all happened too suddenly and, it was only now that I was finally alone, that I was able to take in just what I had let myself in for. I had been completely unprepared for the intensity of the experience. I hadn't expected to feel so controlled, so powerless, so completely at the mercy of people I didn't know and didn't trust. Mr H had warned me that I was naïve and innocent but he had made it all sound pretty friendly. I hadn't expected to feel so processed, I was a pony and I was treated as a pony. Mr H had talked about how my USP was being the 'shy virgin' who refused to be fucked. So far I had had absolutely no say in anything that had been done to me and, bound, gagged and blindfolded, I couldn't see just how I was to voice my refusal. The tail had been shoved up my arse whether I wanted it or not. How would I prevent anything else being shove up there?

But, for all that that was terrifying, what I certainly hadn't bargained on was the exotic thrill that it gave me. Behind the fear, the very real fear and uncertainty, there was an expectation. Part of me feared what was coming next; a lot more of me was trembling in anticipation. I'd always been sexually shy; indeed, I was probably the only one of my friends who was still a virgin, and yet, here I was with the very real prospect of some very rough sex indeed, whether I wanted it or not. But it was the lack of choice that got to me. With no choices came no responsibilities. It had been quite clear, right from the moment I that got into the minibus, that we ponies were there simply for the sexual gratification of the punters. No one gave a toss about who we were or how we felt. We were mere playthings to be used and abused as they desired. This meant that whatever I did, or was done to me, I could, and almost certainly would, indulge in rough sex

Sure I was scared but the straps around my prick seemed to tighten and my erection, if anything, got harder.

And, adding to all this was the way the blindfold heightened my sense of unreality. Although I could hear people moving around me I wasn't part of it, I was divorced from my surroundings. Someone quite close to me enquired loudly whether 'Barry' had sorted out the refrigeration unit for the bar but we ponies, now that we were harnessed up, were all but forgotten. Put aside to wait until we were needed.

After a while the punters started to arrive. It wasn't obvious at first but slowly the background noise started to rise and I could tell that there were a lot more people in the warehouse. More and more, the people who walked past didn't have the purposeful stride of someone who has a job to do; there were those who far more leisurely, who were dawdling and, I suddenly realised, inspecting us ponies.

"'Arold!" a voice cried out from right in front of me. "What's this pulling sulky sixteen. I've not seen this one before."

"Ah yes, College Boy," Mr H said as he bustled over. "Came into the office the other day and said he wanted to be a pony boy."

"Can he race?"

"I've no idea and that's the god's honest truth. This is his first meeting. I've given him an easy oppo on his first time out and, after that, well, we'll have to see."