Pony Boy

"So, what's your fancy for the Spurs game this weekend?" Arthur asked the rest of the group and, with that, I seemed to be forgotten. Well, not completely forgotten, Arthur's hand continued to play with me. I wasn't too interested in the Spurs match and, anyway, I'm sure my opinion wasn't wanted so I glanced around to see what was what.

The first thing that struck me was that, on the table, there was a bowl full of shiny foil wrappers. They could have been mints but they weren't, they were condoms and quite a selection of them too. Also on the table, almost inevitably, was a somewhat smaller bowl, this time full of white powder and next to it a mirror complete with razor blade and a selection of glass tubes.

I looked over Arthur's shoulder and about the room. I wasn't the only pony to have been waylaid. In fact I couldn't see any left holding trays. There was another group of armchairs at the opposite end of the room and, although I couldn't see who it was, one of the ponies was already on his knees, his head bobbing up and down busily. Whoever the punter was it would seem they didn't believe in foreplay. Through a door at the far end I could see into an indoor pool area where a punter wearing a white towelling dressing gown was busy making out with another of the ponies. It would seem that privacy wasn't a particularly high priority for some.

But I couldn't just spend the time gazing about. I remembered what the lads had said in the van. My job was to keep the customer sweet. Much as Arthur seemed happy just to have me sitting there as he discussed the summer signings with his mates, I knew it couldn't last forever and, remembering how both Mr H and the rest of the ponies had told me to keep the customer happy, it was down to me to do something about it. Whatever my true feelings about Arthur it was time for me to earn my keep. I stopped staring around the room, snuggled in to him and, using my free hand, undid the top few buttons of his shirt and slid my hand inside.

It was all a bit strange. I mean I didn't fancy Arthur at all. Even if I was that way inclined he wasn't my type but there was something so outrageously wicked about the combination of having his hand on my prick while I ran my fingers through his chest hairs meant that I found the whole thing to be incredibly sexy. My prick was already hard but it was getting still harder. I wanted to push it further so I undid a couple more shirt buttons, pushed it to one side and leant down so that I could take his nipple in my mouth.

"Not so shy now, is he," George commented.

"He wasn't so shy when he was being sucked off by Dark Arrow back at the races," Si added. "Come on, Arthur, give us a butcher's. I want to see what's so special about him."

Arthur eased me off his lap and I stood up in front of them. The bulge in my shorts was all too obvious, something that they weren't slow to point out.

"Well, well, well, look who's all excited. Come on, darling' take 'em off."

I slipped out of the shorts and stood there, my prick standing out stiff and proud. However, remembering my image, I acted a little coyly, well, as coyly as you can when you're standing stark naked with a massive hard on.

"Something must have pleased him," Arthur commented.

"Oh, Mr Arthur, how could any girl not be pleased by a big strong man like you," I simpered in reply.

"So, back at the races, you didn't mind being sucked off then but now you won't return the favour, is that it?" Si wasn't going to be bought off so easily.

I blushed bright red which, fortunately covered my confusion as I realised the corner I had been painted into. Si was right. Even though I had had no choice when I had accepted the blow job from Jed earlier, those who accept blow jobs can also give them and I was really in no position to refuse. What's more, there was an air of menace in Si and, if I failed to please, it could all turn nasty. I had naïvely thought I could be a pony boy without all the stuff that came with it but now I was finding out how wrong I was.

"Oh, no sir," I replied, trying to bluff it out. "You gentlemen were so busy talking about the match that I didn't want to interfere and I was only waiting until Mr Arthur was ready for me. It's just..." I wasn't sure of what words to use but that fitted in well with my image.

"You'll give blow jobs but you won't take it up the arse," Si confirmed.

I just nodded in reply.

"Well then? We're not talking about the match now," Si insisted almost as if he were waiting for me to refuse.

"Which of you gentlemen would like to go first? Mr Arthur, perhaps?"

There was no perhaps about it. Arthur already had his flies open and was fishing out his prick. I rifled through the bowl of condoms until I found a flavoured one. I knelt down between Arthur's knees and tore open the packaging. I was all fingers and thumbs and his prick wasn't completely hard, but, after wanking him off for a bit, I managed to get the condom fitted and, for the first time in my life, I took another man's prick into my mouth.

It was all so unreal. I had thought that I would simply run in a couple of races, pick up the cash, and go on home. Sure, Mr H had warned me that there would be a certain amount of "groping" but, never in a million years, would I have imagined that I would be naked, on my knees sucking on the prick of a fat, middle aged slob. But, ironically, that's what made it so exciting. You never know what you can do until you do it. My friends, my family, everyone I knew thought I was just the rather dull student scraping by, hoping for a degree and not really making much of himself. I'd never been the adventurous type, I'd always played it safe and cautious. However there was nothing safe or cautious about what I was doing now. Here I was, a male prostitute, yes, I can admit that, and for all that I ought to have been appalled I was loving every minute of it.

I loved the way that Arthur's prick grew harder as a worked away at it, I loved the way that he was groaning with pleasure, I loved the look of lust in his eyes, a lust and desire that was for me. OK, so this wasn't anything I could take back and boast about but I would always have that knowledge that I hadn't lived all my life wrapped in cotton wool, that I had taken a walk on the wild side.

I was no expert at blow jobs, this was, after all, my first, but I made up for it with enthusiasm and it wasn't long before I could sense that Arthur was about to come. He was trying to act cool and keep up the discussion on the match but he lost track of the conversation, gave a massive groan and, were it not for the condom covering his prick, he would have filled my mouth with his sperm.

I'd done it! I'd given my very first blow job and, although I'm sure it wasn't the greatest blow job ever given, Arthur seemed well pleased with himself. I let his prick slide from my mouth, gave it a farewell kiss for luck, and turned to the others.

"Stand up and come here," Si ordered.

I did as I was told and he reached out, grabbed my prick and pulled me towards him.

"Fifty quid if you'll do me bareback," he offered.

"Bareback?" I wasn't aware of the term and, if my guess was correct then the answer had to be 'no'.

"Bareback, dummy, you know, no condom," Si confimed.

"I'm sorry, sir, it's against Mr H's rules," I essayed. I had no idea if this was true but it was the best I could come up with.

"I wouldn't put my prick in some whore's mouth without a condom," George put in.

"That just goes to show the scabby whores you go for," Si said back at him. The whole group, including George, laughed.

"Even so...," George added.

"Yeah, I guess so," Si conceded. "Go on then, put a jacket on it."

"I reached for the bowl and found another strawberry flavoured condom. When I turned back to Si he had already got his prick out and was stroking it.

"Hand me the condom," he ordered, "and put your hands behind your head. Now, stay like that."

He put the condom on, grabbed me by the hair and pulled me towards him. This was no simple blow job. Whereas Arthur had just sat back and let me blow him, with Si it was far more like he was fucking my face. He pushed his prick deep and hard into my throat and I was fighting to stop myself from gagging.

"I know your sort," he said in a low, guttural voice. "You're just a dirty little whore. You don't fool me, not for one minute. Sure, on the surface you're all so high and mighty, but underneath you're just a filthy little slut. You'd shag anything if the price is right and it doesn't take much to buy you. You think you're so special but you're not, you're no better than any of the others we get in here, trash from the gutter, the lot of you. Look at you, simpering little pansy, down there, on your knees, where you belong, with your face full of cock! My cock! Go on, deeper, take it deeper, take it all, you know you want to...."

He slammed his prick into my mouth as he came.

Whether he knew it or not Si had touched a nerve. Every word he used, "filthy", "dirty", "whore", "trash", "slut", played straight to a fantasy I hardly knew I had. It wasn't just the way he was verbally and sexually abusing me, it was the way that I was nothing to him, not a person, just a mouth to be fucked. That had awoken some very dark desires I had never before explored. Back in my 'normal' life I really was the shy, insecure virgin. My sex life was limited to my right hand and fantasies were just that, fantasies. Here, down on my knees with another man's prick deep in my mouth, the sex was very, very real. I wasn't just dreaming about it, I was doing it. I wondered whether he would notice how hard my prick had become.

With Si finished, I turned to Steve and George. However, Steve was in no hurry and demanded that I 'chop 'em out' first. I must have looked blank.

"The charlie, sweetheart, the charlie. Chop out eight nice fat lines like a good little girl and, if you're good, maybe I'll let you chop one out for yourself." It seemed that Steve had the same attitude as Si. I turned to the table, picked up the razor blade and used it to shovel some coke out of the bowl and onto the mirror. I'm not into coke, myself, but I knew enough to know how to chop out lines so I got busy with razor blade and I had just got six of the eight lines sorted out when Mr H came over.

"All right lads? I do hope College Boy is proving satisfactory," he said as he approached.

"He's doing fine, Harold. Just chopping out some lines for us. Fancy a snort?"

"No thanks but I will take him off you, if you don't mind."

"We're not quite finished here," Steve objected.

"Oh, I think you are. Archie's asking for him. Shall I go back and tell him you're not quite finished?"

"No, no, of course not," all four of them chorused. "Anything for Archie."

"Shall I...," I gestured at the mirror on the table."

"Finish off the lines first," Mr H replied.

Under their watchful gaze I did my best to finish the last two lines but I was getting nervous and my hand was shaking. At least I didn't sneeze. As soon as I had all eight neatly lined up I picked up the mirror along with a glass tube and offered it up. Arthur took it from me and I stood up, ready to follow Mr H. However, Mr H waited until Arthur had finished his lines and then gave him a very pointed look. Arthur handed the mirror on and got out his wallet. He took out some notes which he handed to me.

"Thank you, Mr Arthur," I said

"Any time, son, any time."

Si, possibly shamed by Arthur also reached in his pocket and tossed over a twenty which fluttered to the ground. I made a point of waving my arse at him as I bent over to pick it up and then Mr H led me away.

"How did you end up with a bunch of low-lifes like them," Mr H said as he took the tips from me. He took out a notebook and made a note of what I had earned before putting it back in his pocket again.

"They called me over," I replied. "I couldn't say no, could I?"

"I guess not. Anyway, I'm taking you to meet Archie who has asked specifically for you. Be polite to Archie. You really don't want to upset him."

"That's a bit scary," I commented.

"And so it should be. Just don't upset him."

He led me through to another room where, sprawled out on a huge sofa, was a man who was obviously holding court. He was what Arthur and his friends wished they could be but, whereas they came across as little more than thugs, Archie was, undeniably, the real thing. He was running his fingers through the hair of a pony who was knelt on the floor beside him. Another was at the coffee table busy chopping out lines of coke. Whether he had fucked them or not was immaterial. He had nothing to prove. He'd take his pleasures as and when he wanted and didn't give a damn about anyone else. He looked up as we approached.

"Ah, Harold, is this him?"

"Here you go, Archie. Some of lads had waylaid him but he's all yours now."

Mr H gave me a nudge forward and I stumbled up to in front of where Archie was sprawled. I stood up as straight as I could and tried not to make eye contact. He looked me up and down before languidly leaning forward, reaching out and grabbing my balls. He squeezed, quite hard, and I had to fight to stop myself from crying out. Maybe that's what he wanted, how was I to know?

"I lost a lot of money on you," he said, giving my balls a twist. "I had you down to go all the way."

"I'm sorry, sir," I squeaked.

"Came a cropper in the third race, though, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir, I misjudged it."

"You did, didn't you? Mind you, you did a lot better in the rematch."

"That wasn't me, sir, it was my jockey. He told me how to run the race."

"Did he, indeed. So you lost the first race because you had the wrong jockey. Is that what you're saying?"

That sounded like a trick question. I thought fast.

"No sir, I lost the first race because I was stupid and thought I knew it all. After that I knew I had to listen to my jockey."

"You were stupid, were you?"

"Yes, sir," I replied. The grip around my balls got, if anything harder.

"I don't like stupid ponies who lose me money."

He twisted my balls from side to side as if seeing how far he could go. All the time he watched my face studying my discomfort. I couldn't help but let out a little whimper. This seemed to please him and he twisted again so as to make me whimper again. I didn't know what he wanted me to do. Should I plead? Should I beg? Or should I remain as stoical as possible?

"So you're going to win all your races from now on?" He asked after a while.

"I can't promise that, sir, you know I can't. I can promise I'll try my best."

He pulled me towards him and, as he did so, he squeezed even harder. I doubled up with the agony coming from my balls. This left my head close to his.

"They tell me you don't put out. Is that so?"

"Yes, sir," I said through the pain.

"Why's that? You too good for us?"

"No sir, it's not that, it's... it's...." Oh, god, how did I explain to the guy that was crushing my balls that I didn't want to let him fuck my arse? I had already thought I was in over my head before but now.... He squeezed harder and couldn't help it.

"Please, please, you're hurting me, please sir... Oh god! Please! Please, sir, please, I can't... please... no!"

"Having fun, Archie?"

Through the blur of the agony I looked up and Mr Mason was standing looking at Archie. Unlike, the others he was neither fawning nor overly impressed.

"Andy, my old mucker, how's tricks. Just getting to know our new pony boy."

"By the looks of things you're turning him into a gelding."

"Nah, just being friendly," Archie replied. He gave my balls a final twist before letting go and I collapsed in a heap on the floor in front of him. I curled up in a ball, sobbing.

"Oops," Archie laughed. "Looks like I might have gelded him after all. Well, he's no good to anybody now. You, boy," he said to one of the ponies nearby, "take this away and look after him. Maybe you can kiss it better for him."

This was met by general laughter but, crucially, I was helped to my feet and, still doubled up in pain, led away.

"Boy!" he called out after me.

"Yes, sir?" I turned around to answer him.

"When I've got money on you you don't lose, got that."

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Now get out of my sight before I really do geld you."

Helped by my fellow pony I hobbled away.

I spent the rest of the night in a corner of the kitchen trying to keep out of the way. An ice pack made from a packet of frozen peas helped a lot but basically I was in agony. There was definitely no way I was going to be any use to any of the punters. Mr H came by to check that I was OK, which was a matter of opinion but once he knew I didn't need urgent medical help he left me to it. I sat, still stark naked and nursing my aching balls as I waited for the party to be over.

A cold grey dawn was breaking as the last of the guests drifted away and it was finally time to go home. There were only four of us ponies left. I could only guess at what had happened to the others; I assumed they had gone home with some of the punters. The minibus driver herded us into one of the rooms and produced the plastic bags containing our clothes. Gingerly, very gingerly, I got dressed and checked that, yes, my house key was still in my jeans pocket.

As we were led out to the waiting minibus Mr H was there and, referring to his notebook, he handed out wads of cash to the other three ponies. However, he had nothing for me.

"But... but...," I protested.

"Come to my office, son, tomorrow, four o'clock. We've got stuff to talk about."

*

Author's note -- 16th Sept 2012

There is obviously quite a bit more of this story to come. However, I may not have that much time for writing over the next few weeks.

The bad bit -- it may be quite a wait for the next chapter The good bit -- I'm open to plot suggestions. You can have your say.

Don't forget to vote and I always love those who leave comments.

C.B.