Pony Boy Ch. 05

But that wasn't the only thing I was critical of. The super short skirt and tied off blouse might do for Belinda Bombshell's schoolgirl impersonation but, as an overall look, it didn't really work for me. Oh, it was the perfect mask when forced to play the randy tart in front of the sort of audiences Mr. Mason was going to put us in front of but the part of me that now wore panties as a matter of course hated it. I was discovering another side to Belinda, a softer side, one that wasn't an out and out whore.

And it wasn't just the whore aspect that was wrong. The schoolgirl costume had been designed to show as much flesh as possible and, especially since I had started going to the gym regularly, my flesh was undeniably male. No amount of makeup could hide my six pack. While this was fine for the Belinda Bombshell sex show it wasn't what appealed to me. What I wanted was clothes the hid my masculinity, not flaunted it. I wondered what Belinda would look like in one of those Chinese dresses, the ones with the high neck. She could tone down the makeup, go for softer, more pastel shades. She could look demure and still look sexy.

But there was little point in dreaming. After all, who would I dress up for? Mr. Mason was paying me for the randy slut and that was what I had to deliver. What's more, I was beginning to understand that, if Mr. Mason found out, it wouldn't take long before he perverted it, before it was just another mask that I wore as I serviced yet another client.

And that was really sad.

But it was getting late and it was time to pack Belinda away and return to being Ben. I still had some college work to do before I went to bed and I had to be up in time to get to the gym for six in the morning.

By Thursday afternoon I had practiced and practiced and practiced. I ended up using so much makeup had to go and buy some more foundation much to Kaylee's surprise. What is more, my crash course in femininity was bearing fruit; I had become quite proficient and felt pretty confident. A wicked thought came to me, one that would prove to Tracy that I didn't need her on Friday. I put on the makeup one more time and, this time, I included nail varnish and the wig. The next bit was the crucial bit. I hadn't got a dress, I'm not sure I could have got away with a dress, but I could compromise. I put on my skinniest jeans and a tee shirt and covered it off with a loose jacket. I looked in the mirror. The jeans weren't that feminine but my painted toe nails, peeking out of the open toes of my shoes certainly were. Of course, my upper body shape was all wrong but the loose jacket covered that up. As long as nobody looked too closely, as long as I remembered to act as a woman, I was ready to put my plan into action.

As quietly as I could I slipped out of the house and into my car where I hit an immediate problem. Driving in heels is a nightmare. If I were going to do this again then I would need to buy myself some slip-on flats. Still, I wasn't going back into the house now. In the end I found that driving barefoot was the easiest option. I drove down to town, parked up around the corner from Mr H's office, put my shoes back on, and stepped out of the car. Putting everything I had learnt into practice I held my head high and swung my hips as I walked down the road. My heart was pumping but nobody seemed to notice, well, not until a white van drove past and I got a wolf whistle. The adrenalin rush was fantastic. That was the validation I needed. I almost wished it were further to walk as, all too soon, I was climbing the stairs to Mr H's office.

"Good afternoon, how can I help... well, look who it isn't. Hello Belinda, you're looking good."

"Thanks. It seemed to fool you for a moment so it can't be all bad."

"Take your jacket off and let's have a proper look."

I took my jacket off and, under her instruction, strutted around a bit.

"Fancy a drink?" she said after a while.

"What!"

"Come on, a quick glass of wine in the pub over the road. I'm buying."

"I'm not sure...."

"Then maybe you're not ready."

I looked at her and she looked at me. If she was prepared to risk it then, why not?

"As long as I can wear my jacket. It's too obvious otherwise."

"Belinda, dearest, I'd insist on it."

She locked up and we made our way down the stairs and across the road. She went straight into the pub and up to the bar with me following on behind.

"Hello, Tracy, glass of pinot grigio, is it?"

"Yes please, Jack."

"And what about your friend?" He looked straight at me. Had I fooled him? Surely not at this range. I had never felt so nervous in my life. Pony racing, post meet parties, assignations with strange men in London hotels, none of these had anything compared to ordering a drink in a completely normal London pub.

"I'll... I'll have the same please," I replied, trying to keep my voice high but not falsetto.

"Coming right up."

While Jack poured two glasses of pinot grigio Tracy perched herself on a bar stool and I had to do the same. We were right there out in the open, not tucked away in a quiet corner. Tracy paid for the drinks and, for a while, Jack stayed to chat. I just kept my head down until, thank heavens, some other customers came in and he had to go and serve them.

"Don't you want to go to the loo?" Tracy asked after a while.

"No."

"Oh, I think you do. Off you go."

I stood up and looked around for the toilets. It was only when I did so that I was struck by the full implication of what she wanted me to do. If I went to the gents then I would be admitting I had failed. If I went to the ladies and got found out.... Still, I had no choice and, keeping in role, I made my way over to the ladies.

Once I was actually inside it wasn't quite as scary as it might have been. I mean, it wasn't as if I were going to stand at a urinal or anything. I locked myself in one of the stalls, did my business, and, remembering to wash my hands afterwards, returned to the bar.

"Ooh, you pervert," Tracy joked. "I bet you enjoyed that."

I just sat back down beside her and sipped my drink.

"Seriously, you're fine. You can look after yourself on Saturday but it's not just about the makeup. You'll have to manage your own extras."

"Extras?"

"Yeah, lube, baby wipes, a towel or two and, above all, condoms. Mr H gets them wholesale so I can let you have them at cost. Len Phillips is running the show and he doesn't stand for any nonsense so you shouldn't get into too much trouble. Just try to make sure you don't upset anyone."

"Do as I'm told, in other words."

"That's the best way," she replied after a long, thoughtful pause. "Do as you're told and no one gets hurt."

"Thanks, Tracy, I owe you one."

"Round here everybody owes me one. Now, drink up, I'm late for my supper and you need to get ready for tonight. Pick up is at seven thirty, remember."

We drained our glasses and, with a cheery wave to Jack, Tracy led me back out of the pub.

As I returned to my car I thought over what Tracy had just put me through. The thing was, after the initial shock of 'going public' it wasn't that bad. I wondered if I had really fooled Jack, or any of the other pub patrons, but no one had batted an eyelid when I had gone to the ladies. That must count for something.

I went back home, cleaned off the make up and grabbed a bite to eat. I didn't have time to remove the nail varnish so I decided I'd have to just to go for it. After all, by the time you shave all over, a little scarlet nail varnish isn't going to make that much difference. As it was I barely had time to get to the meeting point before seven thirty. I wasn't the first to arrive and we chatted while we waited for the minibus to arrive. It seemed that I was beginning to get accepted.

The start of the race meeting was exactly the same as the other two. We were driven to the warehouse and, after a certain amount of milling around, we were herded into the showers before being lined up for inspection. I did note that one of the ponies seemed to be in a bad way, shaking and shivering and when he was, inevitably, rejected he pleaded with Mr H to be allowed to race, arguing that he desperately needed the money. He was led away, somewhat roughly, and I didn't see him again. It was an image I wasn't going to forget in a hurry.

Pete was, once again, my jockey and I quite enjoyed getting prepared. There's something quite delicious about having posing oil rubbed all over you, and I don't just mean my prick. And then, when it was time for the harness, I guess I was getting a little more stretched back there because the plug that held the tail slipped in easily and, once there, was nicely snug and gave me that wonderful full feeling. By the time Pete got round to fastening the straps around my prick I was already good and hard.

I guess Jed was right about me being a bit of a poseur because, when Pete had finished and I was left standing, waiting for the racing, I felt just fine. I liked the feeling of being on display, of knowing my oiled body was shown at its best. I liked the way the pony tail fell down behind, tickling the back of my thighs and I liked the way my prick stood hard and proud in its cage of straps. I even liked the way I was fastened to the sulky, hobbled and blindfolded. It made it more impersonal. I was a pony, on display, not a human being. I knew that pride comes before a fall and all that but I knew I looked good and I didn't give a damn who knew it.

This pride was, if anything, reinforced when the punters arrived. There were more than a few who wanted to run their hands over my body, to cop a feel, implied that I had a body worth feeling. There was quite a bit of chat about how I was the favourite and about my rivalry with Jed. My red nail varnish was noticed and one bright spark put two and two together and commented that he had seen me as Belinda Bombshell at Mr. Bothwick's party.

"If he's as good at running as he is at sucking prick then he's a dead cert!" was the comment. I wondered whether the speaker was talking from first hand knowledge or from reputation. Whichever, it provoked plenty of laughter.

When we got to the actual racing Mr H announced that it would be a circle race. I hadn't got a clue what this was but there was a buzz from the crowd; this was evidently quite a favourite. After some time to allow for the betting my hobble was removed and, still blindfolded, I was led out onto the course. However, once there, I was led on far further than I had remembered it being to the start line. I would have guessed I had been led to maybe half way around. It was only when my blinkers were opened up that I could see why this was. I wasn't at the start line. I looked around, as much as the blinkers would let me. I, and seven other ponies, had been positioned equidistant around the course. I also noticed something else that was new. In this race the jockeys were carrying what I later found out to be called carriage whips, long flexible rods with a short whip at the end. I was still confused over what was going on but, when an air horn sounded and Pete flicked the reins it was obviously time to start running.

I had been slightly surprised by the start and, therefore, not the quickest away but a quick sting in my backside from the whip woke me up and I was soon catching up on the pony in front of me. Pete waited until we hit the straight and then flicked the whip against my backside again and I gave it all I had and powered past him. And then, in front of me, I watched as a pony was overtaken and I started to understand when I saw him being pulled into the side. We came around the big curve at the end and, as we entered the back straight, there was yet another pony that had been pulled over. Evidently any pony who was overtaken was eliminated. This wasn't about being first, it was about last man standing. I had taken out one and now seen two others pulled over. There were at most only five of us left.

Of course, with fewer ponies racing the gaps between us were getting longer. This was going to be all about stamina. Still, that was my forte, I was probably the only non smoker among the ponies and, if the pace was beginning to get to me, it must be killing them. In fact I was closing on the pony in front of me and, as we came into the next straight, I slipped past, easy as pie.

And then, although there were still four of us left, the air horn sounded, the race was over and Pete slowed me down to a trot before running me back to the start line and into the centre circle. As I was being parked up I watched the other eight ponies being led out for their heat. It didn't take much to work out that they were taking four from each heat into the finals. That meant that there was going to be quite a wait. There was the other heat to go and then the qualifiers from that heat would need time to get their breath back. Pete refitted my hobble and closed my blinkers so I was blindfolded again. While we waited he rubbed me down with some more posing oil and massaged my legs to prevent stiffness.

Once again I was attracting quite a few punters. Of course, with circle racing, the betting wasn't just about winning but on how many each pony would eliminate. I gathered the odds on my winning were quite short but, in the final, as it was a race until only one pony was left, there was quite a bit of discussion about how many scalps I would take.

"What do you reckon, Pete?" one of the punters asked.

"Can't rightly say but I'll tell you this, College Boy is one of the best ponies we've ever had in here. Not so fast over the shorter distances but for the long pull like a circle race, put your money on him to win. Dead cert."

"So how about I take him round the stables in the meanwhile?"

"Sorry, Geoff, you know the rules. College Boy is party only."

"What sort of rule is that? What makes him so special?"

"You'll have to ask Mr. Mason that. He's the one who makes the rules."

"You'll have to ask Mr. Mason what?"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Mason, I was just reminding Geoff that College Boy is party only."

"That's right, Geoff."

"And why is that then?"

"Because that's the way my top customers prefer it. He's booked out to Sam Hastings tonight and Sam wants him unsullied. Come on, there are fifteen other ponies to choose from."

"Yeah, but none as pretty as this one."

Geoff, at least I assumed it was Geoff, reached down and cuddled my balls. It was odd being discussed in this way. It was pleasing to know that I was desirable but, even after all this time, it was still disconcerting to have it brought home to me how much my body was being bought and sold. I wondered about this Sam Hastings and what he would want from me. Was I in for another night on my knees sucking pricks or would he want to keep me for himself?

I had plenty of time to ponder this before the final of the circle race. I could hear the second heat taking place and the hubbub that went along with it. Then there was another wait before my hobble was removed and I was, once again, led out onto the course. Even when the blinkers were opened I could only see straight ahead and had only the vaguest notion of which other ponies were involved. One thing I would put good money on was that Jed was one of them. He wasn't the sort to fall in the heats. However, I didn't have time to look about me. Pete had barely got me lined up before the air horn sounded and we were off.

I knew this was going to be a stamina event so I didn't start off too quickly and this was nearly my undoing. The measured pace I had set had allowed the pony behind me to come up on my inside and it was only sharp sting of the whip that alerted me to the danger. As it was I had to go around the outside of the bend and only just held the other pony off. This shook me out of my complacency and I started to realise I would have to work at it. Pete kept using the whip to urge me on so I upped the pace and started in on the pony in front.

We'd barely completed a lap before I overtook that one and it was now on to chasing the next. Pete was certainly not letting up with the whip and, although it stung rather than hurt, its constant flick, flick, flick against my buttocks made sure I didn't let up one iota. As we came around into the home straight I could see not just the pony I was chasing but the one in front of him as well. Pete slashed me across the backside with the whip but I didn't really need it, my adrenalin was up and I put everything I had into powering on past, just catching the second before I had to cut across so as to make the bend.

Pete let me take a little breather as we came around the bend and into the back straight. I had just taken out three ponies and could afford to get my breath back. My next target was quite a way ahead and, as long as I didn't let him get any further away, there was plenty of time to catch him. However I could see that I wasn't the only one knocking out opponents. As well as the three ponies I had accounted for there were others pulled up at the edge of the course. By my count there were six who had dropped out which meant there were only two of us left running. However, when we came around the bend and into the home straight, both Pete and I realised that I had had more than enough of a breather. There was no one in sight. I had let the other pony pull away from me and had quite a bit of catching up to do. Pete had, thank heavens, laid off with the whip but he flicked the reins and I stepped it up a gear.

Even so, it was turning out to be a long haul and it was a full lap before I could, once again, see the other pony in front of me. That spurred me on and, by the time we had completed another lap there was only twenty yards between us. The pony, of course, was, like myself, wearing blinkers and unable to look behind him but his jockey was well aware of how close I was getting and using the whip and reins freely. Pete, on the other hand, was leaving me be, knowing that I didn't need any more urging. This was what I was racing for. The crowd were going wild, cheering me on and the pony in front was starting to crumble. We came to the curve at the end and I knew it was foolish to overtake him there. Rather I waited until we were on the main straight, in front of the stands, in front of everybody as, with a final push, I charged past him.

God I loved winning; there's no feeling like it. Pete reined me in but I still trotted the length of the straight before turning round and trotting back again. I knew I looked good, my head held high, lifting my feet, trotting like a real pony. Oh, the cheers from the stands. I was loving every moment of it. As I came back I could see that the pony who had come second was, inevitably, Jed. Once again I had taken his title but as I went past he looked up, our eyes met and he smiled.

I was led back in to the centre circle and, once there, everybody wanted a piece of me. There were quite a few comments about the whip marks on my buttocks and many used them as an excuse to cop a feel. Not that I minded; the whipping had been more for show than anything else and if the few, fast fading marks added to my desirability then it was all part of the adulation. As they were also tucking quite a bit in tips into my harness it was all to the good. Pete refitted my hobble and closed my blinkers but I quite liked that. It's easier to stand there with hands all over you when you're locked in position. I also seemed to be immune from the ad hoc races that were being organised.

"...and this, Sam, is the pony in question," I heard Mr. Mason say suddenly close. I couldn't see but I could sense the rest of the crowd pulling back a step. If Mr. Mason and his friend wanted to look me over then it seemed they took precedence.

"May I?" someone, presumably Sam Hastings, asked.