tagGay MalePony Boy Ch. 07

Pony Boy Ch. 07

byChestersBoi©

*** Chapter Seven of Pony Boy ***

Once again, appologies for the wait. I hope you think it's worth it.

As ever, if you're new to this story please don't start here. It won't make much sense and won't be anything like as good if you miss the build up. Meanwhile, despite the title, there's no pony play in this chapter. In fact, it explores Ben's other little foible and might almost fit better under Transsexuals & Crossdressers. However, it's still a gay male story so that's where it goes.

Enjoy


***

Sunday was, at last, a day off and, while I still had to make yet another trip to the laundrette, that gave me some time to catch up with my course work. Or so I thought. I couldn't concentrate as my mind kept running over the implications of what I had got myself into.

I couldn't stop thinking about what Jed had said back in his flat. "You'll take whatever Mr. Mason tells you to take and you'll keep on taking it for as long as you're earning him money. He was making a fortune out of you as a pony boy and now that he's got Belinda fucking Bombshell he'll make even more."

Jed couldn't have put it any clearer than that. Every time I went out, as a pony, or as a rent boy, or as Belinda Bombshell, I was making money for Mr. Mason and there was no way he was going to let me off the hook. What is more, the more I went out the more I earned. When I had first agreed to work for him he had assured me that it would be an occasional thing, once a week at most, and that, importantly, it wouldn't interfere with my degree. If the last few days were anything to go by then that was a million miles from the truth. I would be far too busy working for Mr. Mason to attend to my coursework, my friends, or even my family. Easter was only a couple of weeks away and I still hadn't told my parents that I wouldn't be coming home.

That brought on another wave of despair. What on earth was I going to tell my parents? I was certainly desperate to keep the two halves of my life completely separate. I was horrified by the thought of my mum finding out what her son was doing for a living and I certainly didn't want her, or my kid sister, to meet Archie under any circumstances. Look at Jed, locked away in his fortress, no sign of friends, partner, or family. Was that where I was heading? It looked like a distinct possibility. On the other hand, what choices did I have? Mr. Mason had made it quite clear that any attempt to get away would be met by violence and, right from the start, Archie had threatened not just myself but my family as well. If I were to go home for Easter I would end up taking Archie with me.

But, however much I might have to lie to my parents there was no way I could continue lying to myself. I simply had to face up to what I had become. But it wasn't just that I was a rent boy, a prostitute, or a sex worker, to use that rather anodyne PC phrase, it was the way I was totally under the control of my pimp, and there was no other word for what Mr. Mason was to me. I went where he told me and, when there, willingly did whatever was asked of me. If I were to avoid Mr. Mason's wrath then I had to be pleasing, compliant and available. I had to do whatever the punters wanted and look like I was loving it. Saying 'no' to a punter would be just the same as saying 'no' to Mr. Mason and he had made it quite clear that was not an option.

But that was only part of the picture. Up until all this had started I had been a virgin in every sense of the word. My sexual experience had been limited to a few clumsy fumbles and I had been insecure and unsure of myself. For all my boasting and bravado in front of my friends I had never really been into girls nor had I made any sense of my confused feelings from the changing room showers.

In a few short weeks all that had completely changed. Whilst I still wasn't as experienced as Jed or Carl I was no longer a stranger to sex, weird sex, kinky sex and above all, gay sex. There was no confusing my feelings now. I was definitely and unashamedly gay. And I wasn't just gay, I was very definitely a 'bottom'. I loved to be held, taken, ravished. I loved the feel of another man's prick filling up my backside which, given what I had become, was a pretty good job. While I was starting to truly despise the simpering tart I was forced to play I wasn't entirely lying when I told the punters I loved being taken by a 'real man'.

And, talking of simpering tarts, there was the whole Belinda Bombshell thing. If ever there was a poisoned chalice it was that one. One spur of the moment dance routine with Jed to get us out of a fix had led directly to my being sodomised on stage for the enjoyment of others. Even then, it wasn't so much the stage show that I minded but the expectations that came along with it. Belinda Bombshell was, to use the Chinese expression, the bus that everyone rides. It's hard to maintain any self respect when you're on your knees in the gents toilets giving a blow job to yet another stranger.

But, much as I hated Belinda, if it hadn't been for her I might never have discovered that special little thrill I get whenever I wear women's clothing. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a girl, I don't want to be a girl, I like being a boy and I really love having a penis but when I put on my panties I feel more comfortable, I feel more like the 'real' me. And then the buzz I had got from wearing drag in public, from sitting in the pub with Tracy, that was hard to describe.

I stared at the tumble dryer and watched my clothes going round and round. I had, on a whim, bought a six pack of panties but even that was barely sufficient given the use they were currently taking. Moreover I only had one smart set of clothes and only one Belinda outfit. If, as looked likely, I were to end up working three or four times a week, maybe even more, I would need more. That was going to hit me hard. Mr. Mason had made it quite clear that any further clothing would have to come out of my own pocket. My wages, which had seemed so fantastic back at the start, were a great deal less generous now that I had so many expenses.

Monday morning found me down at the gym. Mr. Mason stopped by and had a long chat with Albert about my training. They called me over and had me strip and pose while they looked me over. The main gist of their conversation was that Mr. Mason wanted me fit to run as a pony boy but, now that Belinda had turned out to be such a good earner, he didn't want me over muscled. "They're paying for a naughty schoolgirl, not some Russian shot putter," was the way he put it.

"If that's what you want how about we give him a nice pair of tits?" Albert replied coming around behind me and cupping my pecs as if to demonstrate. "I know a guy who can get hold of this hormone treatment. Costs a bob or two but works a treat. Have him swelling up in no time. Of course you need surgery to get anything that fills a bra but that costs money."

I stood aghast as Mr. Mason seemed to think this over.

"Nah, that's not what I'm after. Not for this one, not yet anyway. He makes too much as a pony boy and that wouldn't work if he had tits. Anyway, there are plenty of punters who want a boy in panties, that's what turns them on," Mr. Mason said, much to my relief. "Just don't make him too muscled, that's all."

And, with that, Mr. Mason was off.

It was only a couple of hours later when I met Mr. Mason again. I had gone round to Mr H's office to sort out the money he owed me and found Mr. Mason there as well. What with Thursday night, Friday and Saturday there was quite a bit owing although it did turn out to be less than I might have hoped for. Although Len Phillips was apparently more than happy with the way I had 'looked after' Mr Shoesmith, his financial expression of this didn't match what I had earned the previous week after servicing so many clients. Also it turned out that Mr Robbins and his friends had been less than forthcoming in the tipping department. Still, all in all, there were several hundreds to add to my stash.

"What's all this about you turning up here in drag," Mr. Mason asked once the money was sorted. "Tracy tells me you two went out for a drink together, all girly girly like."

"I needed to prove to her that I could do my own makeup," I replied. "I thought that, if I could wear it out in the street...."

"Oh, I think it's more than that. Every time I see you you're wearing panties. You're wearing them now, aren't you?"

I just blushed as everyone laughed.

"Actually, I can use that. If you're good enough in drag to go out for drinks with Tracy, then you're probably good enough to go out with punters. I've got one or two customers who would love to be seen around town with Belinda Bombshell on their arm. They'll pay extra for that."

"But I haven't got the clothes," I protested. "When I went out with Tracy I was just in jeans and a sweatshirt. It's one thing to nip across to the pub over the road, quite another to go out to some West End hotel."

"If you haven't got the clothes then you'll just have to go out and buy some," Mr. Mason spoke as if explaining to a small child. "Do I have to do everything for you?"

"But I don't know where...."

"Then you had better find out where and find out fast."

"Tracy knows the right places," Mr H. took pity on me. "Hang on a second."

He buzzed the intercom and Tracy appeared at the door.

"Ben needs to go shopping and I want you to go with him," Mr. Mason said as she entered.

"What sort of shopping?"

"Clothes shopping. Something for Belinda Bombshell to wear when she's taken out for drinks or a meal. Don't get anything too slutty. Sexy, yes, slutty, no, got me?"

"You want Ben in drag, little black dress sort of thing."

"That's the one."

"OK, Mr. Mason, I know just the place but I can't do it today; it will have to be tomorrow. I've got the VAT returns to do this morning and then my mum's at the doctors in the afternoon."

"Tomorrow is fine."

"OK, Ben, I'll meet you here in the office, nine o'clock sharp," and, with that, Tracy returned to her desk in the front office.

"Now then, rest of the week. Jed, you've got Mr Avery tonight and Mr Cummings on Wednesday. Have you anything lined up for Tuesday?"

"Not yet."

"I'll see what I can do. Can't have you lounging about doing nothing. Ben, I've got a Mr Harper lined up for you tonight. It's a late one so I'll send a car round at nine thirty. Don't keep him waiting. On Tuesday, I've got a double booking, you and Carl, and I want you ready for seven thirty on that one. I haven't got anything for Wednesday yet but you'll have been shopping by then. I want to sell Belinda as an escort starting as soon as possible so be ready for that. OK?"

"Of course, Mr. Mason," I replied, even though it was far from OK. However, the smell of petrol that still emanated from my wardrobe was all the reminder I needed not to make a fuss.

"Apart from that, there's a normal race meeting on Thursday and we'll sort out the weekend later. OK?"

Jed and I nodded are assent and were dismissed. We went out into the streets and I offered Jed a lift home. He accepted but was very quiet all the way back to his place.

"Jed, what's up?" I asked as I pulled the car into the car park.

"Bloody Carl", he muttered.

"What about Carl?"

"You're going on a double with him tomorrow."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"You're such a slag, you'll let anyone fuck you."

"Jed! It's not like that, you know it's not."

"What is it like then."

"I let Carl fuck me because I have to. If I don't Mr. Mason will have Archie break my legs or something. I let you fuck me because...."

"Let me fuck you? That's a good'un. Go on then, why do you let me fuck you?"

"I didn't mean it like that, you know I didn't. Please, Jed, don't make this difficult."

"You still haven't told me why you 'let' me fuck you."

I just looked at Jed. How could I explain without talking about things I wasn't ready to talk about?

"Because it's different with you," I muttered after a while.

"How different?"

"Please, Jed, I let Carl fuck me because I have to; I let you fuck me because I want to. Is that good enough for you?"

"You want to? You mean you like being fucked by me?"

"You know I do."

"How about now, right now, would you 'let' me fuck you now?"

"Please, Jed."

"Please, Jed, what?"

"Please, Jed, don't make this difficult."

"I'm not making this difficult. I just want to know if you want me to fuck you."

"You know I do. Please, Jed, I always want you to fuck me."

"Well, seeing as you ask so nicely, you'd better come upstairs."

And, for the second time I followed Jed up the seemingly endless staircases that led to the floor where fortress Jed was located. He unlocked the door and I followed him in.

"You know where the bedroom is. Go and get ready. I'll be with you in a moment."

"Plea...."

"Just shut it and do as you're told."

So that's what I did. I went into his bedroom, took off my clothes, folded them up and put them on a chair. Then I got into bed, waiting for him. A short while later I heard the toilet flush and he emerged, still drying his hands. He tossed the towel onto the chair where my clothes were and started to get undressed. As I watched my hand strayed to my prick and I gave myself a little stroke.

"Get your hands off your prick, you little tart. Better still, put your hands over your head and grip the bars of the headboard."

I did as I was told which left me stretched out and feeling very exposed.

"Maybe I ought to tie you like that. I've got a pair of handcuffs somewhere; does that rock your boat?"

I knew better than to answer. He finished getting undressed and got into the bed beside me. As with last time it was a tight squeeze. I was expecting to get fucked, that was what I had come for but, instead, he just lay on his side looking at me. He propped himself up on his elbow and, with his free hand, he traced the outline of my body, trailing his fingertips across my skin.

"You don't move and you don't make a sound, have you got that?"

I nodded in reply.

He shifted until he was right up against me and our pricks were lying next to each other. He reached down and put his hand around them both, squeezing quite hard. Slowly he pumped his fist and I could feel our pricks, crushed together, moving back and forth in his tight grip. And, as he wanked us both off, he just looked at me.

Maybe I was seeing what I wanted, maybe it was all an illusion, but as he looked down at me, I felt that there was something between us. I wanted so much to reach up and kiss him although I didn't because I was scared of breaking the spell. My silence, my stillness, my hands gripping the bars of the headboard, were all part of my acquiescence. I was Jed's to own and control. I wanted this, I needed this, why did it only happen while we were in bed together?

Because, as the steady beat of Jed's fist lifted us higher there was a real connection a coming together, a spiritual as well as a physical bond. I felt I could see, touch, feel the real Jed, the one he kept hidden away behind the walls of cynicism and street toughness. I felt that, I hoped that, he wanted me as much as I wanted him, that feeling my prick against his was as good for him as it was for me. Oh, Jed, oh, Jed, oh...

I could feel Jed starting to come; I could feel myself starting to come. Jed's fist was getting frantic and he was crushing himself into me. And then he gave a massive animal groan and I could feel the warm flow of the spunk being pumped from him. That was enough to set me off as well. It felt good, oh, so good as we came together, sharing release, two jets of spunk shooting together into a glorious sticky mess between us. With a groan that came from the bottom of his soul Jed squeezed the last few drops from inside us before collapsing on top of me, panting.

"That was...." I started once I had got my breath back.

"Shut it, tart," Jed snapped back. "You've had your fun. Now it's time to have a shower and get you dressed so you can fuck off. Come on."

He got up out of the bed and led me to his diminutive bathroom. Together we squeezed under the shower and he insisted on washing both of us. I was just to stand there and keep quiet, even if I did get hard again as he soaped my prick. It wasn't long before the hot water ran out so we finished up, turned off the taps and he passed me a towel. He grabbed his dressing gown from behind the door but, unlike last time, he didn't just disappear. Rather we both went back to his bedroom and he stayed and watched as I got dressed. He wasn't exactly smiling, that's not Jed's way, but there was a warmth behind his eyes. As I put my clothes back on I glanced around Jed's bedroom, the inner sanctum in the fortress. Mostly it was bare and plain, purely functional but, next to his bed, there was a postcard in a cheap frame. I picked it up and looked at it.

The postcard was pretty generic. It had 'Greetings from Lanzarote' across the four scenes that made up the card. I couldn't see anything particular about this card that could make it special but, as I was looking at it, a photo that had been tucked behind it fell out. I bent down to pick it up. It showed a young lad looking rather shyly towards the camera.

"Who's...?"

"Put that down you nosey little fucker! Why can't you leave things alone? Fuck you, fucking, fucking fuck you. Get the fuck out of here, now. Go on fuck off, fuck off before I make you."

I grabbed the rest of my clothes as Jed, as angry as I had ever seen him, bundled me out of the flat. Thank heavens I was decent but I still ended up putting my shoes and socks on while stood on the walkway outside his flat. I wondered who the lad in the photo was. One thing was for sure, Jed wasn't going to tell me.

That afternoon I actually got some time to do some coursework and even attended a couple of lectures. I got lots of 'hello stranger, where have you been?' from my mates and had to play the whole job thing to the maximum, especially when I had to explain that I wasn't going to be free that evening either. Leading this double life was getting harder and harder.

It was close on ten o'clock by the time I was dropped off at Mr Harper's hotel. With a feeling of 'here we go again' I got in the lift which whisked me up to the top floor. I found the door to his suite and knocked.

The door was answered by a small, nervous middle aged man who, when he saw who it was, peered out and glanced up and down the corridor

"Oh, hi, you must be.... er... I'm Paul, Paul... err... Paul Smith, why don't you come in? I don't... I don't normally do this kind of thing," he explained as he led me into the suite, "but Mr. Mason was kind enough to... well, anyway, here you are. Why don't you sit down. What about a drink? Would you like a drink?"

He was noticeably nervous as went to the minibar and poured himself a whiskey, quite a large one. As I wanted to keep a clear head, I just asked for an orange juice. He brought the drinks back and sat down opposite me. We stared at each other awkwardly. I glanced at the fourth finger of his right hand; sure enough there were the marks where his wedding ring would normally have been. It looked like "Mr Smith" had also suddenly become single. At least he had bothered to make the pretence; most couldn't care less.

"How... how does this normally work?" he asked.

"However you want it to but..." I was the one being paid to give this man a 'good time' so it was my responsibility to make the first move. I needed something to break the ice. I needed something to bridge the gap between us. Well, there was one obvious move.

"I'm just going to freshen up. Will you excuse me a moment...." I waved in the direction of the en-suite.

"Of course."

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