Pony Boy Ch. 04

This is the fourth chapter of 'Pony Boy' and, if you haven't read the rest, then please do so first. Quite a bit of the story refers back to events in the earlier parts and it won't make much sense if you read them out of order.

And, of course, there are the usual disclaimers; anyone involved in sexual acts is over eighteen and we're all fictional.

There's no pony play in this chapter but, if that's what you're after, then keep reading because there will be more in later chapters

Enjoy

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Still reeling from Mr. Jarman's sudden brutality I staggered to the sofa, sat down and tried to get my breath back. In a daze I picked up the money he had thrown on the table and counted it. Five twenties. One hundred quid. Was that the price for letting him violate me like that? I'd just received a stark lesson that, Mr. Mason's protection or not, these were violent vicious men I was dealing with. This walk on the wild side was not without its dangers. Mind you, that was what had lured me in to this in the first place. Up until this point my life had been safe, wrapped in cotton wool, and, ultimately, boring, boring to the point of stultifying. Whilst my mother would have been horrified to know what her little boy was doing and, to put it bluntly, I was hurting and more than a little scared, I couldn't deny the intensity of the experience.

"Are you all right, love?"

I looked up and there was one of the waitresses, looking down on me with concern written all over her face.

"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."

"If you say so, honey." She gave me a look of total disbelief. "The rest of the lads are in the kitchen getting dressed; why don't you join them?"

"Thanks, I think I will."

She gave me another long, long look and then turned back to stacking a tray with empty glasses.

As I waddled, rather gingerly, towards the kitchen I looked about me. The party was all but over. Most of the guests had gone. Here and there I would see the odd few sitting, chatting, but the champagne had been drunk, the coke had been snorted, and all that was left was the clearing up.

When I got to the kitchen I found six of the other ponies and, as the waitress had said, they were all dressed and ready to go.

"Hello, Ben's been well and truly rogered!" one of the lads called out. I just smiled, nodded, and went to look for my clothes. It didn't take long to put on my boxers, track suit and trainers. I slipped the hundred quid into my pocket and I was just checking that I did indeed have my house keys when Carl, whose pony name was Black Coffee, came over.

"Coming out for a fag? We're not allowed to smoke in the kitchen," he asked. I don't smoke but I followed him out anyway and stood with the mixture of waitresses and ponies as they puffed away on their cigarettes. Not surprisingly, the chat was all about the punters, their kinks and peccadillos. It would seem that most of the attendees at the party were regulars and, while both attendees and ponies had their favourites, it was pretty much pot luck which punter you ended up with. Of course, those punters who had made arrangements with Mr. Mason got to pick and choose. Otherwise it was first come first served.

It was also considered best to be one of the ponies that was taken on, after the party, the way I had been by Herr Schlitz. "That's when the real kinks come out," Carl explained. "And one thing's for sure, the kinkier the sex, the better the payment."

"What sort of kinks?" I asked but, right then, the back door opened and Mr. H popped his head out.

"Time to go lads. Come along now or you'll be walking home."

We trooped inside and, as we lined up for the minibus, Mr. H paid us off. I had picked up a little over three hundred for the races and two fifty from Mr. Jarman and his lads. My arse might be sore but my wallet was fat, even after Mr H had taken his twenty five percent.

When I finally got home it wasn't worth going to bed as I was due down at the gym for my Friday morning session. I was completely exhausted and wished I could go straight to bed, but Mr. H had told me that Mr. Mason would see me down there so it was obviously expected. I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a shower before getting in my car and driving down to the East End. Albert took one look at me and grinned.

"Tough night, last night? Come on son, let's work on some upper body strength. Strip off down to your shorts and get up on the multi-gym."

I did as I was told and Albert adjusted the weights and left me to it. Whether by accident or design the multi-gym I was working on was facing a mirror. This all but forced me to take a long hard look at myself.

Part of me knew I ought to be horrified at what I had got myself into. The very fact that I had to keep this a secret from my mates, let alone my parents, spoke volumes. What's more, part of me knew that I was being abused. I could still feel where Mr Jarman had been and the callous, almost off hand way he had tipped me over the arm of the sofa and fucked me up the arse was testament to how little he thought of me. But it wasn't just physical abuse. There were the roles I had to play. The more I camped it up the more they punters loved it. All night I had been playing the trollop, the simpering tart. They wanted a pony boy with the morals of an alley cat and that is what they got.

And that's where it all got complicated. I was playing a role, I was surely playing a role, but it was a role that I was increasingly comfortable with. The 'real' Ben, the Ben my friends and family knew, was quiet, withdrawn, a 'good' boy. Under the guise of playing the tart I could find another Ben, one that loved the spotlight, one that loved the attention, one that loved breaking all the rules. There was a buzz, an excitement, an exhilaration that thrilled me to the core. And it wasn't just being the centre of attention. I loved the feel of another man's prick, be it in my hand, in my mouth or in my arse; I loved knowing that it was me that was making them hard, it was me that was turning them on, it was me that was making them come. Mr Jarman's lads had been fighting for my favours and everyone wants to be wanted.

And, of course, the ever growing stack of cash behind the loose skirting board was yet another reason.

"Hello, Ben, how are you getting on?" I looked up from my ruminations to see Mr. Mason standing watching me.

"I'm fine, Mr. Mason. A little bit exhausted after last night."

"So you should be, from what I hear. Nice little dance routine you and Jed worked out. I've had quite a few asking about that. Now, I've got a job for you. Saturday, seven thirty, I'll send a car around to pick you up. Best bib and tucker, understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Mason, I'll be ready and waiting."

"See that you are," and, with that, he was off.

I actually managed to get to a few lectures that morning although I was so tired that I could barely concentrate. Come lunchtime I was piling into the canteen along with all the other students.

"Ben! Ben! Over here!"

I looked over and saw Andy calling me over to where he and the rest of the crowd were sitting together. I picked up my tray, went over and sat down with them.

"What are you doing Saturday?" Jason asked. "We're all up for trying that new club up town. It's supposed to be pretty good and Ryan has got a job working the door so we won't have any problems getting in."

"Err.... Saturday... sorry, no can do. I'm busy."

"Busy? You're hardly ever around nowadays. Have you got some bird you're not telling us about?"

"No, it's nothing like that. I've... I've got a job." I'd been ready for this question and slipped naturally into my cover story.

"A job? What sort of job?"

"It's a call centre. I'm filling in when people go sick or something so I have to work when they say. It's not much but I'll need the cash if I'm to go to Malaysia."

"Call centre, what sort of job is that?"

"One which will help pay for my holiday. I don't want to be the only one not going."

And with that the subject was closed. I did notice Jenny from the General Studies course give me a strange look but the others swallowed my well prepared story hook, line and sinker.

Come Saturday I spent quite a bit of time getting myself ready. I had spent a small fortune on hair removal products so, I locked myself in the bathroom, got them all out and set to work. Compared to shaving it was a peace of piss even if it did smell evil and I needed to take two showers before I had completely washed it all away. I even trimmed my pubes so that they were neat and tidy. The end result was quite impressive. I was as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom and, when I checked myself out in the full length mirror, it meant that, along with all the gym work, I was looking pretty good. Then it was out with my new clothes, the ones Mr. Mason had bought for me. I even took the time to run an iron over the trousers, sharpening up the creases.

At seven thirty I heard a car horn sound outside and I looked out of the window to see a mini-cab waiting, presumably for me. I went out and, sure enough, as soon as he saw me, the driver leaned across and opened the passenger door. I jumped in and we were off. The driver wasn't the chatty sort so we sat in silence as he whisked me through to the West End where he dropped me off in front of a smart hotel.

"Go in, sit at the bar and order a drink," the minicab driver ordered. "Don't blow it."

I got out and went into the hotel. The doorman gave me a long hard look but I acted like I owned the place and breezed on past. I went up to the bar and ordered an orange juice. Part of me wanted to put a dash of vodka in it but prudence told me that I really didn't want to get drunk. I was sitting there nursing it, trying to remain inconspicuous and wondering what the punter would be like when a slightly tubby middle aged man came over and sat next to me as if we were long lost friends.

"Ah, Ben, it is good to see you." His English, although very good, was accented. Somewhere mid European was my guess. I smiled back at him. This had to be the punter.

"What can I get you, Mr Novak?" the bartender came over immediately.

"I will have a Glenmorangie, and for my young friend here...."

"No, it's OK, I'm fine, thank you."

"And I think we will take our drinks over in that corner."

"Certainly, Mr Novak, I'll put these on your tab."

We picked up our drinks and I followed him over to a quiet little nook where we would not be disturbed. He sat down on a sofa and patted the seat to indicate that I should sit next to him.

"So, tonight, Ben, I think we shall be good friends," he said as he put his hand on my knee. "You would like that."

"Oh, yes, please, Mr Novak." I smiled at him and his hand moved higher. "I'd love to be friends with a big strong man like you."

I thought, for one moment, that I'd overdone it but, after a short pause, his hand slipped that last few inches and he was stroking my prick through my trousers. I glanced around me. We really were in a very private corner so I snuggled up a bit closer to him. After that it was just a matter of playing along, pretending that he was the most fascinating man I had ever met. He told me all about his wife, back in Prague and how she was the most beautiful woman in all Bohemia. He told me about his two children and how they were the best children ever. He took out his wallet and showed me photos and all I had to do was let him stroke my prick as I agreed that, yes, she was beautiful and, yes, his kids looked charming.

We finished our drinks and he took me on to a really posh restaurant. Here he was keen to show how sophisticated he was, discussing the wine list with the sommelier and, noticeably, ordering for both of us. I just kept fawning all over him, telling him how wonderful he was. Again, we were sat in a quiet corner and, when we got to the coffee and brandies, I moved my chair closer and snuggled up to him.

"You're a very sexy man. You've got me all hot and horny," I whispered in his ear.

"And you are very sexy as well. I think it is time we went back to the hotel."

So that's what we did. He called over the Maitre D', settled the bill and ordered a cab. Ten minutes later we were walking into the hotel and straight across to the lifts. I gave him a bit of a snog as we were whisked to the top floor and then he led me to his suite.

"I'll just go and freshen up," I said as I headed for the en-suite. I sat on the toilet and reached for the tube of lube I had stashed in my jacket pocket. Assuming he was going to fuck me then this would be my first time without my having been previously opened up and prelubricated by the pony tail up my arsehole. I squished as much of the lube as I could up inside me and, still with my trousers around my ankles, stood up so as to wash my hands. While I was doing so I spotted the complimentary dressing gowns hanging on the back of the door. That would do nicely. I stripped off, folded my clothes neatly, and put on one of the dressing gowns. Ready or not, Mr Novak, here I come.

When I emerged he was waiting for me in the lounge area of the suite. He looked me up and down but there was no smile on his face, nor in his eyes.

"Why are you dressed like this?" he snarled.

"I thought... I thought...."

"I do not care what you thought. Why should I? You are scum, you are dirt, you are filth. Look at you, you are not a real man! You are weak, pathetic, like a woman, like a little girl and you dare to think that I would have any use for you. Get that robe off and get on the floor like the worm you are!"

I just stood there, amazed at this turn of events. All through the meal he had been so nice, so friendly and now....

"Do as I say!" He lashed out and slapped me across the face. The sheer shock of this knocked me sideways and I stumbled and fell to my knees.

I looked up at him, at the expression on his face. This was no joke and, in so many ways, I was out of options. I scrabbled out of the dressing gown and lay flat on the floor.

"Look at you. Not a hair on your body, just like a girl. Are you a girl?"

"No, Mr Novak."

"No, you're a filthy homosexual with dirty disgusting habits You think every other man is like you. You think that I am like you. You think that I am homosexual scum just the same as you? Don't you?"

"No, I did think that but I was wrong. I'm sorry, Mr Novak"

"I am not a disgusting pervert, not like you. I am a real man and, like any real man, I know how to deal with your sort, I know what you need, what you deserve. Stay there!"

He went to the bedroom area of the suite, opened the wardrobe and took out a leather holdall which he brought over and put down next to me. The next thing I know he's knelt down beside me, pulled my arms behind my back and cuffed my wrists together. I couldn't see exactly what he used but, by the feel and sound of them they were probably police style handcuffs. Now that my arms were immobilised he attached a thick leather collar around my neck, buckling it quite tightly. It must have had a leash attached because he stood up and I felt the tug on the collar pulling me up as well.

"On your knees, filth!"

I struggled to obey.

"There is only one answer for your sort; you need to be cleansed, don't you? You need the filth beating out of you. Go on, beg, beg me to cleanse you."

Now we had got to the nub. Now I knew what he wanted. I was really going to earn my money on this one. Still, my job was to keep the punter happy so I had no option but to play along.

"Please, Mr Novak, please, I need the filth beating out of me. Please cleanse me, please make me pure." I wasn't sure what all this talk of cleansing was about but it made sense to use the same words as he had done.

Keeping me on my knees he half dragged, half guided me across the room and towards the bedroom area. Once we got there he placed some pillows along the edge of the bed and I had to lean over them so that my backside was uppermost. He put his knee between my legs and pushed them apart and told me to stay like that. It was only a couple of moments until I had no choice. I felt him fastening cuffs around my ankles, cuffs that were attached to some sort of bar, keeping my legs far apart. Then he reached between my thighs, grasping my prick. He squeezed it rhythmically and, naturally, it responded

"You're filth. What are you?"

"I'm filth, Mr Novak, filth."

"Yes, indeed, your filth, dirt, homosexual scum. You must be cleansed. Is that not so?"

"Yes Mr Novak, I'm filth, I'm dirt, I am homosexual scum that must be cleansed." This was, indeed, what he wanted to hear because his hand worked away between my legs and I was getting harder and harder.

Once he had got me good and worked up he let go, and there was a moment before....

"Jesus! Fuck!" I screamed out. Whatever he had used, I guessed some sort of cane, had left a searing line of fire across my buttocks.

"Silence! Take your cleansing like a man, not like a weak and feeble little girl!"

"I'm sorry, Mr Novak, I'll try."

But, hard as I tried, I couldn't suppress another cry as, for the second time, the cane slashed down.

"If you cannot keep quiet then I shall have to silence you. Stand up."

I slid backwards off the pillows and stood up. In the meanwhile he had gone back to the leather bag and, this time, he brought out a ball gag. I knew better than to resist so I opened wide, and then a little wider, as he filled my mouth with the rubber ball. A strap around my head held it in place and then, once again, I was back over the pile of pillows.

He stood at my left side, his left hand holding my wrists, his right holding the cane. Slowly, steadily, methodically, he laid into me. No part of me between my knees and waist was spared. I have no idea how many strokes he gave me; I soon lost count and they all started to blur into one. I was kicking and screaming but his hand on my wrists held me down, the bar between my ankles stopped me kicking and the ball gag muffled my screams to practically nothing.

It just seemed to go on and on and on until, at last, it stopped. I just lay there sobbing as the fire in my thighs and arse seared.

But that was far from all of it. I heard him undoing his trousers, opening the condom packet and then I felt him come up behind me. I could feel his prick pushing against my arsehole and I was glad that I had lubed up earlier. With a series of grunts he pushed himself into me, making me wince as he abused my battered flesh.

"I am not a homosexual," he said quite calmly as he buried himself to the hilt in my arse. "I am not scum like you. I am a real man. Do you understand?"

Of course, with me gagged, the question was rhetorical.

"I despise weak, girly boys like you," he continued as he worked himself back and forth inside me. "You are not fit to be called a man. You are a pervert, a disgusting pervert, worse even than the animals. You're weak, immoral, depraved. You need a real man, a real strong man, a big man, a true man, to show you just how degenerate you are.

"You've no morals, no will power, you cannot control those disgusting, perverted, dirty, dirty thoughts. You're so weak you have to act on them. You lack self discipline and that's why I have to beat it into to you, stroke by stroke by stroke!"

This litany of abuse seemed to be driving him on and I could tell his climax was approaching. He was certainly driving himself into me like a man possessed.

"I'm not like you, I'm not, I'm not. I'm a real man, a strong man, a clean man. I! Am! Not! A! Homosexual!" he cried out as he buried himself inside me and, with a massive shudder, he came.

Exhausted, he collapsed on top of me, muttering 'I'm not... I'm not...' and, for a few moments, we lay there. Then he seemed to pull himself together and stood up and pulled himself out of me. I felt him undoing the cuffs around my ankles and the handcuffs around my wrists and I was free. I slid back off the pillows and got to my feet but, before I could turn around he put his hands on my shoulders.