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Once A Pony
Once A Pony
Published by Gloryboy
10-23-2009
Default Once A Pony

ONCE A PONY
By Gloryboy


I'm not really writing this. I'm only thinking it. I'll never write or read anything again or even speak. It's amazing how clear and accurate my memory has become since all I have is my memory, devoid of being able to write things down or having any human means of communication. I chose this destiny for myself. But once chosen, it took on a life all its own, totally beyond my control. I chose to become a slave, a pony boy. But now I'm not so sure that it's what I want. Sometimes, I'm sure it's not. What I want doesn't matter anymore. I'm a pony boy now and always.


It's a small community up in the mountains. The law there is sparse and it doesn't matter anyway because they elect their law from among themselves. Among the people in charge of this small community, there are plenty of very affluent people who have made sure that even the wildlife management people assigned to the area share their interests. When I signed on for this, I didn't fully understand that there was no going back. I know now. Too bad it doesn't do me any good now.


When I arrived, I was asked several questions mostly designed to ascertain that I had told no one where I was going and that I couldn't be traced beyond the city my flight arrived in (having been picked up at the airport by people who worked here). One tends to be very secretive about these sorts of interests. I had intended to spend the summer here. I was told they could end it at any time if they found me unsatisfactory. The woman in charge, the forewoman as they called her, who had not mentioned her name, told me I could call this off at any time by saying a safe word she would give me. The word was "pony boy." All the pony boys had the same safe word, she said. It was an in-joke. It was a word a pony boy was never allowed to say.


Once they were certain that nobody knew where I was, I was taken out to the large stable where the pony boys were kept. In the yard, the stable girls hosed me down and then shaved my chest, stomach, legs, pubes and balls. My body from the neck down was clean shaven as was my face. Then they pierced the skin of each of my balls at the back of them. My arms were restrained during this incredibly painful process. I was in too much pain to yell any safe words. A strange-looking "yoke" was then run through the two thick folds of pierced skin and locked snugly around my balls. It brought my balls up into a neatly bound package. It was not tight or painful. It would not prevent me from walking. It was just snug. Then my cock was pierced at several strategic points and rings were inserted through the piercings. A plastic penis shaped device was placed over my penis. The device had sets of holes in it that allowed the rings to be put through them and snapped closed. The plastic sheathe was thereby sealed over my cock. It had rough studs on the inside. There was no way I could rub my cock against anything in an attempt to masturbate. It would be agonizingly painful. A metal bar extended back from the yoke, connected to it, going under my crotch. In back, a handlebar shaped piece of metal extended across the bar. Manacles were welded to the handlebars. My hands were then locked into the manacles. I stood naked and humiliated. The leader or forewoman (I later picked up the information that her name was Jamie from hearing her talk to others) was fitting a strange piece of metal into a pair of pincers. She walked over to me and said, "Open wide, horsy."
She was holding the pincers in front of my mouth, so it wasn't difficult to guess her intent. I hadn't been able to ask many questions. There were two I just had to ask.
"How long will this be in?" I said. "How will I say the safe word with-"
I had intended to say, "-that in." But I never got the chance. Jamie slapped me across the face- hard! As I stood, stunned emotionally and psychologically, one of the stable girls grabbed my hair and held me in place. Another squeezed my nostrils closed with one hand and squeezed my jaw with the other. When I finally opened my mouth to gasp for air, my jaw was forced wide open. Jamie fitted the metal clamp around my tongue and moved the pincers across my tongue, squeezing the clamp tightly into place. It was painfully tight. Panicking, I tried to say, "Pony boy!" But all I could manage was "Uuggg-fff-ooohhh!" Speaking was impossible with this clamp on my tongue. None of them was listening, anyway. Jamie then proceeded to pierce the skin in the middle of my nostrils. She inserted a heavy ring. Then she attached a chain and leash. Pulling me by the nose, she began leading me to the stable. I was slightly crouched because the bar bound to my hands and to the yoke was pulling my balls down and between the cheeks of my ass. My arms, manacled behind my back, were useless. I realized that I was meant to be mute like a dumb animal while I was here. But how long would I be here and how could I call it off without being able to speak?


I was led into a stall in the stable past rows of restrained pony boys. I was taken into a stall. My ankles were manacled to the floor at either side of the stall, spreading my legs wide. A wide leather belt hung from the ceiling by a rope. Jamie strapped it around me. It covered most of my waist. There was a small wooden platform protruding from the stall door near the top. Hinges held it at the bottom and it hung on two chains. There was a small snap-hook in the middle of it. Jamie unhooked the leash from my nose and bent my head down to the platform. She snapped the hook through my nose ring. I had enough leverage to place my forehead on the platform but not enough to turn my head and rest either side of my head on it. Without another word, Jamie climbed over the door and left.


There I was, legs spread wide, leaning forward at the waist, yoked and hands manacled behind me, nose locked in place, naked, shaved and effectively gagged, in a stall in a stable. I was a pony boy, dreams fulfilled- and I was scared shitless!


Later, I was to find out that I had made an unintentional joke. I was many things now, but "shitless" sure wasn't one of them. That first night, I hadn't quite grasped the situation. As time wore on, I kept expecting they'd free me soon. It crossed my mind that this was just a big joke, an initiation. But it started getting dark soon. It stayed dark for a long time. I realized that, by taking the weight off my legs, the belt took my weight. At night, it was starting to get a little chilly in here. I was cold. The stench in here was incredible. There were mosquitoes buzzing about, landing and biting me. I shook and moaned but they just landed and stuck me, gorging on the miniscule amounts of blood they could take. I was soon a mass of insect bites. I needed to piss. I realized that the only way to do it was right here. Later, I had to take a shit and again had to do it right there in the stall. Of course, these activities only attracted more insects. The absolute worst part was that I couldn't sleep in this strange position that I wasn’t used to. They couldn't seriously expect me to spend my nights like this for any length of time. This had to be just the "boot camp."


Somehow, I managed to fall asleep for a few minutes here and there. I had no way of telling time, but it was early summer. So when it started getting light out, I knew it was around five in the morning. Stable-hands were working their way through the stable. I heard one walk to my stall and stop in front of it. Two hands reached around my head and disconnected me from the hook holding my nose. The door opened. I still hung, head lowered. A blue-jeans-clad figure with a shapely butt entered the stall. She unhooked my ankles from their manacles. Then she gave me a hard shot across the ass with a riding crop. "Stand up," she ordered.


As I stood, she connected a lead rope to my nose ring and led me out of the stable. My eyes were riveted to her ass as she walked. She looked back and saw where my eyes were. She smiled but not really at me. Her attitude was that I was a lowly animal, not worthy of communicating with, not even silently. She just wanted to affirm that I was aroused.


She looked to be just over eighteen or nineteen years old, a little younger than I was. Somehow, being controlled like this by a woman close to my age, even younger, was more humiliating than being controlled by a woman who was considerably older than me.
She led me to a water trough and waited. When I just stood there, she said, “Well, drink, you stupid beast.”
I bent and drank water, suckling it up. Then she took a feedbag filled with some sort of cereal and I had to kneel and eat. She put her boot on the back of my head and pushed my face into the food.
“No holding back,” she laughed. “Eat like the animal you are.”
That was close to the truth. I was really hungry and ate quickly. Then she allowed me some more water.



Once I was out in the yard, a woman walked up and attached a painful clamp to each of my nipples. I cried out at this because they bit deeply into my nipples. Tears ran down my face and I whimpered through my clamped tongue, begging her to remove the clamps. But I was ignored. Neither my pain nor my moaning was of any relevance. There was a chain running between the nipple-clamps. A horseshoe (talk about adding insult to agony) hung from the chain, stretching my nipples. I stood sobbing in pain. Then I was dragged over to the side of the ranch-house. A woman stood there with an electric razor. She blitzed my long hair, shaving all of it except for a long narrow strip that started at the top center of my head and ran back from there. This would be my mane. A bridal and harness were placed over my head. The bridal contained a cruel star-shaped bit that fit over my tongue adding even more to the excruciating agony my tongue was already in. Reins were attached to the harness. A groom, a gorgeous blond young woman, began rubbing oil all over my body until it glistened with an oily sheen that accentuated my muscles. I was left standing there until a woman walked up to me. She was also blond, probably in her mid-thirties and average-looking. She was carrying a series of small black pouches. She quickly fitted one over my balls. The rim was elastic and snugly hugged my balls. A long tube ran from the pouch and there was a bulb at the other end of the tube. The woman gave one squeeze to the tube and the pouch tightened around my balls. She strung the tube through my crotch and behind me. Another groom ran a ring through the plastic tube over my cock then she took a very light cowbell and hooked it to the ring. She also pierced my navel. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a young girl of eighteen walked up to me wearing only cutoff jeans and a tight halter top, accentuating her very mature figure and ample breasts. She smiled at the other woman.
"If you'd be so kind, Paula?" she said.
"Of course,” Paula said.


She pulled on my nose-ring, bending me over. Then she grabbed my ass and spread my cheeks. The girl then started working the thick object she had been carrying into my ass. It was a dildo. She pushed it ever deeper into my ass until it finally penetrated my rectum, the wide head popping into my anal splinter. Horse hairs had been connected to the other end of the dildo, the end that was sticking out of my ass. I had been given a horse tail. My cock was erect because of this intrusion. It was a painful erection pressed against the studs in the plastic sheathe. It was trying to lift up in spite of the bell and ringing it in the process. I had also needed to take a shit really bad after eating that meal, but had hoped to have a minute alone to do it. Now, with this thing in me, I couldn't. Worse yet, it was painfully pushing in my stool. Still worse, the dildo was hollow in the center. She slowly inserted a plastic tube through the dildo and I flinched forward when I felt it pass my splinter.


I was led over to a wagon that I would be pulling that day. There were pony boys being connected to carts, buggies, wagons, plows, etc. There were four of us lined up side by side in front of a large hay wagon. Two poles extended out to either side of us. A crosspiece ran between them. We were placed with our asses a few inches in front of the crosspiece. Four chains were looped around the crosspiece. Then the other ends were wrapped around the bar running between our legs and padlocked into place. Clearly, we had to grab the crosspiece with our manacled hands and pull, otherwise the chain would yank our balls. Somehow, I didn’t think our balls and scrotums could survive pulling the weight of that wagon. If our arms cramped up or our hands got too numb to hold on, we'd be in serious trouble. The reins and the tubes leading from the pouches were handed back to the wagon-driver, a young attractive woman in her early twenties. The plastic tubes running from the dildos were also handed back to her. She inserted them into a canister. When the path was clear of other horses, a groom said, "Okay, Laura. You're clear. Make these dumb animals work for their oats."
"Giddyup, horses!" she yelled.
We started to pull the wagon.
"I said, 'Giddyup,' and I meant with all you've got!" she said.
There was a pump handle on top of the canister. She pushed down on it once. Something shot down the plastic tube and straight into my bowels. My bowels felt like they were going to explode but couldn't past the dildo. My guts were on fire. My eyes snapped wide open and, along with my fellow horses, I leapt forward.
"Unless you want to feel that again, you'd better run as fast as you can, you sorry nags," the woman yelled.
I ran as fast as I could. She didn't bother with the reins very much. She just held all four of the tubes running from our balls. She would guide us by yanking left or right on our balls.



When she wanted us to speed up, she would whip our backs and asses with her whip. They were a crisscrossed patch of red stripes before long. When she really wanted to motivate us, she'd give us a slight dose from the canister. I later found out from overhearing them talk that it was hot sauce. No wonder it gave agony a new meaning. When she wanted us to turn, she'd use the reins. When she wanted us to turn sharply and quickly, she'd use the tubes connected to the pouches, yanking left or right. She'd use the reins to slow us down. When she wanted us to stop, she'd squeeze the bulb several times. The pouches would tighten around our nuts so tight that we couldn't walk anymore.


She ran us out to the haying field. We didn't have it too bad at first. We stopped frequently so that the male slaves who were field hands could load the wagon with the stacks of hay that the bailer had left strewn in the field. But the wagon kept getting heavier and heavier. We were digging our booted feet into the ground, pulling it, our arms straining. The ground was soft and it was a major effort to pull the wagon. One more shot up the asses and we screamed, more a whinny of equine agony, and redoubled our efforts that we thought were at their maximum. All this time, mosquitoes were biting us, particularly our unprotected flanks. But we were helpless to do anything and even attempting to take the time to do anything about it was met with a whip. But we finally dragged our heavy-laden wagon clear of the field, through the back yard and into the gravel driveway.


Even though we were wearing boots shaped like horse’s hooves, we still stumbled over some of the rocks in the driveway. We staggered and whimpered in pain from the weight but were told to run without breaking pace. We were run past the ranch-house and forced to turn right onto a dirt and gravel road. It wasn't a hundred yards before we reached a steep hill that we had to go up. Two of the grooms who accompanied the driver (adding even more weight to the wagon) jumped down and started whipping our backs. They grabbed our harnesses and pulled the bits down even harder into our mouths while pulling us forward. They squeezed and twisted our nipples, using the clamps, then ordered us to speed up or they'd do it again. Crying and gasping, we dug our feet into the ground and strained with all our strength to haul the wagon fast enough to please our mistresses. We made it. It took the inspiration of ass-whipping, nipple-squeezing and some squeezing of our balls but we made it.


There were some cabins on this road, obviously inhabited by the women who ran this place. More than a few came out to watch us run by. Sometimes it was a single woman. More often, it was two women or more. They ranged all over the place in age. Some were either topless or wearing very skimpy tops. A few made their enjoyment of teasing and tormenting us even more obvious by pulling up their tops, if they were wearing any, as we passed. It's difficult to believe that we could have any capacity for sexual arousal amidst all this torment. Perhaps most men couldn't. But we were drawn here to begin with because we found the idea of such treatment arousing- to a point. The fact that this point had long been reached and passed didn't prevent us from feeling a tortured desire. The humiliating and helpless situation we were in enhanced it in some ways.


Finally, after a run of what must have been a good five miles, we reached a small village. There was a creek crossing the road and we literally whinnied in shock as our bodies struck the cold water. Oh, how we longed to kneel and dip our dry, aching throats into that cool water, to ease the pain in our tortured, swollen tongues. Just to feel the water soothing away the heat from our sweltering, sweat-drenched bodies would have been a mercy beyond description. When Laura reined us in once we crossed the river, my hopes flared. She and the other two got out and filled their canteens. They splashed the cold water on their faces. Laura and the two grooms peeled off their shirts and drenched themselves. Walking up in front of us, their bodies glistening with water as ours were glistening with hot, steamy oil, they all drank their fill of the cool, refreshing water. Then Laura said, "Well, that's enough for me. We can get more on the way back."
She then turned her canteen upsidedown and let the water run out into the dirt right in front of us. The grooms did the same. One of the girls added an extra touch. She ran the water over her breasts and then jiggled them in front of our faces before laung and walking back to the wagon, having tortured us with two overwhelming desires at the same time. I couldn't even moan. I just hung my head. I was a broken horse. I was desperately thirsty beyond any thirst I'd ever known before. My cock was hard and the bell hanging from it was jingling. I was desperate with desires. But I was beaten. I knew I would just do what they told me without resistance. I was a tame horse, spirit broken. Of course, that didn't mean they were done with me. I think it was at that moment that I truly realized the situation: the safe word was useless. This clamp would always be on my tongue. They were never going to let me go.


Fortunately, while they were merciless, they were also realistic. They knew when we were on the verge of physical collapse. They ran us to a farm supply business in the village. We were reined in and the hay was loaded onto waiting trucks for a trip far away. We were only there for ten minutes, so we weren't released from the wagon, but we were led over to a water trough. It was dirty and there were dead bugs floating in it. We drank without hesitation. The grooms pulled our heads up and pulled us away long before our thirsts were satisfied. They knew we would get sick if we drank too much and they intended to run us hard regardless.


We were then reined around and forced to begin trotting back to the stable five miles away. We passed many other teams of pony boys still headed to the village. Our burden was far lighter on the way back, of course, but that only meant that we were expected to run extremely fast. What we were expected to do, we did! We had no choice. The trip to the village had taken about three hours judging by the sun and the trip back under two.



Counting preparations in the morning, this would put it about an hour before noon although it was difficult to be sure. We were reined in at the stable and allowed to drink from the water trough. The driver and her two assistants left to get lunch. Three other women immediately took their places. They checked our boots, taking them off and shaking out any pebbles that might have gotten in. It was a short relief as they put them right back onto us. The lead woman, probably in her forties, said, "These horses are well-lathered. There's nothing that turns me on more than a sweaty, frustrated stallion."

If we thought that implied any relief for us, we were sadly mistaken. The woman turned and deeply french-kissed one of the other women. We couldn't help but moan and try to thrust at the air, a difficult task "yoked" and "pouched" as we were. The woman then added her special addition. She removed the bells and then hooked our plastic sheathes to our navel rings so our cocks were sticking straight up. Then they all climbed aboard the wagon and the woman ran us to the haying field again.


I felt terror and disbelief. They couldn't seriously expect us to make that run again on the same day. They just couldn't! It would be- what? Impossible? No! I realized the reality of the situation. It wasn't literally impossible. We would be in agony worse than anything we'd ever experienced, but it wasn't physically impossible. They enjoyed our agony. We were beasts of burden, nothing more. If there was any possibility of doing it, how much effort and pain it caused was irrelevant! We did it again. I don't know how. Yes, I do. We did it because there was simply no choice. This time, I even managed to occasionally lapse into what I call 'horse-think.' This is rather contradictory because it mostly amounts to not thinking at all. It's not daydreaming. It's not remembering who you used to be. That life is gone even if it was only yesterday. 'Horse-think' means having no existence except what you are physically doing right at the moment. If you are running, you are thinking only of that. If you are standing and breathing, that's all you are thinking of. You don't daydream anymore. You don't remember. You don't think. You don't really listen to the superior mistresses when they speak to each other. They are your owners, superior females. You are only a male, a horse. They own you. Their human female words are an unintelligible jumble to your animal male mind. You obey them through the signals designed to penetrate your stupid, male brain. Hot sauce, reins, pouches squeezing your balls, and whips, among other things are the only "words" you understand. Of course, I can only maintain this 'horse-think' for brief periods. But it steadily gets longer. I suspect some of my fellow ponies aren't mentally human anymore. I can't ever know for sure, of course. I won't even know when I've finally crossed over. By definition, once I do, I'll never think about it.


On the run to the village, once we were on the straightaway, I heard gasping and moaning sounds from behind us. I couldn't turn to look but I strongly suspected that the lead woman and one of her assistants were making out and 69ing in the back of the wagon, leaving one assistant to drive the wagon. My cock got hard as a rock and my balls ached even worse hearing loud moans of female arousal and pleasure and knowing they were enjoying the sexual pleasures I so desperately wanted.


When we crossed the river, we were reined in. All three of our owners shed their clothes and dove into the river for a moment. Then they walked toward us, the lead woman with a tanned, curvaceous figure and large jiggling breasts. She sensuously combed her hair back. We pony boys were literally prancing in place and chomping at our own painful bits in frustration.


Months went by like this. One day, an attractive blond woman who looked to be in her early forties walked up to me with two other women. One of the women looked to be in her early twenties and the other around eighteen or nineteen. The other two were obviously related to this woman, probably her daughters. A stable girl accompanied them. There was an exchange of money and then I was connected to a carriage and the older woman who I later heard was named Beverly took the reins.


Beverly was unlike most of the younger women. Most of them behaved as if I really was a man forced to live as a horse. They treated me more cruelly than they would ever treat a real horse, enjoying my agony. But Beverly treated me exactly as she might treat a real horse. I am not sure which was more degrading.


We reached their home and they looked me over. The older daughter, I later heard her called Tina, said, “He’s muscular but not as solid as some of them. But he eventually will be.”
“That’s why he’s cheap,” Beverly said. “We have to work him into his full potential.”
The other girl, I later learned her name was Michelle, said, “His cock is nice and hard. He must be so frustrated.”
She said it in a way that made it clear she immensely enjoyed the fact.
“Yes,” Beverly said. “It is hard but it doesn’t yet have that ‘slab of iron’ look. But it will after months and years of denial.”
She said it as if she were merely explaining the training of an animal.
I was then put into a stall for the night.

All this talk about never getting sexual relief again had me terrified. In the stall, I did everything I could do to get relief, even knowing it was hopeless. I tried to tighten the muscles in my cock to make myself ejaculate. I could not reach anything to rub against and I already knew that would not work. The covering made the slightest touch to my cock agony. My balls ached with need. They were on fire as was my crotch. Bent forward in the stall, I groaned helplessly as sweat ran from my body from my useless attempts to get relief. Then something happened that had never happened before.

Tina, blond like her mother, walked in and opened the stall door. I hung from the harness. She connected a dildo into the device that was holding my mouth open and gagging me. Then she grabbed the sides of my head harness and drove the dildo into her pussy. My moans of frustration were like whinnies. She road my face until she was fully satisfied, lying back on a stool and using me. Her smell and her cries of pleasure drove me . She slid off the dildo when she was fully satisfied. I hung from the harness. My legs were too shaky to support me. Then, leaving the dildo in my mouth, she turned and walked out as I stared at her shapely ass, aching with desperate desires.


A while later, Michelle walked in. She giggled at the sight of the dildo still in my mouth.
“Mom would be mad,” she laughed. “She doesn’t like it when people don’t put their equipment away.”


Then she removed the dildo.


She stepped where I could not see her. Almost an hour went by. I was far too aroused to sleep. But I began to wonder if there was another exit. It bothered me to think she was standing there watching me and I could not see her. Just when I thought she was gone, she moved slightly and I knew she was still there. I kept shifting nervously at her unseen presence. I was drenched in dried sweat and, with the tongue restraints preventing my mouth from closing, it was hard to swallow. As usual, my mouth hung open and saliva ran from it to the ground in long rivulets. The bugs were biting and I still winced with every bite. My balls hung so heavy, so overloaded and hurting so bad. I felt it in my bowels. My head ached. Waves of desire washed over my entire body.


I heard a sound and realized the girl had been sitting on the partition between stalls, positioned where I could not see her. Then she jumped down and squatted looking under my belly. I nervously whinnied, sounding just like a skiddish horse.


“You’re so tense,” she purred.


She began massaging my shoulders and working her way down.


“You’re a good horse,” she said. “You ran well today. You obey well.”


She continued massaging me and it was working. I was relaxing. There were emotions starting to flood out because of the physical contact with an attractive young woman. She was showing affection. I burst into tears.


“You’re a good horse,” she purred.


I whinnied in pleasure, trying to express my gratitude. This was the closest to human contact I had experienced since this started. Then I felt her fingers lightly play over the plastic tube on my cock. She was removing the tube from my cock. Might she actually masturbate her loyal slave boy? I had given up on ever feeling such relief again. Ever so lightly, she started tracing her fingers around my balls. I groaned and twisted in my restraints. I gasped at the feelings of desire beyond any desires I had ever felt. It felt like my balls were double their normal size with the months of semen, huge and with the skin stretched tight. Waves of desire slammed through me. My stomach muscles tightened. My legs turned to rubber and I just hung there, helpless in her teasing hands. I cried again, but now it was in frustration. I wasn’t sure how to react to this. Had she relaxed me only as a setup to make things worse than ever? Was this intended as torture or pleasure or both? There were no answers. She stopped and just squatted, looking at me. I twisted in pain as my cock hardened. It was dripping pre-cum. I was thrusting at the air as she smiled and just watched. Finally, I slumped in exhaustion. As soon as I did, she started touch teasing my cock. I gasped and groaned, spit running from my mouth, as she lightly stroked my cock and massaged my aching balls. Then she stopped again for several minutes.


I cried again, making thrusting motions, writhing and going crazy. When she stopped, I wanted her to continue. It did not matter that it resulted in my balls hurting so much I cried because of what she was doing. It was worse when she stopped. Without her, I could only thrust at the air. At least she was giving me some pleasure mixed with my agony, even if it resulted in painful blue balls afterwards.


She started a third touch-tease. I was totally losing it, struggling with all my strength to get free of my restraints. She smiled and waited until I was exhausted again. Then she covered her hands with lotion. I whinnied and pumped madly at the air.


“This will feel soooo good on your cock,” she smirked.


One oiled hand caressed my sore balls and the other lightly caressed my throbbing cock. I let out a moan like a ghost wailing in pain. My eyes rolled into my head like a stallion in heat and then I realized her hands was gone. I felt a stinging slap on the balls. Pain took on a whole new meaning. As bloated as my balls were, that tap was like a full force kick. I gurgled and choked in agony.


“I can give you ultimate pleasure or ultimate pain and which is entirely up to me,” she said.


She waited a few minutes for the pain to subside and then started caressing my sacs again. I tried and tried to maintain control but then a cry of anguish ripped from my mouth and I whinnied over and over, begging like a mare to be fucked except I was the stallion begging the woman to give me relief. She just set back and watched, smiling. Again she waited until I collapsed and started again. My cock was a frightening shade of purple. My balls were raw, red and very tight. She gave me a look I will never forget, a look that said, ‘I can do anything I want with you. I have absolute power over you and will enjoy your agony or be nice to you as I wish to.’


Michelle took me right to the edge so many times I was a quivering mass of jelly. I was so horny I couldn’t even see straight let alone think straight. She laughed as my eyes crossed and drool ran from my mouth.


“Poor baby,” she laughed. “I’ve got you absolutely cross-eyed with over-arousal.”


Then she rose and reattached the tube. She patted my rump and said, “Well, nighty-night, sweetcheeks. Sleep well.”


I was still thrusting at the air and whimpering wildly as she grinned at me and walked out. I don’t think I slept for five minutes the entire night.


The next morning, Tina walked in and led me from the stall. Noting my cock still attempting to harden and my shaky condition, she said, “Looks like your horsy cock is starting to take on that ‘slab of iron’ look after all.”


She led me into the yard with a leash connected to my nose ring. I was limping with blue balls. I was so tired I wanted to fall asleep right there. The snapping of the leash across my ass brought my head up.


“Lift your knees and walk like a good horse. Don’t drag your hooves.”


I did my best to step high as I walked. Tina led me to the yard where Michelle waited. She looked at my purple cock trying to get erect in the tube and at my bloated red balls. She grinned with satisfaction at the effect she’d had on me.


“Pleasant dreams, sweetcheeks?” she mocked.


I whinnied in frustration.


“Okay, enough fun and games,” Tina said. “Mom wants him ready to trot to town.”


“Well, then, let’s get him shaved, washed and ready to go,” Michelle said.


She took the leash connected to my nose ring.


“Come on, smelly boy,” she teased. “Let’s go get you all nice and groomed.”


They quickly completed the job and were just hitching me to a buckboard when Beverly walked out of the house. She climbed into the buckboard as Michelle walked up to me.



She cupped my aching balls, leaned close and whispered, “Think about me while you run, horsy.”


As Michelle stepped back, Beverly snapped the reins and said, “Giddyup.”


I was running on shaky legs.


It was the most agonizing run of my life. My cock was trying to stand straight up in the cage and was throbbing, making me scream as best I could and twist around in pain. My balls ached with an unbelievable case of blue balls. Every step yanked on my balls. Normally, it would not have been enough to hurt but, in this condition, it hurt tremendously. I was already limping with the painful arousal in my balls. My legs were shaking and I felt nauseous with frustration. But every time I tried to slow down, I felt the whip raise a new welt or a bleeding cut across my ass or the reins snap and dig the cruel bit into my swollen, tender tongue. Yet, she never tortured me just for the sake of torturing me. It was always for a purpose. I was truly just a beast of burden to her.


I was a sorry animal by the time we reached the town and she reined me in at the pony boy stables. Beverly did not tie the reins to a hitching post as others had always done before. She merely draped them over the post. I knew this was her way of saying that I was well-trained enough that I would stand there and the reins would still be in place when she returned. She left me standing there for probably over an hour while she went into the main offices connected to the stables. When she came out, she smiled, rubbed and massaged my neck and whispered, “Good boy.” I knew she was referring to the fact that the reins were still in place. She walked me over to a watering trough. She only pulled my head up when I lost control and tried to drink too much too fast. It would have made me sick. She took some grainy food and held her hand to my mouth. I ate out of her hand. She then stroked my mane and whispered, “Just a little water now, boy.” I drank slowly and stopped when she tugged up lightly on the reins. I badly wanted more but it would have made it worse for me when I had to run again.


She rubbed my neck again.


“Oh, good boy,” she said. “My horse is a fast learner. That’s good.”


Tears ran from my eyes and I pressed my head to her shoulder. To my surprise, she allowed it and kept rubbing my neck. But I realized that this, except for the crying, was horse behavior.


“Okay, good boy,” she whispered. “We need to get going now.”


Then she took the reins and led me. She walked us to a store and then she went in and bought groceries. After that, she walked me to the edge of town. My eyes kept dropping to her ass and to the shape of her waist and her hips. She was probably twenty-five years older than me or more but she was still shapely and seemed more so after all this sexual denial. Also, she was nice to me when I obeyed and pleased her. She was strict and she would not hesitate to do whatever needed to be done to train me and I would be punished severely if I disobeyed. But she was truly treating me as a horse, her horse. This was different than almost everyone else. She was officially my owner and I realized that, in my mind and emotions, she was becoming my owner. On the way home, I started running all-out. She reined me back.


“Don’t exhaust yourself,” she said. “We have a five mile trip ahead.”


I had never before been reined back for running too fast. Then she cracked the riding crop across my ass for going too slow. She reined me in and walked around in front. She spoke to me in a way that showed she understood I was capable of comprehending words.


“Quit trying to think. Quit trying to make choices. Just obey the reins. I own you. Just accept it. Give in and trust me.”


I nodded my head ‘yes’. She patted my stomach and said, “Good horse.”


The rest of the trip included the snapping of the reins telling me to speed up and pulling back on them for me to slow down. She did not use the whip again.


When we got back to the house, Michelle was waiting.


“We now own a horse,” Beverly told her daughter. “I found his training to date and his obedience acceptable for that amount of training so I went ahead and made the last payment. I think his name will be ‘Dancing Sacs’. Nobody else is using that name for a pony boy right now and I like that name.”


“Aw,” Michelle laughed, “I was going to call him ‘Aching Nuts.’ I can make that name very appropriate. But ‘Dancing Sacs’ is appropriate too.”


“No, no,” Beverly smiled. “By all means, I like that name. ‘Aching Nuts’, it is.”


Michelle stepped close and fondled my heavy, sore nuts.


“Oh, Aching Nuts, we’re going to have lots of fun.”


Beverly walked up, patted my rump, smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Aching Nuts. Before long, you’ll be so needy that whether Michelle teases you or not simply won’t make any difference.”


On that note of hope, Beverly walked away. Michelle smirked and said, “Of course, I'll do my best to make sure my teasing to make a big difference. Practice! Practice! Practice!”


With some more massaging of my balls that left me gasping with arousal, Michelle walked away grinning at the knowledge of what she was doing to me, how frustrated she was making me. I was beginning to understand the endless cycle my life was going to be. But the truth is that Beverly owned me and, in her own cruel way, even Michelle needed me. I was home and I would never leave.
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