Date: Sun, 29 Apr 2018 18:22:06 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo.com>
Subject: WILD PUPS SALE 9: RUSSELL, QB the Pony Slave

WILD PUPS SALE, chapter 9

9. RUSSELL: QB, THE PONY SLAVE

The three 18-year-old jocks have been on display at the Gaytown Slave Hall
all day. Next they are each auctioned off before a large crowd and each boy
faces his future as a slaveboy for five years (or longer).

I named Russell after Brit actor Tovey. Keeping the British theme, I named
his Master McKellen after the highly respected British actor Ian. No
implications should be made about the sexual orientation, fetishes or
behaviors of either of these public figures. (You can Google them
yourself.) But I like to imagine Sir Ian finding this story and getting a
chuckle.

By Master Redbeard
r -- e -- d -- b -- e -- a -- r -- d -- e -- d -- s -- f
at y a h o o
dot com

If you enjoy this story (and ones like it) SUPPORT NIFTY!
http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

9. RUSSELL:
QB, THE PONY SLAVE

I knew I should have been scared and intimidated being placed in a frame
onstage at the Gaytown Slave Hall Auction. But it was all so exciting to
me. My big cock was fully stiff (thanks in part to the prostate stimulator,
but I'll confess exposing myself to all those gays was also keeping me
boned) and sticking out of the left leg of my boxer shorts. I couldn't see
any of the faces in the audience because of the lights in my eyes, but I
knew there was a big crowd. I wondered how many of the gays had boners
looking at me.

I beamed and my chest swelled as Mr. Bodoni described me. There were ooohs
and ahhhhs from the audience when he pulled down the back of my boxers to
show off my ass, and then when he freed my cock to show its full
length. Does it seem weird that the showoff part of me was turned on being
displayed for auction like this?

The tough part came backstage when the slaves struggled to get me into a
dog cage. My legs were too long to double up and fit into the tight
confines. As I was struggling, I got an electric shock from one of the
guards who thought I wasn't cooperating. I wanted to tell him I was doing
my best, but was just too big for the cage.

When they carried my cage out to the back, I heard my new master's booming
voice. "You fuckin' idiots," he roared for everyone to hear. "This is an
expensive piece of slave flesh and you're crushing his magnificent body
into this tiny cage. I swear if my newest pony has so much as a muscle
cramp, I will sue this place for so much that Bodoni himself will end up
stripped and chained to a whipping frame." Master McKellen was so forceful
I felt frightened, even though his anger was not directed at me.

Attached to my new owner's truck was a trailer with spaces for four
different slaveboys, each standing and facing outward -- but I was the only
cargo in the trailer that night. It reminded me of the kind of trailer
you'd see transporting horses, which seemed appropriate. I was chained in
place and people along the street could see my powerful body, bare-balls
naked, with my cock fully erect. I was proud to show off that way, proud to
be the property of this powerful man.

I was taken directly to the stable. There were two other pony slaves
already in one of the stalls. I was curious about them, but I was taken to
a stall at the other end of the rustic building. Master McKellen's foreman
felt and prodded each muscle group in my body, paying special attention to
my thighs and calves. "You paid a lot for him, but this pony has
potential. He's 18 now and with proper care I suspect he could be pulling
your vehicles when he's 50." I liked hearing that, but then he added, "Of
course by then his looks will have faded but if he's bulked up property, he
can be a dray slave in trucking and shipping."

The foreman helped cuff my hands to rings on the back wall of my
stall. There was a trestle at waist height placed about two feet from the
wall, so my body was bent forward with my butt protruding behind me. A
slaveboy I couldn't see crawled up to my rear and started licking behind my
balls. His tongue went up into my anus and I moaned with excitement. Who
knew that getting your ass licked out could be such a turn on? I was
pushing my butt back against the slaveboy's face as he spread my cheeks
with his hands and tonguefucked me deep and wet.

Then Master McKellen pushed the slaveboy out of the way and I felt the head
of his thick cock press against my butthole. The man was fully dressed and
had pulled his cock out of his fly to fuck me. I was bent forward and he
was standing upright. As his cock punctured my virgin hole, I was startled
by a slashing sensation across my shoulders. I yelped.

The pain from my stretched out anus was equaled by the stinging in my
shoulders that felt like nine paper cuts across my skin. As my Master's
cock went in and out of my ass, he flailed a cat-o-nine-tails. Each time
his cock shoved deep inside me, the short flogger slapped down across my
broad shoulders.

Soon Master was fucking me harder and faster. As fast as he fucked, he
managed to whip my shoulders at the same pace. My cock was stiff as iron,
not just because of the prostate stimulator but because of the exquisite
pain and erotic pleasure that coursed through my whole body. I had always
thought I was straight, but in the course of this day I'd boned up over
being displayed, examined and sold to homosexuals. And now I was more
turned on than ever as my ass was getting invaded and my shoulders brutally
whipped. I was discovering sides to myself that I didn't know existed.

Master dropped the short cat as he grabbed my body around and pressed
himself hard into me. I felt his cock grow inside me, thicker and longer
than it had been, and then it pulsed and shot hot cream deep up in my
hole. I groaned and my whole body shook. My cock wanted to shoot its cream,
but the band behind my balls kept me from ejaculating.

I panted out of breath as Master pulled his long cock out of my recently
ravaged ass and his sperm dripped down the backs of my thighs. He smacked
my ass hard and gave a raucous laugh, "The price was worth it just for
that."

For all the agony I felt -- my torn up shoulders, my stretched out anus,
and my frustrated dick that wasn't permitted to cum -- I felt proud at
Master McKellen's remark about my being worth it. My new owner offered my
ass to the foreman, but the man demurred. "I like the smaller
slaveboys. Not into fucking the ponies."

There was warmth filling the room. I craned my neck to see behind me and
there was a fire pit that had been lit by the foreman. I thought that was a
very nice touch and felt comforted. But then I realized that the foreman
was fiddling with a long handle that was sticking out of the fire. He
pulled out the brand and my eyes went wide. Without even thinking about it
I tried to pull away from the wall, but my cuffed hands held me in place.

"Whoa, whoa there, boy!" the foreman said as he rubbed my neck
gently. "Just relax, boy. Be a good boy for your Master." Suddenly his
gentle touch turned into a powerful grip and he was holding me firmly in
place. Between the foreman and my Master my feet were shackled tightly to
the base of the trestle and a leather belt held my torso to the top of the
trestle. The heavyset foreman's weight also pressed into me, holding me
firmly in place.

Master pressed the white-hot brand against my right butt cheek. I howled
and then promptly passed out. The next thing I knew there was a bucket of
cold water poured over my inflamed body. That woke me up but did little to
calm the pain in my ass. I would later become familiar with Master
McKellen's brand -- it was a capital "M" with a "K" below it, the two
letters attached bottom to top, with a small "c" in between.

"Shhhhh, shhhhh. That's a good boy, QB." My owner pressed his face beside
my face. He softly kissed my neck. "Don't be embarrassed, big fella. That
brand hurts like a son of a bitch. You took it like the fine pony I knew
you would be."

I wanted to shout out, "Hell yeah, Master. I will be the best damn pony
anybody ever owned." But all I could do was nod my head up and down, smile
broadly, and give a loud nasal whinnying sound. Master understood what I
was saying. I also wanted to beg him to let me cum, but it was clear that
wasn't going to happen.

My right foot was chained to the stall, the chain just long enough for me
to peek out of the stall at the rest of the large space. I was given
something to drink and it eased the pain in my butt and made me sleepy. The
lights were turned out and I curled up on the thick layer of straw in my
stall.

Through the darkness I heard a black man's deep, resonant voice say, "Hey,
new pony? Are you ok, boy?" I didn't know whether I was permitted to speak,
so I stayed silent. "Pony? We just wanna know if you're ok."

"Am I... am I permitted to speak?" I asked in a quiet voice.

"As long as there are no free men nearby."

Then another voice, one with a Swedish accent: "What's your name, pony?"

"R-russell."

The two other ponies laughed. "Is the boy really so new?" Addressing me
once more, the Scandinavian voice said, "We are called Blackie and
Whitie. What is your pony name?"

"QB," I answered.

I heard the two of them mumbling and the black pony saying, "No not Cubie
like a box, QB like a football quarterback."

I laughed and called back, "Yeah, I was the quarterback on my high school
team."

They wanted to know all about me, how I'd gotten indentured, what the
experience had been like for me. For the first time since my arrest I was
speaking normally to other guys, albeit in very abnormal circumstances. But
the drugs in the water were having an effect. I fell asleep in the middle
of the conversation.

The next day I saw the two ponies pass me as they were led out of the
stable, both in their full bridles ready to take their place between the
shafts of a trap. They were two impressive men, shoulders and chests
broader than mine, and legs that looked like tree trunks. Whitie was indeed
very pale with pink skin, while Blackie was coal black. Each pony had his
head hair shaved to a quarter of an inch, the rest of their bodies
hairless, and their cocks sticking up erect in front of them. Each pony was
also heavily tattooed. Whitie had Celtic patterns on his body with dark
black coloring, while Blackie had matching patterns with white
coloring. Our Master was a man with good taste.

They did not look at me or acknowledge me as they passed. I knew I could
learn a lot about being a pony from the two of them. I was fed a huge
quantity of raw vegetables. I was getting tired of chewing, but was told
I'd get a whipping if I didn't finish all the greens. I then had a feedbag
attached over the bottom half of my face. I chomped on nutrient-enriched
slave chow and soon enough learned to enjoy eating this way.

Then I was ordered to take a dump in the straw of my stall. I took a long
pause before moving. It seemed animalistic to crap where I slept, but the
trainer told me the straw would be mucked out by the stable slave. He also
told me that a pony could piss anytime it's outdoors, but if I had to
relieve my bowels during the day I would be caned severely. With the man
watching I squatted down and let turds drop. That was the moment I knew I
was no longer a person, but an animal.

Then it was time for exercise. I was run around a track while the trainer
stood in the middle waving a whip that never fully came down onto my
back. I was then placed between the shafts of a one-seat rickshaw. I
gripped tightly and was told I must never let go of these shafts while
working. I pulled the empty cart around the track and learned to
differentiate between stroll, trot, canter, gallop, and full speed. I have
powerful legs and I'd always been a strong runner, but it was a challenge
for me to keep up after hours on my feet and dragging a 40-pound vehicle
behind me.

I was given a break from running and put into a fitness lab. All the
machines had been pre-set. I was a strong athlete, but each machine was set
with higher weights and reps than I could manage. Anytime I couldn't meet
the requirements there was an electric shock that came from my cock ring
and ran through my entire body.

After a break for more slave chow and water from a hose, I was returned to
the track. This time there was a person in the rickshaw, making my effort
that much harder. I saw a small exotic looking slaveboy who couldn't have
weighed more than 120 pounds. The trainer saw the confusion on my face and
said, "This is one of Master's favorite bedboys. Apparently the lad did
something so special for his owner recently he's been given this reward --
a two-hour break from his work as you pull him around the track at
different speeds."

The next two hours of my life passed dragging 160 pounds behind me as I
circled the track. When the dark-haired slaveboy got out of the rickshaw,
he came up beside me and brushed my face with his fingertips. "I'd take a
whipping for a chance to suck your cock, ponyboy." I looked at him startled
and saw he wore eye makeup and lipstick. He licked my neck and sighed,
"Next time I please Master, maybe I'll ask him to let me suck your dick as
a reward."

So this was what my Master liked in a bedboy? The boy's femininity made me
squirm uncomfortably. I was naked and strapped in helplessly. This boy who
was so obviously gay groped my balls before he walked away.

That night I heard grunting and groaning from the other end of the
stable. "Oh, yeh, stick it in." "Fuck, you're still so tight." The voices
were so muffled I couldn't differentiate which one of them said what. I was
starting to imagine what it would look like to see the black pony on top of
the white one or the other way around. My cock had been denied release for
so long, while at the same time I was exposed to all these erotic
situations.

When I heard the loud groans and shouts that told me they had finished
having sex, I hesitantly cleared my throat and asked, "Guys...? Everything
good over there?"

The two of them laughed. Then Whitie said, "Sorry, QB, they made our chains
too short for us to include you in our games." Blackie piped in, "But they
put the to of us together in one stall so we would be a team."

I thought about that for a moment, and then asked, "W-what if they put you
together with somebody you don't like."

There was louder laughter. "We hated each other for at least the first
year," Blackie nearly shouted. "But we had to learn to get along." I heard
what sounded like kissing and sex play again.

"B-but, I'm not gay!"

This brought on the loudest laugh yet. The two ponies told me about their
exploits with women when they were free boys, and both swore they'd never
done anything gay before enslavement. "But after a hot day of galloping to
downtown and then trotting home uphill," Whitie said. "There's someone
beside you who knows exactly what you went through and that warm body feels
so comforting."

Now I was squirming with frustration. I groaned to the two other ponies,
"Master allows you to cum. But I've had on a ball strap since before my
auction, and I can't cum no matter how hot I get."

There was a knowing "ooooh" from my stablemates. "Master is saving that
for... for a special event."

No matter how much I pestered them they refused to tell me anything else
about the Master's special event. They insisted that they needed their
sleep and soon I fell asleep as well.

The next few days were pretty much the same as my first day on Master
McKellen's ranch, exercising and running and eating large quantities of
protein-rich flavorless food. I knew that the goal would be to make my
chest and arms stronger and thicker, and to get my abs even tighter and
more defined. As I was going around the track -- each day with a little
more weight in the rickshaw -- I would distract myself fantasizing about
parading proud and naked through the town where I had grown up, showing
everyone what a big thick boner I had.

Then Friday night I was loaded into the horse trailer and driven through
the hills for more than an hour. When I was brought into a fine house
through the rear entrance, my hands were cuffed behind my back, and
attached by chain to my slave collar. Oddly enough I was dressed in a pair
of my free boy boxer shorts. Master led me on a leash into a grand drawing
room where another ten gentlemen stood round smoking cigars and drinking
brandy. They all looked at me appreciatively.

One elderly man laughed, "What's with the boxer shorts on the pony,
McKellen?"

"I just wanted you gentlemen to see the star football quarterback as he
looked just one week ago... well, with some modifications." My Master
chuckled.

"Fuck, I saw this boy play in the championship game." This man reached out
and twisted one of my nipples as a second man announced, "Hot damn, this
pony has got the kind of equipment you want on a QB or on a pony." This man
handled my hard cock as he spoke.

My Master said, "Careful, you don't want to waste his load."

"That ball strap will keep him from shooting off, no matter what."

"Looks like he's having trouble holding it back. Better get the bitch in
place."

With no explanation to me, I was blindfolded and held firmly upright. I
heard movement. I heard a female voice very soft. Then I was led forward
until my thighs bumped into a table. I felt soft flesh against my hips. The
men lifted me up and my master took hold of my iron-hard erection. He slid
my cock into the waiting vagina.

Once my boner was fully inside this unknown female underneath me, my Master
pulled off the ball restraint and I couldn't hold back. I felt the moist
walls of this woman's most intimate spot and my cock was shooting geysers
inside her. I couldn't see the woman and couldn't touch her, but I could
feel her flesh against mine and knew she was heavyset.

"She's always fertile. Given me seven slave pups already, two of them my
own." I heard a man with a German accent say.

"Another nineteen years, and maybe this pony's son will be pulling my own
son in a trap," I heard my Master's voice. The rest of the men laughed as I
lay on top of this woman breathing hard. Then Master was right behind me as
he said, "You're not through yet, QB."

I felt his large hairy body get on top of mine and I felt his fat cock up
against my asshole. I had only been fucked once and it was by this man just
a few days earlier. Now there was a crowd watching. Even though I was
blindfolded, I could feel the men getting closer by their body heat and
their bated breaths. I was torn between embarrassment that this group of
men would see me taking dick up my ass, and my thrill at exhibiting my
powerful body.

When the full length of Master's cock slid all the way inside me, it forced
my cock deeper up into the vagina beneath me. Master was fucking my ass and
my body was responding in such a way that I was fucking the slavegirl in
unison.

My cock was hard once again and I was moving gently inside this woman,
trying to imagine that this was my girlfriend who was putting out after a
date. But I couldn't ignore my Master's cock that was pummeling my insides,
nor the comments from the group of men surrounding us. Then, in the midst
of all her moans and grunts, the girl squealed out, "Oh, this penis is so
big."

That set me off. I started fucking her hard and fast. I was dripping sweat
on her. When I was enslaved I was forced to take cock, and figured I'd
never know the warmth of a female vagina again. Now I was given the chance
to get my cock inside a woman -- albeit with both of us chained helpless
and manipulated by our owners -- my cock was going to enjoy it.

Soon enough I became aware that my Master was no longer fucking me. His
dick was deep inside me, and as my own dick was fucking in and out of the
slavegirl, my ass was massaging up and down on my Master's cock. He didn't
have to do any work, while my hard body was drenched in sweat.

Master groaned loud as his cock impaled me deep and shot load after load of
cream up inside me. It's as if the ramming of his cock made my own cock
shoot off with a load that was even more powerful than the one I'd
delivered into this pussy a few minutes earlier.

The slavegirl was removed while I was still blindfolded, so I never got to
see her. Since they talked about how many slave pups she had already
birthed, I knew she must be years older than I was.

When the blindfold and handcuffs were removed, I was placed on a punishment
rack, my body leaning forward so that my rear was sticking out. My feet
were chained down as well, so I could shift my torso a little but couldn't
move from the spot where I was chained. And then my Master unfurled a long
whip that made me shiver with fear.

Master announced to the entire room, "QB shows a great deal of promise as a
new pony slave. But as you all know a new slaveboy must be whip-smart. That
goes double for a pony. So, as tradition dictates, QB will now take his ten
lashes."

The whipping began with a loud slashing sound and a ripping sound as the
tip of the whip cut through my back. The next whip slash crossed with the
first. It seemed like Master was making a pattern on my back, and I was the
only one there who couldn't enjoy the pattern. The pain became intense,
especially where a new slash crossed an already existing cut. Master and I
were both panting when he finally counted to ten.

When I was taken down from the rack, I fell to the floor on wobbly
legs. The group of men surrounded me. All were mature men with at least a
little gray in their beards, except for one boy near my age who stood
beside my Master. He was tall and good looking, so at first I wondered if
he was another of my owner's slaveboys, but his jeans were crisp and new
and he wore a T-shirt from the local private high school.

"Go on, son. By rights, you should be the first to use the slaveboy's
mouth." Other men encouraged the boy, calling him "Junior."

I was startled when I recognized that Master McKellen's son was the
quarterback for the fancy private school that was my school's rival. We had
always called this boy Mac. He and I had fought on the football field, and
now he was opening and unzipping his pants to tug out his fat erection. It
was dripping at the tip as he pointed it to my mouth.

Then he stepped back and said, "Insert a mouth guard before I insert my
penis."

His father put an arm around the boy and chuckled, "Come on, Junior, you
know that once a slave has taken a whipping like that, he's always
obedient."

"All well and good," the teenager said. "But it's my cock that's going to
be between his teeth and the future generations of the McKellen family with
it."

Looking up at Junior, this was the one moment when I might have rebelled
against my enslavement. I expected that at some point I would be made to
suck cock. But Mac and I had so recently taunted each other on the
gridiron. I felt low and humbled. But I dutifully opened my mouth for the
mouth guard. It covered my teeth and forced my mouth to stay wide open. I
now understood what was meant by "whip-smart slave." I was now smart enough
to obey any command.

There was no time for me to get used to sucking cock. The young jock rammed
it into my throat and didn't care that I was gagging and choking. "That's
it, lad," I heard his father say. "When you've got a big, tough pony slave,
you can't be gentle with your cock. Hunk of pony flesh like this wants to
prove how much he can take. Go on, QB, suck that cock."

What was the hold that Master had over me? I went from choking on Junior's
fat tool to sucking it sloppy and deep. The boy looked down at me with a
hard expression and whispered, "You're gonna be my official cocksucker,
Russell."

When he used my free boy name like that, it made me wince. It was expected
for QB, the pony slave, to suck cock. But it seemed more shameful for
Russell, the high school star quarterback, to get face fucked by his
school's archrival. But a slaveboy has no choice.

I barely finished swallowing the boy's cream when a powerfully built cowboy
type pulled his fat uncut cock out of his fly and said, "I ain't washed
under my foreskin all week. I wanted to give this new slaveboy a flavor
treat." Then he stuffed that filthy piece of meat down my throat and
instructed me how to push back his foreskin with my tongue so I could clean
under it. None of these men was gentle with me.

A few weeks later I was out in the streets of our town pulling Master
McKellen in his rickshaw. When there was more than one passenger, Master
would use the trap that was pulled by Blackie and Whitie. But I was his
transportation of choice for solo trips. Having grown up here, the odds
were high of running into some guys I had gone to school with, or some
neighbor or shopkeeper who had known me as a free boy.

One day when Master had parked me in an alley behind a building, along came
a group of boys who had been freshmen when I was senior QB. My body was
pinched, my nipples twisted and my ass fingered, as the boys masturbated my
cock. I was in harness and helpless to stop them. When my cock started
spewing some of it landed right on my thigh and dripped down. The boy who
had been giving me a handjob pulled his hand away and looked at it. He
wiped off the excess spunk on my short-cropped hair.

When Master returned he knew immediately what had happened, and didn't
blame me. After that he only left me in supervised parking lots. That meant
I got to talk to other ponies during the day. It wasn't a difficult way to
spend my days, out in the sun, swapping enslavement stories with other fit
young jocks. Then at the end of the day I would be hooked to Master's
rickshaw and take him home over the hills to his mansion.

I discovered that I was one of very few ponies who still looked
natural. All the others were decorated with at least some tattoos. Many
ponies had nose rings, large earrings and nipple rings, along with rings
through the heads of their cocks. I had often heard my owner speak about
what patterns he wanted tattooed on me, even as he eschewed getting any
piercings or body modifications. "This is a magnificent piece of pony
flesh, a fine muscular slaveboy. I don't want jewelry dangling off of him."
He did make a decision to shave my head except for a strip of hair down the
middle that he would let grow long so it would appear like a mane when I
ran.

Soon enough he handed over the responsibility for my tattooing to his son,
the boy everyone called Junior. It didn't seem like he was any more
decisive about decorations than his father had been. But he came into the
stable often, claiming he needed to look me over and generate ideas. The
truth was the only reason he came into the stable was to fuck my mouth and
feed me his teenage spunk.

Then one day everything changed. Master did not come for me. Of course no
one tells slaves what's going on. I only found out that my Master had died
when I was used, along with Blackie and Whitie, to pull the wagon with his
coffin. It was a long funeral service and the three of us ponies were
expected to stand perfectly still.

More days passed, on some days I was fed and exercised and just placed back
in my stall. Then one morning I heard a commotion in the stable. I peeked
out of my stall and saw that Whitie and Blackie were both being placed in
shipping crates. I wondered if I would be next. But soon enough I found
myself alone in the stable.

There was an older man who looked a bit like my Master, but he was much
fatter and out of shape. I would learn that this was Master's brother,
Cyril McKellen, and he would be my new Master.

I wondered what had become of Junior, but I didn't have long to
wonder. Within days a new pony was moved into my stall. It was hard to hide
my shock when I saw that Master McKellen's son was stripped naked, with a
slave collar, and a brand burned into his right butt cheek. Of course I had
to stay silent while free men were present. They left by saying, "QB can
teach you how to be a good pony. QB is a good slaveboy, aren't you?" The
man speaking fed me a carrot and I chomped on it.

When we were left alone together I just looked at him for a long time,
admiring his hard muscles. He looked down at the hay piled up on the wooden
floor. Finally I asked, "Were they rough with you?"

"They decided to call me Junior."

"But that's what they called you as a free boy?"

"Yeah, my Uncle Cyril is really trying to mess with my head." He looked at
me for a long moment and then said, "Y'know I didn't think you could even
speak."

"Ponies get punished for speaking in front of free men."

He gave a weary half smile and said, "Yeah, I found that out. By the way,
you should probably know that Uncle Cyril... I mean, Master Cyril is a
raging homo. I just spent three days getting familiar with all his buddies
and every inch of their gross bodies."

"B-but, how did this happen? You were Master's son, didn't you have the
rights to...."

He stopped me and said, "Cyril found out about dad's little secret. My
mother was actually a slavegirl, part black. So I've got colored blood in
me and couldn't inherit. Therefore, the entire estate and all father's
properties reverted to my uncle. Since I'm not yet 21, I counted as one of
my father's properties." He didn't have to finish the story.

I wrapped my arms around Junior's body and let him sleep with his head
against my chest. As he was falling asleep he whispered, "Now that I've
experienced it... I'm so sorry for the way I fucked your mouth,
Russell... ummm, QB." I merely fell asleep intertwined naked with this teen
football player who had once been my rival.

In the middle of the night I awoke with an odd sensation. My eyes blinked
open and I looked down to see Junior sucking my cock and doing a damn good
job. I just let him suck and then I started moving my hips feeding him my
huge erection.

Junior and I would pull our Master's trap for nearly eight years. Both of
us had long Mohawk manes and were fitted with rings hanging from our noses,
nipples, and dicks. When Master Cyril died we were shipped together to a
gay retirement community where we served as ponies to help transport the
residents, but were also called upon to entertain the old geezers or to
make them happy in any way they commanded.

For a few years I was the magnificent pony trotting through town, tall and
proud. Now I was barely better than a dray animal. But at least the old men
were tender and loving to me, feeling my hard muscles and reminiscing about
their own bodies, having me lick their balls or making me lie down so they
could sit on my face. I liked it when they told me I was handsome or talked
about my muscles or my dick. I liked being admired, and the old guys liked
admiring me.

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