Pony Boy Ch. 03

Shaving was a right pain. I took a long hot bath and used a whole month's worth of blades before I'd finished. It was weird to look at in the mirror and, when I got dressed, my clothes felt funny against my skin. I was also a bit worried about what my mates at college would think so I started wearing long sleeved tops.

Wednesday morning found me back down at the gym and, once more stripped for inspection. Albert gave me a right bollocking as, apparently, I'd missed quite a bit, mostly in and around my arse, not to mention a couple of patches at the back of my legs. Given that I was, as he put it, so bloody useless, he called in one of the other lads to give me a hand. The lad showed no surprise at this so I tried to hide mine. We went into the showers and he re-shaved me before getting some tweezers to pick out the hairs from between my arse cheeks. He suggested a number of creams to use as, apparently, they keep you smoother for longer. "But for Pete's sake keep them clear of your balls and arse. Burns like buggery," was how he put it.

Of course this meant that I was late starting my exercises and Albert insisted that I stay late to make up the time.

Around seven Mr. Mason appeared and he stayed for quite a while chatting with Albert about how I was getting on. He spent some time having me pose naked and he looked me over hyper critically. I was glad I had had the extra work done with the hair removal as he seemed quite pleased with the result.

"Race meeting tomorrow," he told me. "Make sure you get some new trainers. I want you looking your best."

"I will, Mr. Mason," I assured him.

That afternoon I went into town and ended up spending over a ton on a pair of top of the range Nike trainers. With all the money I was earning I could afford them. While I was there I saw a tracksuit I fancied so I also picked that up as well. I reckoned it would be just the thing to wear to the race meetings.

Thursday evening I changed into my new tracksuit and went down to the meeting place a few minutes early. I recognised a couple of others waiting at the same spot so I went over and said hi. I still didn't really know them but at least I was beginning to feel more confident around them. Having Mr. Mason's protection helped a lot. Five minutes later and the minibus arrived and we all got on. At the next stop we picked up Jed and, as soon as he saw me, he gave me a certain amount of stick, calling me 'bum boy' and taking the rip out of my new trainers and tracksuit. "You always think you're better than us, that's your problem, bum boy. But in the end you're just another rent boy like the rest of us."

I just ignored him. His words hurt; I really didn't think I was better than them. Well, better educated, from a better home, maybe, but not a better person.

We got to the warehouse and, after the usual hanging around, it was time for the showers. I stripped off my tracksuit, put my house keys in the pocket, and folded it up and put it on the chairs.

"Check out bum boy," Jed called out. "Smooth as a baby's bottom. Do you reckon you'll get more punters that way?"

"Can't harm, can it?" I called back. I wasn't going to admit that I'd done it to order. "You know what they say, happy punters means bigger tips."

"Still doesn't make that dinky little prick of yours any bigger."

"It's not my prick they're interested in; it's my cute little backside, the one you'll be watching every time I overtake you." I'm not sure what had made me so bold but at least it got me a round of laughter. The minibus driver told us sharply to cut the chat and get on with our showers so the banter came to an end.

When we were lined up for inspection I felt like I stood out even more than I had on the previous occasions. Still, there was no banter in the line and Mr. H seemed more than happy with my turnout. As with the previous week I was assigned sulky number five. I hoped I would get Pete as my jockey again and when we went out to the sulkies, there he was, waiting for me.

"You're looking a bit more cheerful today," he commented as I approached.

"Feeling like a winner!" I replied.

"Well, let's get you looking like one. Stand between the shafts with your legs apart and your arms out."

I did as I was told but, instead of reaching for the harness and bridle, Pete pulled out a bottle from his jacket pocket.

"What's that?"

"Posing oil. It won't make you faster but it will make you look better. Mr. Mason's orders. Now stand still."

Starting with my shoulders, Pete smoothed the oil over my body. Once he had done my arms he had me clasp my hands behind the back of my head so as to give easy access to my chest. He was rubbing the oil well in and, even before he got to my groin, I was starting to react. My whole definition of what was and wasn't sexy had been turned on its head in the previous couple of weeks but standing naked and immobile in this open and vulnerable pose while being oiled was something else. By the time he got to my buttocks I was as hard as they come.

"Ooh, someone's happy tonight. You're loving this oil, aren't you?" Pete joked. "How about this?" He smoothed the oil back and forth along my prick.

"God, Pete, that's...."

"Careful now, we don't want you popping your cork too early. That would never do." He carried on, now working on my thighs. It wasn't much better; I still felt as horny as hell and my prick felt like it was going to explode at any minute.

When he had finished with the oil he put the stopper back in the bottle and wiped his hands. Now it was time for the harness and we were onto more familiar territory. As Pete fitted the various straps around me I looked at my body, oiled and hairless. I rather liked the effect. By the time he had me fully fitted up, with the tail in place and everything, I felt like I must look the prettiest pony in the show. I wished that there was a mirror I could see myself in. I could feel the tail cascading down the back of my thighs. I gave my bum a wiggle and felt it move. I wondered what it must look like. I had seen the other ponies but never myself. Still, I was there to race, not just look pretty. I had a growing reputation to keep up with.

When the punters arrived I got lots of comments about being shaven and oiled. There had always been a few who liked to use 'examining' the ponies as an excuse for a good old grope but this time there was more than ever. It's an odd feeling, standing there constrained, blindfolded, gagged and all but naked while complete strangers feel you up but I would find myself drifting away, stood there, enjoying it all. My world seemed centred on the tight straps that bound my prick. God it felt good!

Mr. H announced that it was to be another handicap event. I could feel the sulky jerk as they attached the weights; as the favourite, I would be carrying the greatest handicap. When the brakes were released and I was taken towards the race track I found the sulky harder to pull, harder to control. Even so, I didn't do too badly in the first heat. I got away in front and was able to hold off the challenge without too many problems. However, all that extra weight knocked some of the stuffing out of me so, when it came to the second heat, I failed to get in front and it was only by giving it everything I had that I was able to overtake on the very last lap. Even then I couldn't get cleanly past and the final dash for the finish line was neck and neck. The punters loved it, especially when I won.

There was only a one race gap before I was led out again for the third heat. As we went past the bookie's stalls I noticed that the odds on me were lengthening. The punters weren't blind to the way I was struggling against all the weight I was carrying. I wasn't quite the certainty I had been before.

Right from the start of the third heat I found it hard, right from the start I fell behind and, right from the start, I failed to find the strength or the stamina to make the push I needed. On the back straight of the seventh lap Pete gave me the signal and I really tried my very best but the other jockey was ready for it and his pony put on a spurt at the same time and, even with me giving it my all, my legs simply failed to respond. For the whole of the eighth lap Pete was urging me on. If he had had a whip I'm sure he would have used it. Not that it would have made any difference. The other pony was, if anything, pulling further away and we came in a couple of lengths short.

I all but collapsed. Not only had I raced my heart out, I didn't have the adrenalin of winning to prop me up afterwards. All I wanted to do was go somewhere, lie down and get my breath back but, attached to the sulky, this was not an option. I even got some boos from the stands which was pretty demeaning. Someone took hold of my bridle and, completely exhausted, I was led from the ring.

Pete was wiping me down in the centre circle when Mr. H came over.

"I think you may have overdone the handicapping, Mr. H" Pete said to him.

"Always good for the bookies when the favourite fails to win," Mr. H replied with a chuckle. "How is he?"

"A bit winded but he'll be fine in a minute or two. If you're putting him in the post meet races you might want to take some of the weight off."

"What, and have him winning all the time? Where's the fun in that?"

"Hello, Mr. H, this College Boy, he's a bit special, even if he did make a muck of the last race." I turned to look but, with the blinkers on, this newcomer was out of view."

"Hello, Tel. Yeah, he is a bit special."

"So how about a blow job? How about I take him to the stalls? How much are you charging?"

"Sorry, Tel, he's party only, Mr. Masons orders."

"Party only? Is he to good for us plebs, then? You know I can't afford the entrance fee for the party, not on what I earn."

"Sorry, Tel, it's really not my decision and, if you've got any problems then you'd better take them up with Mr. Mason. Here, why don't you take a look at some of the others? Black Coffee, for example..." and, together, Mr. H and Tel wandered off.

Tel wasn't the only punter that wanted my 'services' and, time and time again, either Mr. H or Pete had to explain that I was 'party only'. I put two and two together. This was what Mr. H had told me about right at the beginning, this was my USP. By limiting my availability he was raising my desirability and this helped persuade the punters to shell out the entrance fee for the party. I had no idea what these 'stalls' were but, judging by the length of time the other ponies were away, they couldn't be far. The idea of being taken round the back of the warehouse to give blow jobs to those who could afford them wasn't particularly appealing.

Of course, being unavailable for blow jobs meant that I was available for all the post meet races. In particular, Jed had won the main race and, with me losing in the heats, we had never raced each other. Quite a few of the punters commented that this was the fixture they had come to see.

"Come on, Mr. H," a particularly persistent punter urged. "College Boy and Dark Arrow; you know that will get the money in. But take off all that weight. Head to head, mano e mano, that's what we want. I liked what you did that time when the loser had to give the winner a blow job. Makes it personal, like."

This got an enthusiastic response and Mr. H was never shy to give the punters what they wanted so, in short order, Jed and I were lined up, weight free, for a four lap race. I was a little concerned about the distance. Jed, with his greater strength, tended to get away first and was quicker over the short distances whereas I had more stamina and came back at him later on. At least the weights were off.

When Mr. H announced the race there was quite a cheer from the stands followed by a bit of a rush to the bookies stalls. Mr. H played into this and, as part of the build up, Jed and I were paraded back and forth in front of the stands. Each time we went past each other he would look me in the eye and glare. Mind you, I was giving as good as I got. I began to understand why they have the weigh-in before a big boxing match the way they do.

As the queues at the bookies stalls died down we were led out onto the course, lined up and put under starters orders. The starter raised his flag. I watched him intently, checking for the slightest sign that...

And we were off. I tried, I really tried, but, like it or not, Jed was faster away and out in front before the first bend. I couldn't play the waiting game, I had to stay with him, I had to keep right on his tail. I couldn't afford to let him open up any sort of a gap.

On each of the straights Pete would give me the signal and I'd try to go past. Each time I couldn't make it before the corner and he'd have to hold me off. On a positive note, each time I was getting closer. But this was only four laps, I was running out of time, I was running out of track. We came to the last straight and I was still behind him There, at the end, was the winning line. It was now or never. I searched for every ounce of determination I could find. I had no more strength left, this was pure adrenalin. By half way down the straight I had pulled level with the other jockey; there were no more corners, position didn't matter, it was all about who was in front. I was nearly there, nearly up to him. Pete was screaming, Jed's jockey was screaming, the crowd was screaming but my entire focus was the finish line getting closer by the second.

With a roar that filled the warehouse we passed through the finish line. All I had to do now was stop, stop before the corner that was... I jinked to the left and collided with Jed and the whole kit and caboodle went down in a heap.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a photo finish. We're reviewing the video and we'll have a result for you as soon as we can."

Helped by Pete and Jed's jockey we got to our feet and were led back to the centre circle. We were arranged facing each other in front of the judges table while they reviewed video of the finish, running it back and forth, back and forth. Jed looked nervous but I guess I did as well.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner and the winner is... by a short nose... College Boy!"

Talk about the place went wild. However, through all the cheering, through all the hullabaloo, there was Jed staring at me and, if looks could kill, I'd have been so, so dead.

"Blow Job! Blow job! Blow job!" someone in the crowd chanted and, in moments, the rest of them took it up. For some this was the high point of the night. With everyone watching, cheering, shouting, my prick was unfastened from its straps, Jed's bit was removed from his mouth, I was fitted with a condom, and Jed was forced to his knees. Much as I still hated him I felt for the guy. His humiliation was complete.

It was actually quite difficult to come. Although Jed was pretty skilled at giving blow jobs I could feel his humiliation and crowing over him felt wrong. On the other hand the crowd wanted a show and I had to pretend to be cock of the walk. In the end this helped; it wasn't me who came, it was the character I was playing. As I thrust my hips towards Jed, so they picked up the rhythm and clapped along. It felt as unreal as if it were a Saturday Night TV show; 'Strictly Blow-jobs' or something. In the end friction did its thing and, as I climaxed, I threw my head back and cried out as the pent up frustration of having been turned on all evening burst from me and I got the feeling, if not the reality, of pumping my juice down Jed's throat.

Mr. H was keen to restart the racing. After all, no races means no betting means no income. Jed and I were led away. I had quite a crowd around me but, even so, I was drained, physically and emotionally. Pete did his best to keep most of them at bay but I was still being harassed. Mind you, there were plenty of tips being stuck into my harness by grateful winners.

"Come along, ladies and gentleman, let's give the lad some air," Mr. Mason came over and, as so often at the moment, as soon as he arrived, my life became easier.

There was still plenty of interest and still quite a crowd around me but they gave me a bit more room and Pete was able to start massaging some life back into my legs.

"I wouldn't race him again tonight," Pete commented. "Not if you want anything out of him at the party."

"Fair enough. He didn't hurt himself in that fall, did he?"

"Nah, he's fine. Fit as a fiddle."

"Do his blinkers back up, will you. It will stop him getting distracted."

"OK, Mr. Mason, you're the boss."

Pete adjusted my blinkers and, once again, I was blindfolded. I'm not sure what Mr. Mason meant about getting distracted but, increasingly, I was finding that being blindfolded, gagged and harnessed to the sulky put me in a strange place. I would zone out, just stand there, becoming completely passive. The hands that groped me, and there was always one or two who wanted to, were disembodied, ethereal. My erection, which had dissipated after the blow job, was back in force.

And all of a sudden it was over. Pete chased the last few punters away and undid enough of the harness to let me do the rest. Along with the other ponies I wandered off towards the shower area unbuckling things as I went.

Jed was understandably furious. This was the second time he had been publicly humiliated in this way and, naturally, he blamed me. However, with me under Mr. Mason's protection, there was very little he could do about it. He didn't say or do anything as we all showered together but he kept giving me looks; looks that would have killed if only they could. I made sure we were not in the same minibus as we made our way to the party.

Once more I was picked out from the rest as soon as we arrived. I was directed to the same alcove as last time where, as before, Mr. Mason was sat chatting with friends. I went towards him, expecting to be invited to sit on his lap but, before got there he looked up and saw me.

"Ah, Ben, you're here at last. Barry Jarman has been asking after you. Go and keep him happy, will you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mason, I don't know who Mr. Jarman is. How do I find him?"

Mr. Mason raised an arm over his head and clicked his fingers. Immediately one of the waitresses came over.

"More champagne, Mr. Mason?" she said holding out her tray.

"No thanks, Maureen. Can you take this young man over to Mr. Jarman."

"Of course, Mr. Mason, I'd be delighted. Follow me."

She led me through the party to one of the larger rooms where there was half a dozen men sat talking to each other. It was easy to tell who was the boss; he was the one holding court, the one the others were deferring to, and I didn't really need the waitress to tell me that this was Mr. Jarman. I went over and stood next to him.

"Ah, College Boy, so good of you to join us. I lost quite a bit of money when you fucked up in the third heat." He reached out and, inevitably, his hand went up the leg of my shorts and he grabbed me around the balls, pulling me towards him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jarman, I tried my best."

"I'm sure you did. And don't worry, I won all the money back again when you beat Dark Arrow so I'm all square on the night. Now, be a good lad and stand up on the table, give us a twirl, let's have a look at you."

I wondered about clearing the table first but decided against it. Stepping as daintily as I could between the condoms, coke and used glasses, I got up on the table. Mr. Jarman had asked for a 'twirl' so I gave him one and got a chorus of wolf whistles in response. I played up to this, playing the coquette and they lapped it up. That suited me down to the ground. Any nerves, any reservations I might have about what I was doing, were easier to deal with if I hid them behind a role. This wasn't me, it was just a part I was playing and the role of sex mad floozy suited both me and the punters.