Love Bound (19 page)

Before I could ask where
out there
was, he released me with a shove that sent me back-pedaling into the other
ponies. The Lolita bitch held the others’ reins. She handed them over to him
once I was out of the way and he folded them into the hand that wasn’t holding
the crop. He had all of us now, and a brisk yank pulled us along to the exit. I
tried to lose myself among the others, but he kept my reins shorter than the
rest, forcing me to take the lead. When we stepped through the door onto the
sparse grass outside, a smattering of applause made me duck my head. “Oh, God,”
I breathed.

“Prance for us!” someone called out.
Immediately the ponies behind me started walking in that affected high step
Marie had used, raising each leg waist-high with the knee bent. I lowered my
head further, trying to disappear. A jerk on my reins told me otherwise. Ahead,
the collared man said, “You too, spitfire.”

I dared a look around. We were behind
the rented hall, out of sight from the street. A thin gravel path wound through
brown grass and ended a dozen yards away at another barn much smaller than the
massive hall behind us. We were heading in that direction—classes were probably
taught there, I reasoned, away from the crowds. But the day was warm and clear,
and more than a few people had escaped the call of the vendors and now milled
around outside, their black outfits standing out like blight in the bright sun.
These were the people the other ponies were showing off for, and I was damned
if I would join in. I shuffled my feet through the gravel, refusing to even
pick them up enough to walk properly. When I found Sean, I would kill him.

Ahead of us, the collared man stopped
so abruptly that I almost ran into him, but he pulled my reins up short and
held me in check. His voice rang out loud as if he wanted everyone to hear him.
“Pony,” he said, addressing me, “I gave you an order. Prance.”

The blinders kept me from seeing anything
but his ugly face. Keeping my voice even, I told him, “My name is Drew. And I don’t prance.”

Suddenly the riding crop leapt from
his hand to strike across my thigh. “You’ll do as I say,” he threatened.

In a low, dangerous voice I said,
“Untie my hands and try that again.”

The face before me purpled with rage.
Each word seemed an effort for him to spit out. “Insolent little
ass
.”

“That’s rich,” I shouted, “coming from
a pig like yourself.” I started to say more but hands seized me from behind and
forced something hard between my teeth—a bit, snapping onto the sides of my
bridle and rendering me speechless. I strained at the hobble binding my arms,
shook my head back and forth, tried to dislodge the bit with my tongue but
couldn’t. Around the slim steel bar, I growled at the man in front of me,
gnashing my teeth in a fit of anguish and anger.

With a laugh, my tormentor cocked an
ear towards me and mocked, “What did you say? I don’t believe I heard you.”
Then he tugged at my reins and I lost my balance, falling to a graceless heap
on the ground. The riding crop was back again, striping my arm and shoulder and
back. “Get up, you foul pony!” More laughter—at least he found himself so
amusing. I curled up into a fetal position to avoid the lash that spread fire
across my skin in its wake. I kept one hoofed foot on the man’s leg, trying to
keep him back, but it was as ineffective as a kitten against a tiger. One
thought kept going through my mind: …
And some people
like
this?

“Stop it!” someone called out. With my
head turned into the grass, I couldn’t see who spoke, but it was a new
voice—young, masculine, sane. “John,
stop
it. Is this the beginning
class? My God.”

I could just imagine a dozen wide-eyed
ponies shuffling around me, scared into discipline after this little scene.
Strong hands touched the welts on my back and I pulled away.
Just unhobble
me,
I thought—the bit in my mouth kept the words inside.
Just untie me,
and I’ll get myself out of this damn outfit. I’ll leave peacefully. I’ll go.
Just let me go.

The newcomer spoke again. “This pony’s
had enough.” The hands on me again—I didn’t have strength enough to fight back.
My knees shook unsteadily as I was helped to my feet. I caught a glimpse of
blond hair but my savior stayed behind my blinders, out of sight. One hand
settled on my shoulder, the arm attached to it supporting my back, the other
hand on my waist to guide me away from the scene. That voice again, gentle now,
low, speaking in a calm tone. “It’ll be okay. You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

I didn’t know why that was supposed to
comfort me but oddly enough, it did.

* * * *

My unseen companion led me through the
crowd towards the barn I had noticed earlier. As we got closer, I heard people
inside, ponies clomping horse-shoed feet in unison as a trainer barked out
orders to be obeyed. For a heart-stopping moment I thought we were headed
there, but then I saw a small stable that stood by itself just off the end of
the path, and I knew he had something else in mind. The stable door opened to a
golden lamplight, lit by a flickering Coleman lantern that hung in the first
horse stall. Cautiously I stepped into the stable and let myself be led into
the stall. “Right here,” the voice behind me said.

Old blankets covered the hay that
lined the stall. The hands on my body eased me down to my knees, then unhobbled
my wrists. With relief, I shook out my arms and turned to get a look at the man
beside me. The moment I saw him, I forgot who or where I was, how I got there,
why I was dressed as a stupid pony in the first place, as
everything
inside me skid to a halt against the sudden pounding of blood through my body,
a roar of desire and lust that mingled in my veins, warming my arms, my chest,
my groin. Here was the type of man Sean had promised me.
Here
was the
man I came looking for.
Here
, now, with me… “I’m Drew,” I tried to say,
but the bit in my mouth turned the introduction into garble.

He was my age, maybe older, with thick
blond hair that fell across his brow with a wanton carelessness. A practiced
shake of his head flipped the bangs from his piercing blue eyes. He had high
cheekbones and smooth skin and full, pouty lips that hovered at the edge of a
smile. If pre-Raphaelite artists had had someone like
this
to paint,
they would have never bothered with women in the first place.

A grin finally broke through one
corner of those perfect lips. “I’m Phillip,” he told me, holding out a hand.
When I didn’t take it, he grabbed one of my hoof-shaped gloves and shook it.
“Phillip Ross. Listen, I’m really sorry about what happened back there. This is
your first time, right? We’re not all like that.”

I watched him stand, leaning back to
keep him in sight, turning when he step out of the stall so that I wouldn’t
lose him. He wore leather breeches and a supple, sleeveless shirt—black, of
course, the color of the day. The breeches were tight enough to show off
sculpted buttocks. Entranced, I watched their movement as he crossed the stable
to take a first aid kit from the wall. Then he grabbed a handful of supplies
from a table before coming back to me. When he knelt beside me again, his
motions were as fluid as water poured into a glass. He dumped the supplies in
front of us. A towel, a bottle of something marked
Hoof Lotion
, a
soft-bristled brush, the first aid kit. Opening the kit, he took out a small
tube of ointment and squeezed a little of the clear gel onto his fingertips.
“You’ve got a few cuts,” he told me, touching the cool gel to my shoulder. The
ointment burned. When I pulled away, his other hand instantly found my face to
stroke my cheek. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Let me take care of you. It’s okay.”

His fingers rubbed along my cheek, my
chin, below. I found myself leaning into his touch, letting my head slip back
like a pampered pet so he could stroke my neck and chest. Between my legs, my
cock began to stir for the first time all day as those fingers danced over the
straps of my tack and massaged my nipples, lower, my abdomen,
lower
.
They brushed over the fabric of my jock that now strained across the beginnings
of an erection and moved down one thigh to the knee, over to the other leg and
back up again. The second time they found my crotch, all pretense disappeared,
and Phillip closed his fist around my now aching dick as he concentrated on the
cuts and bruises on my back.

“You like that?” he murmured into my
ear. I nodded, eyes closed against his ministrations. He worked me hard, his
fingers sliding over the jock as they followed the shape of my shaft, easing a
few times between my thighs to rub at my sheathed balls. “How could someone be
so cruel to you?” he wanted to know. “You’re just a skittish little colt.”

My eyes flew open. So we were still
playing
that
game. But if it kept him touching me, I’d be a pony. I’d be
anything he wanted, anything at all, if it meant his hands on my body, his
breath on my cheek.

“Were you even groomed properly?”
Phillip wanted to know. The bit in my mouth kept me from answering, but I
didn’t think he wanted a reply. Reaching for the bottle of lotion, he asked,
“Can you get on all fours for me? Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”

I could stand on my head if he asked.
I settled for getting on my hands and knees and waited to see where he wanted
to go with this. The stall wasn’t big enough for me to move around much, so
we’d have a short ride if he decided to climb on my back. But the thought of
him straddling me, even if there was nothing remotely sexual about it, made my
dick sing.

“Good boy,” Phillip whispered. He
slathered lotion between his hands and began to rub it onto my back in long,
slow movements. Over my shoulders, down my spine, working around the leather
straps of my tack. Into my sides, my hips, down my thighs and back up again.
More lotion on my shoulders, down each arm. Then, standing above me, he leaned
over and rubbed both hands across my chest, his breath hot against the back of
my neck.
Sit down,
I prayed as he worked his way back to the ache in my
groin. I wanted to feel his ass cradled in the small of my back, see if there
was a hardness in the front of his breeches that matched the throb of my cock.
He scooted down a bit, hands on my stomach now, slipping over my skin. Just shy
of my crotch, he stood up for more lotion and I almost howled in frustration. I
wanted this dumb outfit I wore out of the way so that I could just roll over
and offer myself to him, I wanted him that badly, I
needed
him, and the
tease of his grooming was torture.

With more lotion he rubbed my back
again, following the arch of my spine to the belt at my waist. He unsnapped the
jock and it fell away two seconds before his strong hands found my buttocks.
Kneading my ass, he dug into the meaty flesh and lifted my cheeks, separated
them, spread them wide. Fingers rimmed my hole, then trailed lower to explore
the soft skin behind my balls. His fingertips barely touched me, glancing over
my scrotum like feathers and just as maddening. My arms shook at the faint
touch, and I had to lock my elbows to keep myself from collapsing in a quiver.
Fuck
me,
I wanted to scream, but the bit silenced me. Combined with the tight
straps across my trembling body and the blinders that prevented me from seeing
Phillip, even from the corner of my eye, the bit heightened the moment for me,
made it seem more real. So
this
was what Sean got out of bondage. Sweet
Jesus
.

The feelings his hands created in me
were incredible, but it was more than that. I felt as if he held me in his
palms, and my pleasure was his to control. Total submission—I started to get it
now. Even if I wanted to say something, tell him what to do, how to turn me on,
I couldn’t. I was his. I couldn’t beg for more, couldn’t even
see
him.
All I could do was give into him completely, enjoy the sensations he created in
me. My body spoke where I could not, soft whimpers escaping the back of my
throat.
Don’t stop,
I begged silently, knowing full well that if he did,
there wasn’t a damn thing I would be able to do about it. That made his
attentions all the more powerful because he chose to keep stroking me, rubbing
me,
me
. I closed my eyes and focused on his hands on my body, my belly,
my back. I arched into him, my ass in the air as if begging for more. I was his
little pony boy and, right now, that was all I wanted to be—so long as he never
stopped touching me.

I barely heard Phillip’s zipper over
the low sounds escaping my throat, but suddenly his hard cock slid below my
ass. With one hand, he massaged my balls around the head of his shaft and
humped into me. “Good pony,” he whispered, leaning against me to stroke up my
erection and then down again to his own.

Spreading my knees wider, I lowered
myself and hoped he’d take the hint. I was ready for him. But with a little
laugh, he murmured, “Aren’t we an anxious little pony?” I moaned at his
words—needing,
wanting
him in me,
please
. His hands found my hips
and raised them back into position. “Not yet,” he said. “Wait for me.”

I wanted to protest but his dick
rubbed against mine, his hands kneaded my ass, and what if any sound of
complaint ended this? I tried to lose myself again to the feelings. It
wasn’t hard. I thought I might come from his finger gently running along the
crack of my ass alone.