Big Boy – revised
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Zack had heard the rumors more than once and had dismissed them out of hand each time. Urban legends, he had snorted in utter disbelief. Every season, it was said, a football player or two from some team or other disappeared up here after their game against Rocky Mountain State. He couldn't help but laugh. Somehow, the alleged victim was never a well-known player or even a name player whom anyone remembered specifically, football fan or no.
Beth, one of the cutest cheerleaders, had really seemed honestly, sincerely concerned when she breathlessly told him the story as if he had never heard it before. Everyone had already heard it, even him, a big, dumb defensive tackle. Still, he just loved watching her animation as she spoke. Cheerleaders rarely even talked to defensive linemen and he really appreciated the feminine attention, but he would be damned if he would hide in his hotel room like some frightened girl after the great game he had played that afternoon. The coach had finally given him a chance and he was sure that he had earned himself a spot on the starting line-up. Tonight was a night to celebrate.
“Well, at least you've been warned,” she cautioned him, suddenly gravely. Beth was so tiny; Zack felt silly. He should be the one protecting her. Her concern for him seemed somehow contrary to nature.
Perhaps, he argued, the disappearances, even if they were real, weren't so mysterious after all. Rather than anything so terrible, someone in danger of losing his eligibility and his scholarship – that's what they insisted on calling the money paid to athletes for playing football - had just decided to split and go home. Many students drop out of school and just disappear. Hell, his own grades were none too great and if his sociology paper bombed, he might lose his eligibility and his scholarship himself. What would he do then? What would he say to the Coach or his parents?
Beth listened carefully to his response and watched intently him while he talked. The expression of worry on her beautifully formed face relaxed only slightly despite his comforting explanations. “You know, you may be right,” she finally admitted, “but I'm still worried.” Her perfume filled his head. He always knew Beth by her perfume. Zack took little pleasure in his verbal victory. He wished that they could just go on talking. He would love to fuck her. Hell, he would love even to hold her in his arms. Somehow, somewhere, he found the courage, and he asked her to go out with him that night.
“Oh, Zachary, I'm so sorry. Some other time, perhaps? You should have really asked me sooner,” she said with apparent regret and obvious concern for his feelings.
She always called him Zachary or at least the few times she spoke to him. Everyone else called him Zack.
“I've already made other plans, Zachary. I'm going to spend the night up at my sister's ranch and do some riding tomorrow. The trails there are outstanding. You should see for yourself.” Her sister was some sort of doctor and owned a ranch way up in the mountains. She had spoken of her before.
Beth seemed so small. “You're so petite,” Zack said, searching for the right word. Horses are so big. How can you control a huge stallion?”
“Well, Zachary. Thank you for your concern.” Her change in tone told him that he had said the wrong thing in questioning her competence. “But I've ridden for years and I can take care of myself. I usually ride geldings - a stallion is rarely worth the extra bother - but geldings or stallions, you just have to show your mount that you're the boss. Anyway, Zachary, you just take care of yourself.”
Right away, Zack knew that he had said the wrong thing and soured the mood. With her casual mention of geldings in her sweet feminine voice, he felt his balls try to climb back up and hide in his belly. He knew exactly what a gelding was. He was 6 feet, 6 inches tall, 250 pounds and all muscle. Even his head, he was the first to joke in his self-depreciating manner. Sometimes, he admitted to himself, he often felt shy and clumsy, especially around girls, but very little really scared him. If Beth weren't available tonight, he would go out and party anyway. There were other girls and he might even get lucky. He snorted at his unending, often disappointed optimism.
He saw her sitting at the bar. Zack worked through his usual indecisiveness, then grabbed his beer and stood up. She was blond and beyond cute - really hot. He took one step in her direction and she looked up right at him. Something in her eyes told him that she wouldn't rebuff his interest out of hand. In any event, he was well used to rejection and one more wouldn't matter in the morning.
Her name was Ashley, she said, sliding her fashionable sunglasses half-way down her nose and making eye contact in the dimly lit bar. Her eyes were cornflower blue. Her hair was blonde. She was small like Beth.
“You look like a football player,” she said. Her ineluctable, desirable female presence befuddled him immediately and made it hard to think. Somehow, her feminine essence called to his masculinity on some level that did not require words. With her, talk was just a camouflage for a much more significant unspoken exchange.
Zack swallowed hard and nodded, ‘yes.' “I play for the U. How did you know?” He prayed that his uneasiness was not apparent. “Did you see the game?”
“Ugh! I never watch games, they're boring and I really don't understand them. I do watch the boys. Maybe your sweatshirt gave you away. Maybe your feet – you just don't look like my image of the captain of the chess team. Hey, it's awfully noisy here. Let's go somewhere quieter and talk,” she jumped in quickly. “Some friends are having a party.”
His face showed a definite willingness but some hesitation.
“I'll drive, if you don't have a car.” She jumped in gracefully and rescued him.
Zack nodded, great. He had come up on the team bus and had no car.
Laughing at her own folly, Ashley described her aversion to paying for parking as they walked past the valet and then walked four blocks off the main drag into a quiet neighborhood and finally found her car. The passenger side seat of the two-seater hardly slid back far enough for Zack to be comfortable. The car was hot. He wondered how a girl – apparently a student like himself found the money to buy a car like this. Rich parents?
Two hours later, Ashley returned to the bar - alone. “Where is your football hunk?” someone asked her.
Emily, Beth's friend was there with another friend, Marissa. “Didn't I see you with Zack tonight?” Emily asked.
“Yes, Zack. Your cute friend Zack and I went to a party,” Ashley admitted. “He was still high from his game today – you guys beat us - and had drunk some too. He's really a hottie–he was so quiet at first and cute.”
“If you like'em that big,” Emily said. “Can you imagine him lying on top of you. Ugh!”
“Well, no one was lying on top of anyone. We had just hooked up and he was a bit too fast and too insistent, if you know what I mean. He's hot, but give a girl a chance to get into the mood.”
Emily shook her head. She knew what Ashley was talking about. She had been there herself – more than once. Still, she more than a bit surprised. She knew Zack. Perhaps he had had too much to drink. Perhaps he was different away from campus with people who didn't know him and whom he would never see again. “Old Zack. I didn't know he had it in him,” she commiserated. In the end, sisterhood won out over school loyalty. “You never know what they're going to do.”
“Zack's our friend,” said Marissa with some empathy. She was conflicted too; she had also been in similar circumstances herself. “He's usually not like that, not at all. I wonder what got into him. I bet he's sobered up this morning and he's really ashamed of himself.”
“We've all made mistakes,” Ashley allowed generously. “Let's just say that Zack may have had quite an evening had he been just a bit more patient.” She rolled her eyes. Emily and Marissa both laughed.
Zack woke up groggy with a pounding headache. His throat burned. His hands hurt. He couldn't remember what manner of dog piss he had drunk in the car but the world still refused to come into focus. The light was dim except fro a red flashing “Exit” sign that flashed almost painfully. He tried to fit his roiling memories into a cohesive whole. He was going to some sort of party with this new girl, Ashley. They had stopped at a liquor store. Ashley gave him a fifty and sent him in to buy a case of wine coolers and a case of beer. She popped the trunk and he stowed the two cases. He got back to the car and she was drinking something from a flask. She gave him a drink. It tasted like dog piss and he sputtered. Ashley laughed at the grotesque face he made. She teased him and he finished the damned flask on a dare. The taste never improved. That's all he remembered. Where was Ashley now?
Where was he now? Wherever he was, he was naked. Where were his clothes? He tried to remember what had happened, but he couldn't separate actual, true memories from the detailed but disconnected images that bubbled out of his garbled imagination. Had he shagged Ashley? She was a real hottie. He remembered that. He just hoped that she had enjoyed getting it as much as he had enjoyed giving it to her. Or had she just given him a blowjob? Or had she done anything at all?
He obviously wasn't in the car, so where was he now? He was on some sort of hospital gurney in an antiseptic-smelling hospital-like corridor. He tried to raise his arms and discovered that he was strapped down. Had someone taken him to the hospital drunk? What if his Coach found out? His head hurt and his nose hurt too. His hands were bandaged. What the fuck had happened to him? He tried to lift his head from the thin foam mattress. Something cold pressed against his upper lip. A metal ring passed through his nose – like the ring on a bull. He snorted bull-like in derision. Had he gone and gotten himself stinking drunk, then gone for a piercing? Why hadn't someone stopped him? Where was Ashley? What time was the bus ride back to the ‘U.?' He dreaded seeing the grade on his sociology paper. Thoughts and images raced around his brain and never stopped. Memories and fantasies appeared and disappeared - all seemed equally real or unreal. Mercifully, he just fell back to sleep.
He woke and the light was blinding. He was still strapped to the gurney but his mind was clearer. He was naked and shivering. He didn't know whether it was Sunday or Monday. His throat still burned dully. His upper lip was sore. He felt a scab when he touched it with his tongue. His hands ached. His penis burned too. He had to pee terribly. He lifted his head a few inches and saw that his penis was ringed, just like his nose.
He tried rocking the gurney, but stopped, before it toppled over with him strapped to it.
Suddenly, a female figure appear beside him – an attractive girl about his age, somewhat taller than Beth or Ashley, wearing blue jeans and a tank top. Her navel peeked out over her thick leather belt. She looked athletic; her belly was flat. She was a blonde too, but a fewer shades darker than Ashley. “My prince awakes!” she said, sounding mostly bored. “Do you have to pee?”
Zack opened his mouth to answer, but he could only make a hoarse braying sound. Something was wrong with his throat too.
The girl pressed firmly on his belly, just above his pubic bone. His distress increased and he brayed again in desperation.
She laughed. “I'll take that for a yes.” She didn't seem at all nonplussed by his nudity. Mischievously, she ran her finger down the inside of his thigh. She lifted his cock gently and pointed him into a fat-necked bottle. “Two choices. You can pee in the bottle or I can cath you. It's up to you,” she concluded matter of fact. She didn't look at all like a nurse.
Zack did nothing until she showed him the catheter. Humiliated, Zack peed into the proffered bottle and the red color startled him.
“Don't worry, the girl chuckled, seeing his concern. “That's just pyridium – pain medicine - so it doesn't burn so much.” She let him finish and shook off the last drops. “Time to get off that stretcher.” Her amused tone hadn't changed.
Zack tried to speak again, but did no better this time.
“I really don't want any trouble from you, Big Boy.” She clipped a lead to his nose ring and undid the belt across his middle, freeing his arms. “Now sit up.” Zack swung his legs over the side and slowly sat up. “Take it slow. Easy now.”
Zack tried to make heads or tails of things. He was some sort of hostage – a kidnap victim – though he couldn't imagine who might pay his ransom. This woman was a foot shorter than he and likely didn't weight a half what he weighed. She was only a girl and the door to the room was ten feet behind her. The door was open and she carried no obvious weapon that he could see.
With no warning – he hoped – he yanked the lead from the startled girl's hand. His nose hurt like stink. He pushed off the gurney and burst for the door - and freedom. The gurney teetered and toppled over behind him with a loud crash. However, he hadn't gone two steps when he tripped over the chain that hobbled his ankles and fell heavily on his face. He tried to break his fall with his bandaged hands and the pain was terrible.
The girl was on him in flash. “Cock sucker! You'll hurt yourself,” she said with a certain hint of compassion as she pulled one bandaged hand behind his back and then cuffed it to the other. “Now stand up, Big Boy, slowly and carefully. Let me help you,” she offered kindly. “I don't want you injuring yourself. We've made quite an investment in you.”
She retrieved up his lead and helped him struggle to his feet. He was too large to carry. She led him slowly down the hallway and through double doors from the infirmary to the stable. She steadied him as he walked with tiny steps. She noticed that he accepted her help. This was always the first step. Finally, she ushered him into a cell, in a stall really. She clipped his lead to a ring set securely in the wall. She removed the hobble from his ankles and removed his handcuffs.
Alone and locked in the stall, Zack stood on the clean straw and struggled to calm himself. He breathed slowly and deliberately and took stock of his situation. He was naked, though that seemed to bother no one except him. A two-inch metal ring pierced his nose and a matching one-inch ring pierced the end of his cock. The underside of his upper lip hurt. His throat hurt and he could not talk. His hands hurt ferociously under his bandages. He was hungry and thirsty. He could not remember when he last had eaten or drunk.
Day faded into night. The red light of a surveillance camera provided the dim illumination at night. His stall was bare except for a metal bucket in one corner and a pan of water in the other. His ankles and wrists were free. The ring in his nose was connected to a ring set solidly in the cinder block wall. He could reach the ring but his bandaged hands could not unfasten it. The lead was metal chain and he could never break it or chew through it. The slack gave him some leeway. He could sit or lie on the straw covered floor. He could peer out over the half door into the barn beyond.
The first girl – the others called her Caitlin – brought him food in the morning and twice a day. She fed him by hand. The routine never changed. He had to place his wrists behind his back, kneel, kiss her boot. She placed the food the food in his mouth. Everyday he ate some sort of bland, filling gruel that left him craving anything sweet, salty, or spicy.
If he balked at kneeling, he did not eat. If he did not kiss her boot, he did not eat. He could only drink from a pan on the floor like a dog. She always carried a damp towel to wipe his mouth when he had finished eating. She brushed his teeth after his evening meal. He tried to speak to her for the first few days, but gave up when she completely ignored his clearly incomprehensible noises. He knew what he was trying to say but could not shape sounds into intelligible words.
At first he decided not eat, to starve himself to death. When he refused to eat, Caitlin did not argue with him. She did not beat him. She just waited. Eventually, hunger and boredom conspired to drive him to surrender. Some days, the boot smelled particularly rank.
His mind raced to explain his surrender. He needed to eat, he told himself, if only to keep his strength. He needed to feign cooperation to gain the confidence of his keepers so that he might escape. If he only waited, his chance would come. This was his second surrender and made his subsequent capitulations easier.
His chance was long in coming. The lead fasten to his nose find was always secured.
When Caitlin changed his bandages, he saw that his thumb and index finger of each hand had been surgically removed and the skin neatly closed. He was healing well, but he could not untie a knot or open a latch.
He slept better over the next week as the pain in his nose, lip, throat, and penis diminished. Sometimes, he turned in his sleep and pulled inadvertently on his still tender nose. He had no idea what day it might be. No one saw fit to inform him and he was unable to ask.
Twice each day, Caitlin or another girl brought him food and fresh water. When the girl appeared, he went to his knees and kissed her boot, filthy or clean. Should he fail to kneel promptly and kiss her boot or should he fail to open his mouth and allow her to feed him from her hand. She turned and left him to his hunger until the next feeding. He was never beaten.
He would pretend to comply, he told himself, in order to keep his strength and to lull his keepers into a sense of complacency. Given the chance, he might seize one of the girls and demand his freedom. He wondered what the response might be to such a demand.
They called him Big Boy. Someone watched him all the time. He had no privacy in his stall. At night, he lay under a surveillance camera. It red operating light glowed eerily in the darkness. It watched him urinate. It watched him squat over the slop bucket and defecate. No bodily function was too private or personal for its uncaring, never-blinking eye.
His throat healed, but he could make no sound except for a moan and a hoarse braying noise. The stalls to either side of his were empty. From time to time he saw other naked males, every bit as large as he or larger being led about by casually dressed young women who looked to the world like grooms and exercise girls in a riding stable. He saw no ordinary sized men. At least once, he caught a one's man's eye and the man stared back at him with resigned sadness. Zack tried to call out to get his attention but he could only bray.
Once he saw several young women dragging a frantically resisting male somewhere in high good spirits. The male brayed frantically, but he was overcome handily despite his obvious size and strength.
Vivid images of his old life still troubled his dreams. In the dark, lonely nights, he dreamed of his life before his kidnapping and plotted his escape.
A full week passed. One evening, he awoke from a nap to a sudden tug on his nose ring and opened his eyes to see Caitlin in the fading light of dusk. He climbed unsteadily to his feet, then knelt awkwardly and pressed his lips against her boot – by habit now, without any thought. He was as rank as her boots. He hadn't washed in a week. She patted his greasy matted head affectionately, then cuffed his wrists behind his back and unfastened his lead. She urged him to his feet. Zack stumbled after her, clumsily and hunched over at waist because of the disparity in their heights and her strong pull on his nose ring. The sharp pressure on his nose ring was agony.
They entered some sort of workroom – a grooming shed. The walls were lined with shelves and counters. Below the counters were numberless drawers. A drain sat centered in the floor. He saw various salves and implements laid out ready for use.
She tugged on his nose ring and his head was pulled up sharply. She fastened his lead to a block and tackle hanging from the ceiling and stretched him to his tiptoes. He had to stretch and arch his neck to relieve the pressure. He looked around as well as he was able in his awkward position. Looking down was impossible.
The girl knelt and her hand tugged at his right ankle. With a click his ankle was secured to a stay set securely in the concrete floor. Next, she removed the cuffs and inspected his hands. He was already well healed. His hands looked grotesque with no thumb or index finger.
Zack stretched his newly freed arms. Inadvertently, he reached out as if to grab the girl. In reality, he was only trying to work out his stiffness.
Caitlin ducked and deftly avoided his arm. “Hey watch it, Big Boy! My mother warned me about boys like you,” she said with evident good humor. However, she promptly went to the chain on the wall and gave it a yank, pulling his head yet a couple of centimeters higher. He reached up, grabbed the chain as well as he was able with his three fingered hand, and relieved some of the pressure from his exquisitely sensitive nose.
She sprayed him with a blast of frigid water. He jerked away, and then jerked again when the pull on his nose ring shot waves of intense pain through his face and head. Zack stood motionless. She stood on a low stepstool and washed his hair, the soaped up his unshaven face, and then soaped up the rest of his body, unwashed for a full week. She devoted particular attention to his underarms, between his ass cheeks, and his feet. She washed between his ass cheeks with brusque efficiency and no apparent aversion. She handled his genitals gently with a casual familiarity.
A mercilessly stiff brushing followed the soap. Next, she shaved his head except for a three-inch stripe, front to back. She sheared his scraggily beard to an even quarter inch length. Next, she put on gloves and covered him with some sort of ointment. His cock and balls were slick with her ministrations and tumescent. She just ignored his reaction and went about her work methodically. When she rinsed him with off with unbearably cold water, she left him completely depilated, hairless, except for the closely cropped beard on his face and the stripe of hair on his head. She dried him off with terrycloth towels. The towels felt good and it was good to be clean again. Then she rubbed him down with some sort of fragrant liniment containing moisturizer, sun block, and insect repellent.
Caitlin's strong hands felt good on his body. Her exertions spiced her floral perfume. Zack relished her close proximity and the warmth of her body.
Now that he was clean and depilated, Caitlin secured his wrists behind his back. Only then, she unfastened his lead and led him out so that he might be inspected by a second woman – named Judith - somewhat older and obviously of some importance.
“Big Boy, say hello to the Boss Lady,” Zack knelt awkwardly and pressed his lips against Judith's highly polished boot. Judith turned her foot so that his lips touched the sole and wouldn't mar the brilliant shine.
“That's good!” Judith said with a smile. “Very good! But I would really like to see a bit more tongue. Stand!” Zack rose to his feet, unsteadily. She circled around him and squeezed the muscles of his thigh and buttock. She inspected the healing surgical scars on his truncated hands. Wrists cuffed behind his back, he could do little but kick out at her when she grabbed his upper lip and folded it back. She deftly avoided his foot and slapped him sharply. Then she grabbed his lip again. This time he did not resist when she folded it back and showed Caitlin the identifying tattoo on the underside of his lip. The mark was perfect, clear and legible.
“Lucky for him, he was already circumcised. All my mounts are clipped. Foreskins really complicate hygiene in the stable.” Judith lifted his cock by its ring and cradled his balls gently in the palm of her gloved hand, all the while staring him in the face, as if daring him to do something about it. Shackled as he was, he had little to do. He couldn't meet her gaze and turned away, defeated.
Anger mounted and Zack just lost it. He tried to piss on her.
His childish behavior did not provoke her. In fact, she sought to elicit his animal nature. Calmly, she pointed him away so that he peed largely on himself. She released him only when he had finished. “A fine beast! Just look at the size of him. Those shoulders were made for a saddle. We won't brand him until we decide whether we'll keep him or sell him.” With that, she turned and left.
Judith prided herself on her very small number of her males who failed her regimen and had to be destroyed. Unlike some trainers, she began with the surgical modifications – hands, vocal cords, and piercing – terror and awe. No captive male ever had a chance to argue with her.
“Big Boy, you're really something,” Caitlin marveled at his self-destructive stupidity. She unsheathed a rod-like device from her belt – a cattle prod - and jabbed him. Zack glared back at her defiantly. “That was the Boss Lady. Piss her off, Big Boy, and you're pet food.” She then pulled the trigger and Big Boys collapsed in a heap of twitching muscles.
She stood back and waited patiently for him to recover. When he had recovered, more or less, she helped him stand, then half-led and half-dragged him behind her.
The next day, Caitlin taught Zack to walk on a lead. Safety was always the first consideration. Zack's wrists were cuffed behind his back when she led him outside.
The first time he had the opportunity, Zack tried to break away and escape. Males are always physically stronger than their riders, but a woman's intelligence, focus, and persistence can make up for mere size and brute strength. Zack ran and simply ripped the lead from Caitlin's hand. Caitlin followed after him, unhappy with her carelessness. She walked but she didn't run. Hannah, another girl who worked in the stable, whistled for Shaka, her trained Mantassa hound and followed.
Zack ran desperately. A week of inactivity had eroded his mid-season conditioning. His lead dragged behind him. At first, he widened the distance and really thought he might escape. Caitlin followed at a brisk walk, frowning and angrier with herself than with the male. Hannah jogged along and her large hound bounded at her side.
Zack came to a fence. He followed it and found a gate- yawning open. He dashed through it and up a road to what he thought might be freedom. However, the road led only to a second gate. This gate was securely closed. Zack found himself in a 50 by 50 yard enclosure and no closer to freedom.
Hannah loosed her hound. The great creature bounded after Zack barking and gnashing her teeth. Wrists secured behind his back, Zack's male parts were exposed and vulnerable to the hound's snapping teeth. He kicked out at the creature, which deftly backed away and avoided his foot. Hannah and Caitlin just waited.
Zack was intensely aware of his exposed male parts and the dog's snapping teeth. He kicked out at the hound until he was simply too tired to continue. In desperation, he looked to Caitlin and Hannah for rescue. Hannah called off her dog and at once Shaka's innate good nature quickly returned.
Caitlin regained Zack's lead and gave him her fiercest her look. Zack knew he was in trouble. He saw the prod in her belt and quickly knelt and kissed her boot sloppily. His tongue was clearly visible. He hoped that Caitlin would spare him the prod. She didn't.
Zack quickly learned to follow on a lead and walk behind Caitlin or another at about two meters. At first, he had just stood there, stupidly. “Heel,” she directed in her best command voice and tugged sharply on his lead. Through stubbornness or stupidity, he didn't move at all. However, Hannah stood directly behind him. She applied her crop to his bare rump sharply. He started to move with a jump in the appropriate direction. He glanced behind and saw that Hannah followed behind him with her whip to correct any misbehavior. Caitlin led him around the corral twice, then out the gate and around back into the corral. Hannah was grinning ear to ear.
Hannah and Caitlin traded places. Hannah led and Caitlin followed. Now Caitlin could see why Hannah had been smiling. He had a really great ass, high and tight. His brawny muscles really jumped on the few occasions that she had to wield the whip. Strong thighs and buttocks were the foundation of a good mount. Necessary corrections became fewer and fewer. Zack had no fondness for the lash and learned quickly.
For Zack or Big Boy, as he was now called, the worst part was the humiliation. He could live with the whip, although he had no fondness for it. They paraded him daily, naked on display for all these women who saw him as no more than a beast. They talked about him as they wanted. He understood every word that was spoken but couldn't form a word in response. They touched him as they wanted and restrained as he was, he couldn't do a thing to protect himself from their eyes or their hands. Twice a day he had to kneel and kiss the boot of the woman or girl who fed him. He had to kneel and kiss the boot at the beginning of each training or grooming session.
He saw other males as large as himself carrying riders perched on saddles between their shoulders. He would never tolerate such humiliation but he wondered what it might be like.
Zack was now groomed every night. Two days a week, Hannah took Caitlin's place. Occasionally, Jenny got the duty. Grooming was not just for appearance and hygiene. Grooming accustomed a mount to his rider's handling.
Memories of his previous life faded in his waking nightmare. He had long empty hours alone in his stall to brood on his fate. His early plans win his captors' trust and escape or take someone hostage and negotiate his freedom proved utterly hopeless. He had had no opportunities. Wild fantasies of escape and revenge replaced any practical plotting.
After only one week, longeing followed leading, in his third week in captivity. Caitlin stood in the center of the exercise yard and held a long lead. She pointed and ordered, “Run!” Zack just stood there and looked dumbly at her until she obtained his comprehension with her whip. After the whip slashed his bare buttock, he got the message and ran in circles. When he slowed, Caitlin encouraged him to speed up with her whip. Caitlin taught to walk, jog, stride, sprint, and stop on command. Caitlin, Hannah, and Jenny ran him unencumbered three times a day - morning, afternoon, and evening. Zack or Big Boy learned to answer promptly to the whip. Over time, the snap of the whip became a sufficient reminder. Physical contact was not required.
Grooming now included careful attention to Big Boy's feet. His toenails were trimmed and minor cuts and abrasions carefully tended. His tired legs and buttocks were thoroughly massaged.
Nights, he was exhausted and slept well. His body accommodated itself to his frequent penetrations. With his utter exhaustion, he had less energy to brood and his imaginary rebellions became less frequent. He had less and less energy left to plot his escape or to dream of revenge except in the scant minutes before sleep
Once she had exacted a modicum of obedience, Caitlin worked on endurance. His feet became tougher. Big Boy quickly learned to keep to the pace and respond promptly to her commands in order to avoid the inevitable sharp reminders from her whip. She ran him to exhaustion, but always walked him until he cooled down before she brought him in for the night and groomed him.
One morning, Zack's legs ached and he was simply too tired to move. His long-brewing anger and resentment erupted in overt rebellion. Caitlin opened the door and he refused to struggle to his knees and kiss her boots. He looked at her then just looked away and closed his eyes. He was too tired even to eat.
“Big Boy!” she called once. Zack refused to budge.
He felt something cold press into his side. The next thing that he knew, he was lying on his back – staring up at the ceiling. His muscles were twitching uncontrollably and he had pissed on himself. He had shat on himself too.
In less than a second, he was on his knees, slobbering on his trainer's boots. He never wanted to encounter the cattle prod again. Three experiences had been enough.
Next, came the weighted training saddles. First, Caitlin taught Big Boy to kneel to be saddled while Hannah or another groom held his nose ring. Carrie brought in a trained mount, Wheat Bread, to demonstrate. The veteran, proud of the women's confidence, looked at the novice with disdain. Carrie jabbed Wheat Bread's left knee and ordered, “Mount!” Wheat Bread lowered his left knee to the ground and knelt. His right thigh was parallel with the ground and served as a step for mounting.
Caitlin jabbed Big Boy's knee with her crop and commanded, “Mount!” Big Boy hesitated, unsure. He looked at Wheat Bread.
“Mount!” Caitlin repeated the technically correct term with obvious impatience. She jabbed his knee again. She was not in the habit of repeating commands, lest the dim-witted male be misled to think that the command was “Mount! Mount!” and not simply “Mount!”
Big Boy knelt and immediately sensed that he had done the right thing.
Caitlin hefted the cleverly constructed saddle over his shoulders. The struts and frame were belted to his waist and served to lower the center of gravity. She kept his wrists cuffed behind his back until the saddle was secure. Then she released his arms and fastened them in front to the saddle where they served as foot rests.
Big Boy ran well saddled and his endurance increased steadily. The saddle was weighted in the second week and the weight was gradually increased. He learned to respond promptly to verbal commands. He had already learned to respond to the whip.
Caitlin brought him to the point when she could fasten his lead to the center post in the exercise ring and run him, alone or with another mount or three or even four other mounts. Another trainer or even an exercise girl could run him without problem. Caitlin finally had some time on her hands and started looking about for another raw male to train. Every few days, she increased the weights in his training saddle and ran him a few minutes longer. His strength and endurance grew over the next weeks. However, no one attempted to mount him.
The routine was exhausting and mind-numbing. Sometimes, Caitlin, Hannah, or Jenny gave him a piece of dried fruit. The sweet fruit was a real treat compared to his bland and monotonous stable diet. Big Boy came to relish the sweets and to enjoy the soothing massages. Physically exhausted, he slept soundly with few dreams. Gentler images of his grooms and trainer replaced his more bizarre revenge fantasies as memories of his past life faded. He thought less and less about escape and freedom.
Training continued smoothly. His body took on a pleasing all-over tan. His regular grooming kept him completely depilated. He lost the small amount of fat he had carried when he first arrived despite his mid season football conditioning. His beard grew in and Caitlin. Hannah, or Jenny clipped him neatly at 1/4 inch weekly when she shaved the sides of his head. The grooms combed back his center stripe into a mane.
Several crucial steps remained. One day, Caitlin dropped a strange contraption over his head – a bridle, she called it. He quickly became used to that too and more accustomed his handling by his trainer and grooms. Everyone marveled at the rapid transformation of a rag-tag male into a well-kept, well-trained mount.
Big Boy had yet to carry a rider and Caitlin had not yet introduced the controlling rods. The day seemed like any other. Caitlin saddled and bridled Zack. Zack wondered why the saddle was so light.
Hannah led Zack, saddled and bridled, into a tiny padded pen, perhaps four feet square. This was new. The walls stood as chest high. From the outside, she dragged him up against the far wall and held his lead close while Caitlin swung the door closed behind him. Zack looked down. A 4x4 slid between his legs, front to back and just below the level of his groin.
Today was something very much out of the ordinary. Zack heard voices behind him, Caitlin, Jenny, and someone vaguely familiar he just couldn't identify. He tried looking behind him but Hannah gave him no slack.
Suddenly, he sensed someone sitting on the wall behind him. “Has anyone mounted him yet?” The voice was tantalizingly familiar.
Hannah shook her head, no. “Not as far as I know, Ashley. Judith said that we're to save him for you.”
Ashley was the damned little bitch who had kidnapped him!
“Yeah,” Caitlin answered. “Judith and I think he has real potential to be a great Pony.”
“Hey, you haven't branded him yet,” Ashley remarked, looking down over the smooth skin of his depilated ass.
“We save branding for the end of training. There's a certain bond between a Pony and the girl who brands him.” Caitlin explained.
“He's got the makings of a great mount,” Ashley agreed. “Now this really is an ass to die for!”
“Well, Judith saved his cherry just for you. You're his first.” Caitlin offered. Ashley was Judith's best procurer.
“Really?” Ashley snorted. She climbed up on the back wall of the pen. “Well, here goes nothing!”
Zack felt her weight drop into the saddle. His temper flared. He had carried much more than her paltry weight but never had his subjugated status been more plain and clear. He tried to shake her off. He threw himself forward and backward but the tight pen gave him little room. Ashley gripped his bridle tightly and hung on. He succeeded only in banging his back and shoulders into the padded walls. He threw himself to the left and right.
Exhilarated, Ashley was laughing.
Zack struggled to unseat her. In desperation, he tried throwing himself to the floor and succeeded only in smashing his male parts against the carefully positioned 4x4. He recoiled in agony. Gradually, he tired and Ashley still kept her seat.
“Easy, boy. Easy.” She answered his frenzy with steady calm “Don't hurt yourself.”
Zack's struggles slowly ceased.
“Okay, Caitlin. Let us out!”
Caitlin opened the pen's forward door.
“Okay, Big Boy. Here we go. Easy, easy, Big Boy.” Ashley snapped her heels into Big Boy's flanks sharply. Hannah led Zack out of the pen.
Zack emerged with Ashley firmly in his saddle. He surrendered himself totally to her will.
“He's a real beauty. Let's take him out to the ring.” Hannah led them out to the exercise yard.
Big Boy knelt as instructed and Hannah held his nose ring. After eight full weeks of training, Caitlin saddled him with regular saddle and secured his bridle.
Caitlin stepped up on his right thigh and swung her left leg over his neck. She sat herself solidly in the saddle. Big Boy held absolutely still. He was used to it now. The cunningly designed saddle shifted her weight onto his hips, lowering the otherwise high center of gravity and improving stability. He stood carefully on command. Bearing Caitlin was no more difficult for Big Boy than bearing the weighted saddle. In fact, she was lighter.
Hannah led him to the exercise yard with Caitlin on his back. Caitlin held the hand grasps tightly. Just as she had done before, Hannah stood in the center of the yard and held his lead. Big Boy jogged, strode, and sprinted as directed. It was no different than running with the training saddle. Big Boy came to enjoy Caitlin's warm breath on his neck. He inhaled her perfume and her closeness somehow thrilled him.
Caitlin began to dictate the pace herself. Big Boy hadn't noticed the blunted metal spurs projecting from the heels of Caitlin's boots until he felt her jab him. Her crop, however sharply wielded, was no different than her cruel longeing whip when she stood in the center of the yard and hectored him.
The spurs were another matter. He had been used only to the feel of his rider's heel. Their first sharp jab changed his life. Soon, even the touch of cold metal against his bare flanks reminded him who was mistress and who her subservient beast. He feared the spurs as he feared the prod, more than the whip or crop. Big Boy began to watch Caitlin's shiny leather boots and those of Jenny and Hannah. The glint of metal made him tremble.
After a time, Caitlin directed him to stop. Hannah shortened up on his nose lead and he knelt so that Caitlin could dismount. Judith had come out to watch and she was very pleased. Her spurs were rowelled and jingled when she walked. Big Boy relished Judith's approval.
Then Caitlin took hold of the nose-lead. “Mount!” Judith said jabbed the back of his knee with her crop.
Big Boy hesitated, but only for an instant. He was accustomed only to Caitlin's commands. However, he quickly understood what was required and knelt on his left knee. Judith swung up into his saddle gracefully. Caitlin sighed and allowed herself a small smile. She led them back to the exercise pen.
Judith ran him to utter exhaustion. She had consistently high expectations and no tolerance for laziness. She used her crop liberally. He answered to it promptly and without reservation. She let him feel her spurs but used them with restraint. He was thoroughly marked and thoroughly exhausted when she was finished, despite his extensive conditioning.
“Caitlin, I think that he's ready for the control rods,” Judith concluded with some satisfaction. Big Boy had no idea what she was talking about as he knelt and pressed his mouth against the proffered sole of her boot.
A human mount lacks the long neck and head of the equine and his rider's forward position between his shoulders denies her the leverage necessary to for conventional bit, and reins. However, even the most petite riders easily manages the largest male with the clever shaped wooden dowels – called control rods - inserted deeply in his exquisitely sensitive ear canals and held securely in place by his bridle. One leather strap passes across his forehead. A second strap passes between his nose and upper lip and looped through the nose ring. Together, both pass around the sides of his head and hold the control rods in place. Hand grasps are provided on either side where the strap passed over his temples. The slightest pressure from the heel of a hand on a control rod presses against his sensitive ear canal and turns him promptly to the right or left. Pressure on both rods brings him promptly to a stop. Male size and strength are firmly bound to the service of his rider.
“Give him one more week, Judith,” Caitlin appealed. “'You shouldn't bring a mount along too quickly.' Who am I quoting?”
Judith smiled at the compliment. “Me. Okay – one more week.”
Caitlin walked him for quite a log time before he caught his breath and his chest stopped heaving that night. She fastened his nose lead and began his grooming. When she finished, she chuckled to see that his erection had returned. She snorted her derision and pointedly ignored him.
For the next week, Big Boy worked mornings and afternoons on the longe line. In the evenings, he was saddled and bridled. Caitlin, Hannah, and Jenny took turns leading and riding. Without the control rods, no one would ride him outside of the ring with the hand grasps alone.
With his gradual, extensive preparation, carrying the women was easy. Big Boy became as used to the bridle as he had become used to the saddle. The whips bit and the spurs terrified him, but the women never wielded them without provocation or to cause permanent damage. He was property, he imagined, valuable property.
He was never totally free. When the saddle didn't restrain his wrists, the cuffs secured his wrists behind his back. When his arms were free, his ankles were hobbled. When his ankles were freed, his wrists were restrained. Big Boy came to understand that escape was impossible and resistance uncomfortable, if not painful, and absolutely futile.
Exhausted, he slept well and ate what passed for food with eagerly. He looked forward to the occasional sweet. He loved the treats, even when Caitlin or Hannah pulled a chunk of dried apricot or salty jerky from her jeans pocket, even soiled with sand and grit. Alone in his stall, he slept and dreamed more of his trainer and grooms and less of escape and revenge.
One day, though, things changed. Big Boy was saddled and then bridled. Before he knew exactly what had happened, the wicked control rods were set for the first time. He had no idea of their function but they were new and uncomfortable. His hearing was diminished and they frightened him.
Caitlin freed Big Boy's ankles from the stay and he knelt to be mounted. Hannah unfastened his lead and held on. Big Boy shook his head wildly but could not dislodge the damned rods. He didn't seem aware of Caitlin on his back. Hannah held his lead and tugged once and even twice before she distracted him from the rods and brought him to a stand. She led him docilely to the exercise yard and then freed his nose ring from the lead.
Big Boy shook his head again and brayed his distress. He just couldn't displace the damn rods that invaded his delicate ear canals. It took several seconds, but a totally new awareness dawned in his head. He finally realized that after all the hours of leading and longeing, he was absolutely free. Although his wrists were secured, his ankles were no longer hobbled. No lead restrained him – he had only a woman on his back – a girl really - and she was less than half his size. The gate to the exercise yard stood open!
Freedom! He was free! He quickly, he looked about for that damned hound. Not seeing her, he bolted and made a wild dash for the gate. Caitlin's weight on his back was nothing. She might wield the whip as she liked but he knew he could ignore her biting lash and reach the damned gate and freedom. He wondered how far the ranch was set back from the highway. He really didn't care. They had trained and conditioned him well. No distance would be too far in his dash for freedom.
Without warning, he just ran and Caitlin simply held on for dear life. He had really thought he would make it – never realizing that he would need to clear both an inner and outer gate before reaching the access road that joined the highway.
He never even found out! Suddenly, a tsunami – a tidal wave - of excruciating pain filled his awareness and he just stopped. He had learned to live with the whip, the spurs, and the cattle prod but the rods were crueler still. The quality of the pain was sharper and more terrible. The awful hurt came silently and suddenly with no warning. He had no touch of the prod or hissing of the whip - and no chance to prepare himself. The excruciating pain finally broke him.
Soon, he rounded the ring smartly, fully under his rider's control. Quickly, he learned to concentrate and to respond most promptly, even eagerly to his rider's direction in order to avoid the unbearable pain. His thoughts dwelled on the dreaded rods day and night. Fantasies of escape and revenge died in his mind to be replaced by nightmares of excruciating pain.
He saw the metal spurs on Caitlin's boots. He had felt something metallic brush against his flanks when she maneuvered them from the stable. The spurs' sharp jab stunned him but reminded him of the immediate urgency of his rider's call for speed. From then on, he studied his rider before she mounted to see what manner of spurs she might be wearing. Caitlin's blunted spurs were nowhere as intimidating as the sharper varieties he later experienced.
Big Boy took to the control rods well. Most mounts take to the control rods well as they have little alternative. Caitlin admired his spirit, though. The same courage and heart that he had shown in his “escape” attempts would readily be harnessed in his owner's service. He had learned his lesson early in the game. Big Boy was big and strong to start with and now was thoroughly conditioned. He carried his rider easily and responded smartly to the control rods, the lash, and the spurs. A raw mount is a mountain of work but Big Boy had learned much in only twelve weeks.
She was very proud on the day when Big Boy knelt to accept his saddle, bridle, and control rods. Caitlin mounted Big Boy and Judith mounted her favorite, Wing Song, and ran them around the exercise ring. They jogged and ran for at least thirty minutes.
Judith grabbed a picnic lunch and took them for a trail ride. She rode her favorite, Wing Song. Caitlin rode Big Boy. Hannah rode the gelding Whole Wheat. Geldings were popular at the stable. Many mothers felt more comfortable when their daughters rode geldings. Intact males tended to be lazy, impulsive, and prone to violence. Judith used her ring to open the inner gate, then closed it behind her when all three riders were past. Only then, she opened the outer gate. A third gate still separated the ranch form the highway.
On the trail, She showed them how to vary their pace from jog, to stride, and to sprint to call on different muscle groups and keep the mounts fresh. She made sure that they walked them until they cooled off before they stopped and hobbled them in the shade. Before they ate themselves and went for their swim, Caitlin and Hannah watered the mounts.
At lunch, Judith explained that a good rider conserves her mount's strength. A well-trained mount will give of everything of himself and run until his lungs burst and his heart fails. More than one careless rider had had her mount collapse dead beneath her. Judith had as little patience and more disdain for the careless rider who left her mount blown and exhausted and for those whose mount's ears bleed from too heavy a hand on the control rods than she had for a rebellious mount.
Caitlin and Hannah listened with horror at Judith's story of one woman's boasting of the mount she had driven mercilessly until his heart had literally burst. Dying, he collapsed under her and she had jumped desperately for safety, suffering bruises, abrasions and a torn and soiled riding costume. The woman sensed Judith's obvious anguish and blithely assumed that Judith was sympathizing with her embarrassing spill rather than distressed by the valuable mount's clearly avoidable demise.
One day, Caitlin swung open the door of his stall, flanked by Jenny and a pair of smiling, chattering exercise girls. Big Boy saw only his bridle and the feared control rods. Quickly, he knelt and kissed Caitlin's boot.
Jenny lifted him by his nose ring. “Hey, Caitlin,” she quipped. “I think he likes you!”
Hannah strapped on his saddle. No spurs ornamented the heels of her well-worn boots. Caitlin, his trainer, placed her empty hand on his shoulder, smiled, and circled slowly behind him, holding the reigning rods in her other and. She wore her usual blunted spurs. He was afraid of the rods and he trembled. They had given him so much pain, but yet he thrilled to Caitlin's touch. He tried to turn his head to watch her, but the exercise girl kept a firm grip on his nose ring. He felt Caitlin's warm, soft hand stroke the side of his neck gently. He turned his head to nuzzle her hand. She smoothly slipped the bridle over his head and he held still obedient and hungry for her praise. A second more and the control rods were inserted and secure. Involuntarily, he shook his head forcefully, wrenching his nose ring from the girl's grasp. He was too late and he knew it. He had nothing left that he could do.
To his surprise, Jenny swung up into the saddle – not Caitlin. Big Boy was puzzled. He looked at Caitlin and tried to get her attention. He opened his mouth and but could only utter his unintelligible braying noise. Caitlin walked briskly from the stall. His rider's clucking and the sharp pressure of her heels on his flanks pierced his confusion and quickly reminded him to whom he must answer now. She urged him into the yard and they waited there for a few moments.
There, Caitlin joined them, riding another mount, called Lucky, led by an exercise girl. Lucky was a well-made mount, though not quite as large as Big Boy. Big Boy could see his obvious glee in serving his Caitlin and he was jealous. This new one didn't even have control rods yet in his shiny, new bridle yet. Caitlin also looked pleased. Up until that moment, Big Boy thought that he was Caitlin's mount in the way that she was his one and only trainer. Jealousy raged. Jenny jabbed him lightly with her rounded spurs and pre-occupied; he failed utterly to respond. She waited, likely longer than Caitlin would have and jabbed him again with more authority. Big Boy started out at a trot.
Twice each day now, Hannah or Jenny took Big Boy for a long trail ride. The terrain was more challenging than the smooth level exercise yard. Big Boy learned to negotiate broken ground. They ran him uphill and downhill. Uphill was the opportunity to work on strength and stamina. His rider wielded her crop and spurs vigorously to assure his maximal effort. Each time his pace flagged and he thought he had nothing left; his rider's spurs and crop awoke some hidden reservoir of strength and grit that he never knew that he possessed. Downhill was more treacherous and called for caution and balance rather than breakneck speed. No one wanted a fall. In time, he ran the two-mile course in creditable time. Caitlin started him on the four-mile course.
Each evening, Jenny or Hannah removed the rods and rubbed a soothing salve into his ear canals. They inspected him carefully for any place where the saddle straps might have abraded his skin and washed him down and tended his callused feet. Mondays were a slow day at the stable. On Monday, no one roused him and he slept long and well. Now he ate from the trough like the others and not from the hand of his trainer, except as a special reward.
Caitlin now let other exercise girls ride Big Boy in the yard when they wished. They had never been allowed to ride him before. If they were somewhat less demanding than the Caitlin, their skills fell somewhat short of their enthusiasm. Their clumsy, heavy hands caused him substantial pain, however inadvertent. However, he had no choice but to follow their crude direction.
All the girls loved to ride Big Boy. He carried his rider effortlessly and answered promptly to his controlling rods. They giggled at his urgency to kneel at their feet and slobber on their tennis shoes or riding boots, polished or filthy.
Big Boy always was glad to see Caitlin. Big Boy was always proud to be seen carrying Caitlin and his pride was apparent in his posture and his gait. He saw that she was very proud of him. He lived for her praise and her occasional sweet or salty treats. Her generous approval gave him the will to serve. However, she was now working hard on a new mount. She rode him only now and again, but never groomed him any more. Big Boy still looked to Caitlin for help and protection.
Big Boy felt safest with Caitlin, Hannah, and Jenny. He found self-respect in the way that he could serve a skilled rider. Some of the women who rode him simply terrified him with their heavy hands on his control rods.
One day, Hannah took Big Boy to the half-mile track where the elite racing Ponies like Wind Song worked out. Other women were there with some of the other of the Ponies. The grandstands were empty today except for a few chance visitors. The snack windows were closed. Big Boy saw that Caitlin was watching. He shared the excitement when Hannah brought him up to the starting line between Jenny on Terminator and a girl he didn't recognize on Sun Flower.
Big Boy had been cultivating a feud with Terminator over the past several weeks. Hannah and Jenny sensed the animosity and kept them just far apart to that they couldn't kick each other. Terminator greeted Big Boy with a noisy fart and Big Boy did kick dirt in Terminator's general direction. Such feuds were common if rationally inexplicable among intact males.
The start was messy as none of the Ponies were trained racing Ponies. Sun Flower lunged forward as the gate dropped. He crossed the line too soon and tripped over the bar. His fall was nasty but neither rider nor Pony was injured seriously. His fall blocked the path of the Pony to his right but actually open space for Big Boy and Hannah.
Hannah held Big Boy back until the gate had opened and only then spurred him forward. Big Boy answered burst out of the gate with Terminator on the inside to his left. Hannah knew her mount was in sound condition and let him run. She wanted to learn just how fast and how far he might go. Other riders held their mounts back a bit, looking to save something for a final kick.
Big Boy was surprised to find himself in the lead coming out of the first turn. Hannah's weight was negligible on his back as she hunched over in the saddle to minimize wind resistance. Her hot breath seared the side of his face as she urged him on. He very much wanted not to disappoint her. He built his lead in the backstretch.
Terminator ran behind him in second place. By the three-sixteenths pole, he was matching Big Boy stride for stride. Big Boy was no longer pulling away. At the two-sixteenths pole, Jenny went to her whip. Terminator detested running behind his hated rival. He too knew that Caitlin was watching and he answered Jenny's challenge. He gained ground quickly.
Hannah waited. Big Boy passed the one-sixteenth pole. Only one hundred ten yards remained and Terminator was gaining quickly. Waiting was hard because she sensed a win and wasn't about to let Jenny beat her. She waited as long as she could and went to the lash only when she heard Terminator's heaving breaths.
Big Boy answered with all his remaining strength. He shared her fervor for victory and refused to be beaten by Terminator. He knew too that Caitlin was watching. However, he had little kick left. He pumped his legs but he seemed to be moving in slow motion. Hannah flayed him with her lash and he ran as well as he was able. The finish line neared and somehow or other Big Boy crossed just in front of his hated rival.
Hannah was exhilarated by her win. Kneeling beside her in the grassy infield, Big Boy shared in her glee. When Caitlin congratulated Hannah warmly, he basked in the reflected glow. He thrilled when Caitlin spared him a kind word and rubbed his muscular neck fondly.
Ashley came up to the stables the very next week. She enjoyed pointing out to Caitlin, Hannah, and Jenny, which males she had procured. Her business was really very lucrative.
Ashley came down from breakfast, a big red apple in her hand. “That one. I brought you that one!” She pointed to Big Boy's stall. What's his name?”
“Big Boy,” Caitlin answered.
Big Boy did not recognize Ashley, at first in her riding attire. He had not seen her in months since she first had mounted him. He did note her rowelled spurs. He recognized Caitlin. He wanted to shout, “Caitlin! Here! I'm Zack! Look at me!” He could make only unintelligible braying noise that the women found amusing.
Ashley laughed. “I mean, what was his name before he was Big Boy.” She took a bite from her juicy apple. “Can someone bring him out so I can look at him?”
“I'll go look him up,” volunteered Jenny.
Hannah brought Big Boy from his stall while Hannah went to check the records. Big Boy dropped awkwardly to his knees and pressed his lips against Caitlin's boot. He looked up at Caitlin hopefully and tried to nuzzle her groin but she pushed him away good-naturedly. His broad shoulders were above her waist.
“They never lose hope, do they?” Caitlin quipped while Jenny urged him to his feet.
“He's really coming really along well, Ashley. He carried me to a win against Jenny on the track last Sunday. His size is really an advantage on long trail rides and he's learning to answer to the control rods promptly. He's acted out a few times, but he hasn't been all that hard to manage.” Hannah explained while Ashley circled him, chomping her apple.
“Zack – Zachary. His name was Zachary.” Hannah reported when she had returned.
“That's right!” Ashley smiled at her sudden flow of memories. “You're really are a big boy, aren't you?”
Big Boy searched her face and tried to figure out who she might be. For the first time in a while, he thought of his life before his captivity. Finally, he remembered. His sadness increased, as his recollections grew sharper. Real tears well up in his eyes, but no one noticed his distress.
“He really has a great body. Look that his ass. Let's see him run today,” asked Ashley, squeezing his muscular buttock.
“Judith has the racing Ponies running today,” offered Caitlin. “I bet she'll let us run Big Boy.”
“I know, I'm riding Strider. Let's see how Big Boy does against a better field.” Ashley took one more bite from her apple, then held the remnants in Big Boy's face. “Here boy. Here's a treat.”
As unappetizing as the apple's appearance, its sweet, fruity fragrance was too enticing. The stable diet, though healthful, was so bland. Unable to help himself, Big Boy opened his mouth for Ashley's leavings. Laughing, Ashley pulled her hand away, leaving Big Boy with little more than the core. Big Boy chewed the apple core, swallowing everything, seeds and all. Ashley wiped her hand on his bearded face.
As on other mornings, Zack stood saddled, waiting for his rider. His nose lead was attached to the slip rail. He heard the women's voices when the entered the stable, talking and laughing. He sensed their excitement but he could not turn to see anything.
“Easy, boy, easy,” Caitlin cooed and removed his lead from the slip rail. “Mount!” she ordered and Big Boy knelt promptly on one knee. She was solidly in the saddle in an instant with her feet planted solidly in the stirrups. “Up!” Big Boy rose steadily to his feet. Caitlin dragged her rowelled spurs over his flanks before urging him out into the yard. Big Boy recognized her intent.
The track brought back images of last week's victory. He saw Judith mounted on Wind Song and Ashley mounted on Strider and felt inadequate. His strong body seemed bulky and crude against their sleek long-legged physiques.
This week, no one stumbled out of the gate. Once again, Big Boy seized the lead. Seeing only the track stretching ahead and hearing the field pounding behind him was exhilarating. He wanted to make Caitlin proud of him. He wanted to be proud of himself.
Caitlin knew that Big Boy could not match the raw speed of the racing Ponies. Her hope was to follow Hannah's example and seize the lead early and defend it. She was leading at the quarter mile mark, but wished her lead were larger. This week the competition was much stronger than last week.
She passed the two sixteenth's pole still in the lead and knew there was trouble. Asley and Judith went to the lash and gained quickly. Caitlin knew her mount and could wait no longer. She went to the lash at the one one-sixteenth pole. Big Boy heard the others and gave her all that her had. He pumped his arms and legs but seemed almost to be running in slow motion.
Wind Song and then Strider burst past him. Strider nearly overtook Wind Song but Wind Song hung on to win narrowly. Big Big beat his last week's time but finished a fading third.
A full year had passed since Zachary's capture. This year, Rocky Mountain State played “U” at the “U.” Emily and Beth decided to take a long weekend in the mountains at Beth's sister's ranch. Beth had talked endlessly about the stunning vistas and the awe-inspiring sunrises and sunsets. After all her studies, Emily thought that she well deserved an out-of-doors weekend with no guys hitting on her. But this was something really different.
“I don't know how I let you talk me into this,” Emily pondered as they neared the ranch. What had once been a distant flight of fantasy was now becoming an immediate and increasingly uncomfortable reality.
“You'll love it!” said Beth with confidence. “My sister Judith will show us a brilliantly good time.” The mountain air is always fresh and the scenery is always beautiful and especially in the autumn. Bending a large, powerful mount to one's will, is always a thrill.
The common room of the ranch house was almost too much. To one side was the reception desk where riders checked in for their stay at the ranch. Sometimes mothers brought their daughters. Having ridden a well-trained, well-groomed mount even once, a girl was unlikely to fall in love with the first boy to find her clitoris. In the back, was the dining room and beyond that the kitchen area. To the other side, was the bar where one could order a glass of wine, a demitasse of cappuccino, or a small snack. The walls were lined with pictures of mounts and their riders. However, the center of the room was open amidst the chairs and small tables.
On the floor, a six foot by five foot, almost rectangular skin or leather covering rested on the hardwood floor. If one examined it closely, one might make out its vaguely humanoid shape.
Emily studied it, the asked, “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep! That's him.” Beth smiled and identified the lines of his arms, buttocks, and legs. Beth stared wide-eyed. The head and male parts were absent - fortunately. The trunk looked wide because on either side of the back was a strip of belly or chest skin. Beth pointed out the identifying High Gate Stable tattoo and showed Emily the brand that marked his ownership. “That's Judith's own brand,” she said with some pride. “He was one of her first.”
Emily swallowed hard. “I'm glad I didn't ask your sister to the prom.”
Emily and Beth checked in. Judith had left flowers, a bottle of wine, and a box of candy in their room and a note to call her when they arrived. Emily unpacked while Beth called her sister. “She's on her cell phone. She'll meet us downstairs in half an hour.
Thirty-five minutes later, Beth and Emily were in front of the ranch house watching Judith ride up on her treasured racing mount, Wind Song. Judith specialized in steeds, males large enough to carry a rider on his shoulders, not cart pulling pony-boys. The male stood fully six and a half feet tall and weighed more than two hundred twenty pounds. Judith at five feet three sat perched on her small saddle between his strong shoulders. None might doubt who commanded and who obeyed. Her legs draped over his shoulders. One hand held his reins, which in turn were connected to the control rods inserted in his ears.
Emily gawked. The mount was a man, stark naked and blatantly male. Except for a broad stripe of hair that passed front to back over the crown of his head and was tied in back in an especially appropriate “pony tail,” he had been completely depilated. His nose, nipples, navel and cock were ringed. Small bells hung from his nipple rings. Thick plates of muscles hung in sharply defined sheets on his large frame. You could wash clothes on his six-pack abs.
“Gawd!” Emily was speechless. “Can I pet him or something?”
“Be my guest,” Judith smiled. “He won't bite!”
Emily touched him with some trepidation. The mount was nervous too. He never knew what strangers might do and prayed mightily that he would avoid his mistress' displeasure. Emily felt the smooth skin stretched tightly over his toned muscles. He had the strong legs and buttocks needed in a good mount and the broad shoulders to carry his rider with ease. She examined the colorful High Gate tattoo that marked his right thigh. Bolder now, Emily tugged at the ring that pierced one of his nipples, then lifted his upper lip to expose his identifying tattoo. “Beth told me about this and I really didn't believe her.” The mount had held perfectly still. Now more confident, Emily cupped his ball sac in her hand and gently assessed the size of each egg-like testicle. “Is there somewhere I can wash my hands before dinner.
“Have we time to we get Emily up on a mount in the exercise yard tonight? If she checks out, we can go out on the trail bright and early tomorrow.”
“How about tomorrow afternoon,” Emily pleaded. “I really want to sleep in.”
After dinner, Hannah led White Bread into the exercise yard. He was saddled and bridled but no control rods were place. An inexperienced rider might damage a valuable mount. Hannah led him by his nose ring. Though solidly built, he was not as imposing or impressive as Wind Song. With newfound courage, Emily stroked his rough closely clipped bearded cheek. His body was depilated. She patted his solid flank. When she reached between his legs and lifted his cock by his cock ring and examined his scrotum, she was puzzled. Wing Song's ball sac was ripe and bulging. White Bread's felt different, empty. Her face revealed her confusion.
Hannah chuckled. “Emily, He's a gelding.” No hint of understanding dawned in Emily's eyes.
“A gelding!” Beth repeated. “We took his balls. An intact male is often lazy, stubborn, and a danger to others and himself.
Understanding dawned. “I know boys just like that,” Beth said.
“This one is still stubborn and lazy, but he's no danger to anyone now,” Hannah added. She poked White Bread behind his left knee and he knelt. Reluctantly, Emily climbed into the saddle, expressing a heavy stream of inventive reservations. Beth and Hannah were impressed with her imagination but patiently encouraged her. This was the reason she had come to the ranch in the first place.
On Hannah's command, White Bread rose abruptly and for a long second, it seemed as if Emily might fall. Hannah was right behind and helped her get herself positioned securely in the saddle. She placed her tennis shoed feet into the stirrups. White Bread was an experienced mount and well used to novice riders. Their minimal demands appealed to his innate laziness and lucky for him, the stable served many novices.
White Bread just stood there. Emily didn't know what to do next – “White Bread, go!” she said in what she thought might be a strong authoritative voice “ Go, honey, go! “Whoa! No, that means stop. I mean - go!”
Beth snorted. Several of the women who had gathered around the exercise after dinner laughed out loud. “Emily, don't argue with him, just kick him!” Emily looked at her in disbelief.
Hannah slapped White Bread on the rump and he was off with a start. Emily squeezed the grips on the bridle for dear life. No one trusted her with control rods, let alone spurs.
All riders learned without spurs. Beth herself hadn't worn spurs the day she got up on her first gelding. However, once she had worn them, she felt naked without them. She would never ride without spurs again. No mount feels the spurs and doubts your seriousness.
Hannah walked to the center and directed White Bread to walk around the enclosure in a circle. Slowly, Emily became more comfortable.
“Ready to ride?” Hannah asked and before Emily could answer, her whip snapped and White Bread started to run. Emily grasped the grips and leaned forward. Her look of consternation gradually transformed into a look of wild exhilaration. “Faster, Hannah, faster!”
“Don't ask me,” Hannah chuckled. “Ask him!” As she spoke she lashed out with her whip again and somewhere White Bread found his rarely called upon reservoir of energy. He shot ahead and Emily whooped in glee. His innate laziness returned and he slowed a bit once he thought he could get away with it. Cunningly, he slowed only gradually hoping that he might escape unnoticed. Emily sensed his slowing and kicked him hard. Even with her tennis shoes, she brought him nearly back to speed.
Both Emily and White Bread were exhausted when Hannah brought him to a stop. He knelt on command and Emily dismounted.
“I walk him ‘til he cools down,” Hannah offered generously. “What time do you want to go out tomorrow?”
“In the afternoon,” said Beth. “Emily wants to sleep in.”
Emily sighed a deep breath. She patted White Bread strong shoulder and neck. “That was fun! Let's go in the morning.”
The morning was glorious. After an early breakfast, Beth, Emily, and Hannah walked over the barn in their riding gear. Beth worse a bright white blouse over her white jodhpurs, her mid-calf length leather boots with her rowelled spurs that jingled when she walked. Her riding gloves were so thin that she could still feel a male's beard. Only the most experienced riders were allowed to wear such sharp spurs. Emily, a novice, wore her jeans and a t-shirt, but today at least she had creditable boots and riding gloves. Hannah wore a black blouse over her black jodhpurs.
“How many steeds does the stable house,” Beth asked trying to remember what things looked like on her last visit.
“We haves stalls for 44 steeds. We house 30 now, I think. Judith wants to build a second stable, further up in the hills away from all this tumult for our personal use. Sometimes, having all these people around doesn't help.”
They met two girls –teenagers – leading two saddled and bridled males from the stable by their nose rings. Their control rods were in place. The girls were talking and laughing, obviously excited about their half-day ride up to Red Lake Reservoir, up in the Ortoola Hills. They carried a lunch in their daypacks.
Hannah greeted them. Their enthusiasm was contagious. “You guys have your hobbles, right. We don't want any trouble.”
One girl reached into her fanny pack and pulled out a short chain.
Hannah smiled and waved her off. “Thanks. Have a great day!”
“You too!” the girl called back.
Emily steeled herself to enter the barn. She covered her nose with her hand, anticipating the disagreeable smell one associated with such places, but the interior was not as unpleasant as she feared. Stalls lined the walls, about 4 feet wide and eight feet deep. The walls between the stalls were about four feet high, but sturdy bars reached the rest of the way to the ceiling. A saddling area was set up in the center of the barn. In the rear was a grooming area.
Emily looked more carefully. An index card was pinned to door with the male's name and weight. Here was Julius Caesar, Augustus, Titus, Caligula, Claudius, and Nero whom Judith named after her trip to Rome. Some of the males lay on their sides and slept or rested. Some stood in their stalls and stared right back at the visitors.
Some waited impatiently for their morning meal. Some hoped to have a chance to get out of their cramped stalls and run. Some hoped for treats. Others just wanted to be left alone. Each had a lead attached to his nose ring and clipped to a stay set securely in the cinder block wall. All had had their thumbs and index fingers removed. A three-fingered hand wasn't sufficient to disconnect the lead.
Jenny had the duty that morning again. She replaced the slop bucket and a tin of food on a low platform in each stall. As required, the males knelt down and lowered their mouths into the food. They were not allowed to use their hands at all.
“Here's Wind Song,” Beth said, pointing out Judith's racer. “Isn't he a beauty?”
“Here's Lucky and Whole Wheat,” Hannah added. “Here's your friend White Bread.”
“Let me see!” said Emily. “Hi, White Bread!” she cooed. The gelding looked at her quizzically. Emily pouted. Her recollections of the ride were obviously quite different than his. She had thought that they had some sort of special bond. “Thanks for the ride anyway. I really wish that I had brought you a treat.” White Bread made his braying noise and farted. Emily turned away in disgust. “They can't talk, can they?”
“They find usually find a way to express themselves, though,” Hannah quipped. Beth laughed. “Here, Emily. I think Claudius here will be good for you. He's good-natured and sure-footed. I'll take Lucky and lead him for you. Beth, Judith thought that you might like Big Boy.”
“Big Boy?” Beth answered, scanning the index cards on the stall doors. “I don't remember him. Is he new?”
“Not so new,” sad Hannah. “It must be at almost a year. I have them saddled, over there.”
Saddled and bridled, the three males stood in a line with Claudius on the left, Lucky in the middle, and Big Boy on the right. Their nose leads were secured to the wall. They heard the women talking, but could not turn to see them.
From behind, Beth was first impressed with Big Boy's size. His back was powerfully built beneath his saddle, his flanks sleek, and his hips narrow but the brawny muscles of his buttocks and thighs were truly striking. He was tan all over. He hadn't an ounce of fat on his strong frame. His dark stripe of hair was combed back and tied in an appropriately named ponytail.
Beth placed her hand gently on his back. “Hey, Big Boy,” she said softly.
Big Boy could hear them but not see them. He recognized Hannah's voice immediately. “Hey, Big Boys a beauty!” a second woman declared. Big Boy noticed something about her voice and come to think of it, he noticed something about the voice of the first woman who spoke too.
Big Boy suddenly remembered her perfume. Suddenly, he remembered her. Beth! Beth from the cheerleading squad. Emily and Beth. He made a hoarse braying sound, all that his surgically altered throat allowed him. Beth, who loved to ride.
Momentarily worried, Beth took a step back before she remembered that he was secured by his lead. She tested the lead and found it secure. There was something about him. She unfastened his lead and looked at him carefully. The hair cut, the nose ring, and the closely clipped facial hair disguised his appearance, but Beth looked at him and saw something. He was a huge, well endowed male and obviously intact. The thumbs and index fingers were amputated from his large hands.
He appealed to her desperately with his eyes. He pleaded wordlessly, desperately.
“Emily, look at Big Boy,” Beth asked. “Look at him carefully.” Beth knew the answer already herself.
Emily looked. “Big Boy sure is big,” she said, pleased with her wit and wondering if she could close her hand around his thick cock.
“Look again! It's Zachary - Zack, from the University. He disappeared last year after the game against State. He flunked sociology – someone said and dropped out of school.” She reached into her pocket for a sweet.
The sky was almost dark when they returned to the stable. The day was one to remember. The sunset had been awe-inspiring and the mountain vistas unbelievably beautiful. The meadows were aflame with flowers and alive with the chirping of crickets and the songs of birds. Big Boy answered promptly to the control rods, the spurs and the lash. Beth had been able to run him as long and hard as she wanted. He seemed never to tire. Hannah hung well back and held Claudius' lead for Emily.
Beth was exhilarated. She had raced Wind Song and held her own. She had pushed Big Boy to an early lead and kept him going. When Wind Song began his hallmark sprint at the end of the race, he was just too far back. She put her hand on Big Boy's neck and felt the sticky wetness of his sweat. He seemed to sigh at her touch. He arched his neck and pressed back against her hand. She inhaled his musk. He reeked of leather and honest exertion.
In the barn, the other mounts were already in their stalls when Beth, Hannah, and Emily led in their tired mounts. They had walked in the last half-mile to allow them to cool down. The three knelt in a line so that their riders could remove their tack. Hannah showed Emily how to secure Claudius' ankle to the stay set solidly in the floor. In a well run stable, a mount was never allowed even to imagine that he had a chance to escape.
Beth secured Big Boy and removed his control rods and bridle. She undid the straps on his saddle and stowed it with the others. Big Boy – Zack - had given her his all. He was still breathing deeply, his heavy chest heaved. Sweat ran down his muscular abs. She felt a real fondness for him. Hoping that the others wouldn't think her overly juvenile or sentimental, she held his sticky head between her gloved hands, stoked his cheeks, and kissed him softly on the forehead. “Thanks for a great ride, Big Boy!” Then she took him for his grooming.
Judith watched her younger sister fondly. Beth and Big Boy had beaten Wind Song, fair and square. Beth had hurried to the stable at the crack of dawn and she couldn't wait to get back on the trail. Eagerly, Judith shared her news and happiness bloomed on Beth's face.
“Really Judith? Really?” “You won't change you mind, will you?”
Judith looked on smiling. “No, Beth, he's yours, a graduation present. You can brand him in the morning.”