Pony Girl, Volume 1

by Mark Andrews

  I was about to reply but then caught myself. Instead, I neighed, shook my head and then merely smiled at him. He reached out and fondled my now wet and so naked tits. “Ah yes, very well named ... Sebastian has done very well for himself, as I surmised, with his first human pony ...”

  His son joined him just then and Mr de Veere repeated his comments to him.

  Sebastian grinned. “I thought so, Father - and what a win, eh - and at her first try?”

  “Yes, my boy, she has certainly done you proud ... How long d’you think she’ll want to remain a pony? I want some grandchildren, you know.”

  So Sebastian had told his father of his intention to marry me, eh? I just smiled happily though while the man I now thought of as mine turned serious. “I don’t know. I suspect it may take quite a few months to work this craving out of her system. Really though, I don’t mind how long it takes. Your grandchildren can wait - she’s only twenty-two and she has plenty of time.”

  The sun came out about then and Sebastian decided I wouldn’t need the latex suit and ordered Peter to leave me naked for the rest of the afternoon - as did the other ‘owners’ and so there were now around two dozen of us human ponies, all stark naked and tethered by our clit or scrotal rings in the paddock inside the fence while the races went on.

  After the meeting, Sebastian drove to London and Little Cock and me were loaded back into the little trailer to be transported back to the castle. I went to sleep that night very well content with myself and my future.

  Chapter 5

  It goes without saying, of course, that every single one of us pony slaves were masochistic. We had to be. And not only in the sense that we craved pain, although to a lesser or greater extent, that was true. But as well, and I suspect, even more, it was a very real desire to suffer humiliation and shame that fuelled our delight in our sexual slavery as human ponies - and to those of us who were permanent, as opposed to the part-time ponies I had see on my first day, that craving went double.

  Take Little Cock, for example. I had no idea that he really wanted to be castrated - and by that I mean fully. He wanted his groin totally empty, his cock as well as his balls sliced off so that he was a true gelding and he could strut around with his empty groin proclaiming the fact. But he told me about it during one of our talk sessions that second week.

  “It’s not just that they are so small compared to other men, either, Tingle Tits,” he explained (we had to use our pony names all the time). “I really want for them to make me into a human gelding for I want to stay as a pony as long as I can still race and even after that, my only wish is to stay here as a groom - if His Lordship will have me ...”

  I stared at him. Sure, I wanted much the same thing, but not permanently. I knew that when my craving for this masochistic (but so thrilling) phase was over, I would return to the real world and take my place in it. He seemed to be genuine and I assured him that I thought the viscount would be only too happy to keep him on. I wasn’t that sure about the gelding, though.

  “It’s so permanent, Little Cock,” I said. “And what if you do have a change of heart and get married. You won’t be able to have children.”

  He smiled triumphantly. “Yes I will. They have been milking me once a week and they take the sperm away and freeze it then keep it in the sperm bank in London.” Again he paused and his grin got wider. “I may be small and my offering tiny but Lord de Veere told me I have a very high sperm count.”

  Again I stared at him. It seemed as if our ‘host’ was actually going along with my partner’s bizarre desires. “You mean he has agreed to castrate you?” I said, aghast at the idea.

  Now Little Cock’s face dropped. “No. He, obviously like you, is worried that my desire is only a phase and I will regret it after a few months. I have tried to assure him that is not the case but he still won’t agree. I remain hopeful, though. I can think of nothing more satisfying than being, alone among the stallions here, a real gelding who can then go on to race even harder for my owner ...”

  As he spoke, the spirit of what he was saying filtered into my own psyche and my libido caught his mood and I started to tingle down there as I thought of the surgeons removing his testicles and scrotum and then his penis itself - and tried to imagine what his lower groin would look like without the usual male appendages. I couldn’t. the idea was too weird; too bizarre and yet it certainly stirred my libido every time I thought about it.

  But would the viscount agree to it? I doubted it - and yet as the weeks began to accumulate, more and more I hoped he would, for Little Cock was beginning to pine.

  In the meantime, my training advanced. Now I was harnessed to the Stage Two gigs, the ones with the single pole shaped in the form of a lazy ‘Z’, by which I mean it came out from under the seat, curved upwards and then forwards again so that its end was up at neck height. There was a knuckle joint attaching it to the collar and this allowed movement so that in the event of an accident, God forbid, the pony’s neck would not be damaged. Actually the joints were designed to snap under any undue strain and I was glad to hear our ‘owners’ were exercising due care for our welfare, even though we were only slaves ...

  I found the effort now required to be much greater than with the waist belt. My neck and upper body now had to take the strain of the gig and its rider’s weight and I therefore leaned much further forward but this apparently showed off our bodies in an even better light, particularly us girls, our breasts now dangling more freely and more provocatively - which of course was what they desired. But I still feared the final stage. I couldn’t imagine how awful it would be to have that dildo thrust up my anus and then the other one slowly inserted up my vaginal opening as they slid its collar down the pole. How could a girl (or a boy for that matter) pull even the ultra light weight of the gig and its admittedly tiny rider with only her rectum and vagina providing the anchoring points for the gig?

  Of course it must be so. I could see the evidence of it with my own eyes but I could also see those Stage Three girls and boys wincing from time to time as the dildos moved inside them or the boys’ scrotal collars dragged more heavily on the roots of their genital organs.

  I had a sudden thought. Little Cock was still a Stage Two competitor. How would he compete as a Stage Three without any genitals to anchor his pole? Perhaps he would have to remain a Stage Two?

  Of course it was all moot. I was sure the viscount would never agree to castrating the so handsome boy and one part of me was glad of this. The other part though (and this part I kept strictly to myself) hankered after seeing him as a gelding - a castrate - a real live eunuch.

  I slowly got stronger, faster and sleeker. It’s not surprising, really. Our whole lives were now centred on the one thing. The morning exercises in the gym that were designed with this very purpose in mind, and the racing in the afternoons that taught us the actual craft of human pony racing.

  My body had been pretty good before, I had thought, but when I looked at it a month after my arrival, I knew it had improved out of sight - at least if you are into athletic females rather than voluptuous ones. I was certainly now not the latter. There was no softness about my body at all now, just as that quality was lacking in each of the other girls in our stables.

  I know Sebastian delighted in my body for at the little sessions we had in his room in the castle each Saturday afternoon, his admiration was very apparent in his eyes. At these times I reverted to being Mercedes and could talk to him as his lover (and fiancée).

  “My God, Mercedes,” he said as I pirouetted (naked of course) before him as he sat in the easy chair in his bedroom. “Your body was always a delight to me but now, phew!”

  I grinned down at him and flexed my now very athletic biceps muscles and thighs for his pleasure. His eyes just about popped as he reached out to stroke my sleek flesh and savour the softness of my skin and the hardness of the underlying mus
cles.

  “I don’t think your body could be improved one jot,” he said as his hand now moved down over my flat belly, savouring the play of my abdominal muscles until his hand cupped my naked mound. “And this,” he went on, “so smooth and soft ...”

  He looked up at me, concern now etched on his handsome face. “Did the depilation hurt?” he asked softly.

  “Yes, but I thought of you as the laser machine moved back and forth, permanently destroying the hair follicles, knowing this was what you wanted and glorying in the pain.”

  He still looked worried, though. “I thought the ruby laser treatment was supposed to be painless.”

  “It can be but for us pony girls and boys, they up the power to make it faster and so it does hurt a bit ... We all took it, though, knowing that our owners wanted this for us.”

  “I see,” he said and then smiled again. “You really do get off on this slavery thing, don’t you, Mercedes?” he observed softly, drawing me down into his lap and kissing me passionately. The sex that followed was out of this world but I’m not going to detail it. Those sessions I looked forward to very much and if for any reason Sebastian couldn’t come down for the day, I felt quite lost.

  I didn’t compete for another four weeks after my first attempt. Not, it seems, because they didn’t think I could win, but because there were many human ponies owned by the club members and all had to be given an opportunity, if they were considered good enough, to have their turn. Also because we were slaves. Our wishes were not to be considered - well, that was the fiction, anyway. In reality, they very much considered them for if we lost interest in the scene we could always opt out and if we were any good at our racing, that might lose them a good pony - and a chance to make a packet on us for they bet quite heavily on us and the purses for each race were also rather good, I think.

  What they had to do was to balance our position as slaves (in our own minds) and keep us on our toes with a judicious amount of deprivation (of normal human comforts and consideration), application of a fair amount of pain via the whip and the cane applied to our backs and buttocks, and at the same time satisfy our desire to be seen in public and to race naked or semi-naked in front of all those strangers.

  I guess it was a fine balancing act but our trainers and grooms were always conferring with each other and our owners as to what was best for us.

  It was in this scenario that I heard the news. The viscount came down to the stables one Saturday and walked up to Little Cock’s stall. The handsome Thai boy stood up and as usual, began to pose for his owner, at which Lord de Veere smiled, moved in and stroked down his fine body.

  “You still want to be gelded, boy?” he asked suddenly and I, standing in the stall opposite stiffened, slowly got up out of my straw and moved forward as much as the chain to my clit ring allowed.

  “Yes, milord,” he said quietly. “I want it more than anything in the world ...”

  “All right, then if you are quite sure?” The boy nodded vigorously and so the viscount’s secretary now produced a legal paper that stated this very clearly and that Little Cock (presumably named with his real name in the document) both asked for and consented to the procedure.

  He signed it and it was witnessed by the secretary and Arthur Scott as well as the surgeon who had come down to assess the boy for the operation.

  “All right, Little Cock - we are going to have to find a new name for you, boy, aren’t we - then it will be performed a week hence in the local private hospital by Doctor Steele, here. Any time up to then, you will still be able to change your mind ... Just inform Mr Scott if you do.”

  He patted the diminutive pony-boy on his muscular shoulder and turned and left, followed by the rest of his entourage. I stared across at him, still one part of me aghast at what he had consented to - no, pleaded for - while the other part of me was as excited as all hell!

  He was absolutely on Cloud Nine, however. This was something he had wanted every since he had become a human pony and by now I knew he was sincere in his wish. This was no passing fad or fancy on his part. He truly and genuinely wanted to have those tiny organs at his groin removed and to play the role of a real gelding pony. With all those shots of his sperm in the bank, he was covered in case he changed hi mind about his future but I didn’t think that would happen. He was too sure about every detail of his future life for him to change now ...

  And as the next seven days passed he got keener and keener. There was not the slightest hint of anxiety or qualm about what he was about to undergo and even when they came for him, the viscount still looking worried and demanding in the most unequivocal terms, “was he really sure?” they took him away.

  He came back three days later with his groin all bandaged up but with his face a picture of joy. It seemed he was a gelding at last and far from being regretful at his loss, he seemed even more excited and ebullient.

  Of course he couldn’t say anything until it was time for our Saturday night talk that evening but then he told me how wonderful he felt.

  “No regrets, Little Cock?” I said softly.

  He grinned hugely. “Not Little Cock now, Tingle Tits. Now I am called Muscles!”

  “Well done - and very aptly named ... Your body, after Black Beauty’s anyway, is the finest here.”

  “Thank you.” He grinned even more and patted (very softly) his now empty groin. “You wait till you see it, Tingle Tits. You will like it, I know!”

  “I am sure I will, Muscles. When will they take the bandages off?”

  “They said about a week.”

  It was, too and when I saw his body naked once more, I gasped at the sheer beauty of it. I had been puzzled about what a male would look like without his penis and testicles but now that I saw the handsome and so athletic Thai boy as a gelding, I realised how truly beautiful a human being he was.

  The clean lines of his abdominal muscles marched down his belly, narrowing a little from where they started just under the sharp line of his chest muscles, down to the junction of his thighs. Before, there had been this flat area under his ‘eight-pack’ of belly muscles; now they seemed to go on further down to the totally empty groin.

  The surgeon had been very careful not to leave any scars where they could be seen. With the scrotum, this was not difficult for the perineum could just be continued on for an inch or so to replace the now severed scrotal root. The penile root was another matter however. It had poked out of his groin further up his body and the evidence of where it had been had to be disguised more carefully.

  What he had done therefore was to use the central furrow between the twin columns of his abdominal muscles, making his incision there and then, after removing the organ in its entirety, even including the root located well inside the male body, he had used ultra-fine stitches to sew up the wound.

  I could see them but I know that in a few weeks, when they had been removed, no-one would be able to see them and to all intents and purposes, it would be as if he had never had any male organs at all.

  How did he urinate? Ah, there too, the surgeon had been skilful. He had created a tiny bud, rather like the human navel, that now graced his lower belly. It functioned perfectly well and almost exactly matched the other navel further up his stomach.

  “Oh Muscles,” I said, “you look absolutely wonderful. No wonder you wanted this for yourself ... I can’t believe how much better you look without your cock and balls.”

  He grinned and flexed his beautiful muscles at me for a few seconds. “I told you it would be better, didn’t I? Well, I am pleased. And I am going to race faster and harder and I have already thought of a way I can go to Stage Three ...”

  “You have?” I said. “What is it?”

  “Well it still has the anal dildo, of course, but then a curved metal rod could be welded to the base of the dildo. It would come up between my thighs and end
in a curved flat plate that would rest against my belly. I would learn to use my anal muscles to keep the dildo in while my belly, pressing against the curved bar, would give me leverage to run with the gig behind me.”

  I was doubtful. “But will you really learn how to keep the dildo inside you? I mean the natural action is to push it out.”

  “Not if there is a big ball at the base. I will have to learn to open my anus to let it in and then keep it firmly shut afterwards but I have no doubt I will, in time.

  He told Arthur about his idea and he seemed quite receptive. So did the viscount. “It will be even more painful for you than the other boys’, Muscles,” Lord de Veere said, “but if you really think you can do it, I’ll have the items made ...”

  “I know I can do it, Milord.”

  In the meantime, he and I both competed in the Stage Two events and again both of us did very well. I didn’t win my second race but he did and now that he was a gelding, he was even more the favourite of the crowd. I stood at the rail from the ponies’ paddock and watched as he came round the bend, his powerful and so muscular thighs pumping his legs like pistons on a steam engine, his arms, with his hands up on the handles, showing off his beautiful biceps and shoulder muscles wonderfully and his torso, its chest and belly muscles writhing most erotically, another wonder to behold - and then of course, his so empty groin the focus of everyone’s attention.

  There was no suggestion that he be permitted to put on the rubber suit after his race but then it was summer now and none of us did. Before our races and after them, we were kept stark naked, either in the paddock or out near the car park where we could be shown off to all who were interested in looking us over and feeling us down, just as they would equine ponies.

  I revelled in it. I still delighted in the shame and humiliation of being exhibited naked and of others being permitted to stroke my flesh, feel my muscles and slap my hindquarters. I would stand there, aware that Sebastian was watching me closely, a quirky grin on his face as he watched others fondling my naked breasts and even delving into my sex and anus at times, knowing how much shame I felt - and relishing it.