Istari

The Upper Fremont Pony Club

Chapters 4-...

4. Modifications

Two weeks later 3;

From the cart, the Harrisons gazed down at their son in approval. The eleven-year-old's transformation into a full-fledged pony boy was coming along nicely. His long blond hair had been shaven clean on the sides of his head, leaving him with a long mane running down the center and falling wildly over his shoulders. His septum had recently been pierced and he now sported a thick steel ring in his nose. He was presently wearing an elaborate custom-made gag that forced his lips back, revealing his pearly-white pony-boy teeth, the only part of him that was kept meticulously clean by twice-daily brushings. In fact, the only time the boy was not gagged in some way was when he was being fed or providing oral service to one of the club members.

Kevin had quickly graduated to a much larger butt-plug, with a long pony tail made of his own recently shorn hair. The plug drove the boy into a frenzy of sexual frustration, but it only came out once each morning when he received his enema with all the other pony boys, and on those somewhat frequent occasions when his father or one (or several) of the other members of the club would fuck him. Kevin had grown accustomed to being plugged, but this one was exceptionally large, meant to provide constant and torturous reminder of its presence in his no longer virginal ass.

The cock cage that imprisoned his small penis, had, of course, not been removed since his arrival, and Kevin entertained no hope that it ever would be. There was however, something new. A catheter had now been inserted into his dick, the end of the piss tube permanently wired to the end of the chastity cage and held closed with a small clamp. Kevin was only allowed to pee twice per day now, in the morning right after finishing his daily enema, and at night, just before he was chained to the wall of his stall. The rest of the time, the poor boy was forced to work and pull the pony carts with a full and aching bladder. Bryan, his wrangler, had taken to forcing the boy to drink large amounts of water and warm flat soda, resulting in a painful bloating of the little boy's stomach, which he sported even now. The boy's perpetual and desperate need to piss also caused his penis to make constant attempts to erect itself inside its tight little cage, as if the butt-plug weren't enough.

Kevin was also wearing shoes for the first time in his life, though hardly the type he would have wished for. Kevin was put into the special pony-shoes on his second day. They were simply a pair of metal plates with their surfaces covered in small rounded spikes. The plates were pressed into the soft pink soles of the boy's feet and held in place by the leather straps that went over the foot and around the ankle. After the first four days and quite a bit of limping and crying, the boy had finally grown accustomed to the uncomfortable little spikes constantly pressing against the soles of his feet. They were not sharp enough to break the skin, but they were meant to serve as a daily reminder of his new lowly status. Like the rings and the cock cage, the evil shoes would never come off. Now every step the boy took resulted in just a little bit of discomfort, a reminder for the little pony to keep his feet moving at all times. Pony boys never stand still.

To go along with the brand on his left buttocks, Kevin's pony name 'Lightning' had now been tattooed onto his right flank.

He was, at the moment, filthy and sweaty, smelling of shit and piss and caked with mud and dirt. Pony boys at the club were generally divided into three categories: show ponies, racers and draft ponies. The shows were kept meticulously groomed at all times, trained to trot and prance and show off their beautiful young bodies. The racers were kept constantly busy at the club's various tracks and generally remained the most 'human' of the boy ponies in their behavior and training. The drafts were, of course, the laborers of the club. They cleaned out the filthy stalls of the other ponies, hauled all of the club's garbage out to the stinking compost heaps behind the stables, performed any of the basic cleaning and gardening work around the grounds, and, of course shared duty with the racing ponies of pulling the carts around the property. The drafts were hosed down once per week, the rest of the time they went about dirty and covered in filth.

The morning after he was broken, a consultation took place between the Harrisons and the club's leading members, where it was decided that Kevin would join the club's stables full time as a draft pony. His training for this dirtiest and lowest of the pony grades began immediately.

All of this, in just two weeks' time, was having a profound effect on the boy's psyche. He was truly beginning to feel and think like a little animal, which was precisely the intent of the club, its membership, and his parents. His first few days of pulling the carts had been difficult, resulting in lots of mistakes and lots of whippings, several delivered by his own mother and father in front of the entire club. Kevin however was a strong, lean little boy, and soon he'd gotten the knack of it. His young legs strained as he pulled the cart forward. The eleven-year-old had quickly grown accustomed to being sore and in pain most of the time.

"Whoa there, Lightning!" his father called out, giving a quick tug on the reins to tell his son to stop. Kevin came to a stumbling halt, happy for the break. They'd made him pull the cart at a full run for a while, each step in those cruel shoes sending dull shots of pain up his legs and throughout his entire seventy-five pound frame. In just two weeks, the little boy had lost five pounds. His ribs were now sticking out adorably beneath his skin. Kevin was always hungry now, and he normally had a desperate malnourished look in his sad eyes.

His parents had brought him up into the hills overlooking the club property. The Harrisons removed their packed lunch from the cart and spread a blanket on the grass. It was a warm day, clear and sunny. A perfect summer afternoon for a picnic. Kevin remained harnessed to the pony-cart. His mother did remove his bit for a moment to give him a drink of water, then strapped it back in place as soon as the boy had finished.

"Should we let it pee?" Beth asked her husband.

"I suppose that's our right," Tom replied thoughtfully. "After all we are still its parents. Does it need to pee?" Tom asked his son directly.

Kevin urgently nodded his head yes. He had to go so bad it was starting to hurt.

Tom deftly released the clamp on the boy's catheter. Kevin began peeing uncontrollably a split-second later. With his catheterized penis locked down by the chastity cage, the eleven-year-old's stream of urine puddled at his pony-shoed feet and splashed all over his lower legs, leaving the poor boy to stand in his own piss.

"I have to piss too," his father said, pulling out his large thick meat. He took his time leisurely pissing on his son's naked and already filthy body. Kevin had grown used to this too. Over the past few days he'd been peed on a least ten times by his father, his wrangler, most of the other men, a few of the women and even several of the racer ponies.

When Kevin's flow of urine finally trickled to a stop, his father replaced the clamp on the eleven-year-old's catheter. Beth Harrison approached her son and roughly pushed him to his knees.

"Mommy has to pee too, dear," she told the naked little pony boy. She removed her shorts and panties and straddled her son, his head squarely beneath her. She peed all over him, wiped herself clean in her son's spiky mane then dressed again. With his mother's urine stinging his eyes and dripping over his lips, Kevin remained on his knees. "Back up on your hind hooves, Lightning," Beth commanded, giving her son permission to stand up again. He did as he was told. She rubbed her son's tummy for a minute. Kevin closed his eyes, enjoying a rare gentle touch from his mom.

"You shouldn't be touching its body like that, dear," Tom scolded her gently. "It's filthy 3; and just look at its little cock."

Beth looked down at the eleven-year-old pony's caged penis, currently swollen and throbbing inside it's little prison. She laughed and squeezed her son's right nipple, causing him to squeal into his bit.

"Well, I think it's adorable that mommy can make his useless little cock get hard."

"You really should stop referring to it as 'he'," Tom chided her gently. "It's a pony-boy now, just like we'd always planned it would be. Leave it. Let's enjoy our lunch."

Beth swatted Kevin hard on the butt, and gave his tail a playful tug. "It's just so cute wearing its little tail," she said to her husband. She reached between the boy's legs and fondled his balls for moment, then flicked them sharply with her fingers. Kevin yelped in pain and nearly fell back to his knees.

"That's all those little things between your legs are good for, Lightning. Time you started learning that." She left the filthy little boy doubled over and harnessed to the cart. Laughing at her son's aching little boy-balls, she joined Tom on the blanket not too far away. Kevin just stood there sweating in the summer heat as the flies buzzed around his dirty naked body.

"Should we tell him what's going to happen to him?" Beth asked as they ate their picnic lunch.

"No, dear. It will learn soon enough, and you really must stop thinking about him as a human boy. He's a pony."

"I know, Tom," she said, looking back at the naked little lad who just two weeks ago had been her son. "And the club is paying us a lot of money to put him in their permanent stables 3; I only wish they'd made him a racer, like the Mitchell twins, or even a show pony. Drafts are just so dirty all the time. Just look at the flies buzzing around his filthy little body."

"That's the club's decision," Tom replied, rather happy that club had chosen to make Kevin a draft pony. Any boy can be a show or a racer, only boys who are true pony stock can be successful drafts. He was quite proud of his son, and looked forward to participating in the eleven-year-old's continued degradation. Properly dehumanizing a boy was a process that usually took months. They had Kevin way ahead of schedule. "They know best. I think it's going to make an excellent little dray. We agreed we'd sell our first one when he was old enough, and now it's done. We can't break the contract." Tom spoke softly, running his fingers through his wife's long luxuriant hair. "But we can work on making another one, if you'd like. We can do it, right here in front of the pony."

Beth was getting wet just at the very idea of having Tom fuck her while her pre-teen son looked on.

"We'll keep our next son, right?" she asked as he gently entered her.

Tom gave her a knowing wink, "Of course we will, dear 3; of course we will, unless the club wears Kevin out and needs another one."

That idea excited her. What excited her even more was the knowledge that once she and Tom had finished, she would use her strap-on and give their little pony a good hard ride.

Back at the stables, young Jacob had also undergone a dramatic transformation during the past two weeks. His mother and sisters had arrived the day following his and Kevin's brutal initiation as pony boys, and they had immediately begun working with the club's veterinarian Smithson Reynolds to modify the eleven-year-old boy into their ideal pony. It had already been decided that Jacob would be a draft pony, just like Kevin, but his mother had some unique requirements for modifying her young son's body that only a trained plastic surgeon could meet. Fortunately, Dr. Reynolds was well practiced in this area.

Jacob was presently on his hands and knees, in the show area of the stables. He was dripping wet at the moment, and shivering in spite of the heat and humidity, having just been hosed down with ice-cold water by young Nathan. His mom and his sisters stood over him, looking down at his lean slender eleven-year-old frame. With the dirt and grime of the last two weeks finally washed away, his tanned skin revealed a patchwork of stripes and welts across his back and butt, testimony to the many lashings he'd received, more than a few of them from his own sisters. Jake was proving to be a bit more of a fighter than Kevin, requiring constant punishment and discipline to keep him in line. His mother, an ardent feminist, now hoped that the upcoming round of surgical procedures would finally break her son of his spirited and contrary habits, though she doubted it.

Since real ponies walk on all fours at all times, for the last two weeks Jacob had been placed in a special harness connecting his waist and his thighs, its thick leather straps preventing him from standing up. The harness was locked in place. Only his mother had the key. In it, young Jacob would never walk like a human boy, but be forced to move about on his hands and knees. The harness would be removed for thirty-minutes each day when Jacob was exercised on the track, when the specifics of whatever hard menial labor he'd been assigned required it, and lastly at night when he was chained in his stall next to Kevin.

In keeping with his new identity, the boy's hands had just recently been encased into two small iron pods that were shaped to resemble hooves. Welds ensured that the pods never came off, and within their snug confines Jacob was forced to keep his hands balled tightly into fists. Aside from their practical and cosmetic appearances, the newly installed pony hooves, of course, had the added advantage of preventing the boy from playing with himself.

Jacob now also had a large golden ring piercing his septum, and like Kevin, his hair had been shaved into a flowing mane. A long luxuriant tail swung from the end of the plug in the boy's butt, a considerably larger and thicker one than had been placed there originally. The eleven-year-old, whose new name was 'Thunderclap' was wearing a face mask very similar to the one Nathan often wore, designed to resemble the elegant elongated shape of a horse's head. Within the mask was a large penis-gag which was only removed for his daily feeding. He and Kevin shared the same fate where being gagged was concerned. The only time the big humiliating penis-gag came out of his mouth was for his daily feeding of pony mush, or when he was performing sexual favors for club members. During the last two weeks the two boys, being clever and inventive eleven-year-olds, had developed a rudimentary system of facial expressions and bodily gestures that allowed them to communicate with each other when they were chained together in their cells or laboring around the ranch. Neither boy had spoken a single human word since the night of their initiation.

Jacob's shocked and sad brown eyes stared out from the confines of the new mask as his mother and the doctor talked about him like he wasn't even there. He had always been subservient to his mother and his sisters, but this sudden change in his life was proving difficult to accept and his continued resistance had only brought about even harsher treatment.

"Reshaping his ears won't pose a problem, Ms. Delucci," the club's vet and sometimes-surgeon explained. "It is a fairly common modification. They will be pointed and tapered just like a young colt's should be. He'll be bandaged for a week or so, but after that you'll think he was born that way."

"Excellent," Jacob's mother replied, staring down at the miserable little creature. The boy was still trembling and starting to cry again.

"We can sever his vocal chords at any time," the veterinarian added helpfully, "if you are still interested in that procedure."

"I've decided against that, Doctor Reynolds, for the moment." Jana Delucci replied thoughtfully. "Of course pony boys do not speak like human boys do, and it will be best for him if he's no longer able to do so. But as I plan on keeping him permanently gagged anyway, I see no need to have him irreparably damaged." She reached down and stroked Jacob's mane of soft brown hair. The boy whimpered. He didn't understand a lot of the things they were saying, but he'd already had one visit to the doctor where those rings were put in his nipples and his ball-sack and his cock. What other horrible changes might he discover after the second one?

"And what about these?" Jana asked, reaching down and cupping her son's dangling scrotum, giving the boy's ripening testicles a firm squeeze.

Jacob yelped into his gag, but didn't move. Over the last two weeks, poor Jake had grown accustomed to having his cock and balls squeezed and pulled and twisted and kicked and generally abused on a regular basis. His little sister in particular was taking great delight in torturing her older brother's boy-parts. The eleven-year-old's cock was currently not locked down and was fully erect. Jake hadn't been allowed to have a cum during these last two weeks, and his impressive (for a pre-teenager at least) four and one-half inch [11½ cm] boner was now a common sight around the club. "I want his balls to be huge and hanging much lower than they are now."

"You have several options there, ma'am," Smithson observed. "We can begin saline infusions today if you wish. That will expand his scrotum to several times its current size, giving you the desired look."

Jacob's mother nodded, very much liking the idea of seeing her eleven-year-old son crawling on all fours with a gigantic scrotum swinging between his nice muscular little legs.

"That procedure of course is temporary and will have to be repeated on a weekly basis. If you want a more permanent solution, we can remove the boy's testicles and replace them with silicon implants. You would be able to choose whatever size you want, and they would naturally expand and lengthen his scrotum with their own weight."

Jana shook her head. "I don't want him gelded yet. I am going to enjoy keeping him sexually frustrated for the next few years. I rather like seeing him with an erection he can't do anything about. I'll go with the saline infusions for now."

"Excellent choice, ma'am," the always flattering surgeon replied. "We can give him his first injection today. Did you want any modifications to his penis?"

Jacob shook visibly on his hands and knees. His sisters giggled, still finding that word funny. "Well," his mother replied thoughtfully, "I definitely want his circumcision tightened a bit, he's still got too much loose skin for my liking, and I think he'd look nice with a frenum ladder. You can add that to my bill. Oh, and I definitely want him catheterized just like his little friend."

The surgeon smiled. He remembered how Kevin had screamed in terror as the catheter was inserted into his permanently caged little penis, he wondered if Jacob would be a bit braver. Reynolds had a particular love of working on young boys' penises, and installing frenum ladders was always a great deal of fun, at least for him if not his little hapless patient. He could drag that particular procedure out for hours, with the poor boy crying and whimpering the entire time. "He will need several weeks to recover from the more serious procedures."

"I understand, doctor. I want you to turn him into a perfect pony boy for me."

"Very well then. Do you wish to witness the modifications?"

"I think not. My daughters and I will avail ourselves of the club's other stock while we wait. Goodbye, Jacob," Jana Delucci said to her son, nudging the boy's dangling ball-sack with her foot. It was last time she planned on calling him by his human name.

The eleven-year-old's two sisters giggled again and followed their mother's example, not so gently, each kicking their younger brother rather cruelly between the legs. "Yeah, bye-bye Jakey. You're Thunderclap now. You're going to be our good little horsey boy!"

With watering eyes and aching balls, young Jacob was lead away by the reins attached to his elaborate head-harness. Moments later, the terrified screams of a young boy could be heard through the open windows of Doctor Smithson's veterinary surgery.

Lightning, formerly Kevin, was pulling his parent's on their pony-cart back to the stables, his dirty sweaty eleven-year-old body straining with every trudging step. Flies were buzzing around his head and landing on his arms and legs, but the naked boy just kept pulling, motivated on by constant fall of the lash upon his back.

"Oh, look, dear," Beth Harrison said, "they've started the games already."

Tom nodded and gave his son a particularly hard lashing, almost enough to make the boy stumble. "Perhaps if our little pony-boy weren't so slow and lazy we would have made it back on time. We'll have to make sure it receives extra punishment tonight."

"By all means, dear," the boy's mother replied, taking the lash from her husband and cracking it several times in quick succession across Lightning's back.

Tom pulled back on the little pony-boy's reins. "Whoa, boy! Stop here."

Kevin was grateful to finally be allowed to stop, but if he assumed he'd be released from the cart he was sadly mistaken. His mother tied off his reins to a nearby hitching post, and just to ensure he did not get into any mischief his ankles were placed in shackles and chains and his arms tied tightly behind his back with thick coarse rope. His bit was loosened and allowed to fall around his neck, but it was quickly replaced with a thick penis-gag from his mother's handbag.

The Harrison's left their son, as they would leave a horse, and entered the paddock where the first of the day's competitions among the racing ponies was just beginning.

It was a pony-boy version of the traditional sled pulling event found at country fairs for centuries. This one pitted the twelve-year-old Mitchell twins, Benjamin and Jackson against two fourteen-year-old door-boys the Harrisons were just seeing for the first time. These two were not brothers, but they were so similar in height, age and temperament that they were permanently teamed together. All four boys were in full tack, with harnesses around their chests and waists, pony-boy masks complete with bit-gags and blinders, and long flowing pony-tail butt-plugs. Their arms were cinched tightly behind their backs by leather bondage sleeves, meaning they would not be able to use them for extra leverage or balance once the pulling of the sleds began.

The sleds themselves were made of thick heavy planks of wood with steel runners. Both were loaded identically with bales of hay stacked there earlier in the day by young Kevin and Jacob. Additional lead weights rested atop the bales, giving both sleds substantial mass and inertia. Just getting them moving was going to be a challenge. It may have seemed unfair for the twins to be required to pull as much weight as the two fourteen-year-olds, but twelve-year-olds Benji and Jack were exceedingly strong and muscular young boys. This would be their first attempt at pulling the sled in actual competition, but they'd been practicing for weeks.

Benjamin, as always, had his boyhood locked away in its chastity cage, and Jackson, as always, had his young penis encased in the evil cock and ball harness forcing it into its required state of purple, throbbing, painful erection. The fourteen-year-olds had their cocks free, and both were dangling soft yet full of teenaged promise between their smooth lean thighs. In the warm summer heat, their hairless balls were hanging low as well. The two young teens were both allowed to have a small, neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair above their cocks, the only hair on their bodies save for the long flowing hair on their heads.

With the blowing of an air-horn, the pulling began. The straight grassy track was a quarter-mile in length. The first team to pull their sled completely across the finish line was the winner of the first heat. More weight would then be added to the losing team's sled and another pull would begin. The contest would continue in this way until one team could no longer move their sled. The winners of this competition received little but applause from the crowd. The losers however would face a night of extreme punishment and repeated sexual abuse by any club members who wished to use them.

Benjamin and Jackson got off to a fast start and took a quick lead over the two older boys. Gagged and with no peripheral vision because of the blinders, the identical twin boys had to rely on a series of grunts and groans and nudging each other's bodies to communicate. Having always been the dominant twin, Jackson set the pace for his brother and kept the look-a-like pair going at a steady pace. It was hard work, and soon the beautiful twelve-year-olds were straining and sweating and stumbling forward as they dragged the heavy sled behind them. The boys' parents cheered them on loudly, but the threat of punishment was all the motivation the twins needed to keep their handsome young legs moving.

Despite lacking a supernatural twinly connection, the two older boys made a fine team themselves. Three months shy of fifteen, blonde-haired Cameron's parents had been members of the pony club since he was five years old and so he had literally grown up as a pony-boy, having been fitted with his first harness and reins at the tender age of seven. As such, he was one of the most obedient and well-trained of the club's small but growing stables. His partner, auburn-haired Timothy was fourteen-and-a-half and like young Nathan was a permanent resident at the club, having been signed over to them at the age of ten by his frustrated and male-hating custodial aunt. Cameron would be allowed to go home to his parents after his summer-long stay at the club, where his existence, though hardly normal was certainly more cheerful than that of poor Timothy, whose entire life consisted of nothing but the drudgery and humiliation of being a naked pony-boy day after day. Though their lives were quite different, they maintained a close relationship, both as teenaged boyfriends and as a working team at the club.

Cameron was kept in strict unrelenting chastity at home, but here at the club his impressive soft five-inch-long [12½ cm] penis was allowed to swing freely between his legs. The boy's frequent erections, constantly drooling large amounts of teenaged pre-cum, always called attention to him. His hands however were locked into hoof-like metal pods that made it impossible for him to pleasure himself. He was always horny, always frustrated, always leaking pre-cum. Timothy was considerably less well-endowed than his friend but still blessed with a nice sexy young teen-boy cock. He had never known the humiliation of a chastity belt, but he was still no stranger to rigid sexual discipline and frustration. His boyhood was simply there, its workings a total mystery to the mostly uneducated lad, not to be touched or played with, and his frequent five-inch [12½ cm] erections were usually just ignored or laughed at by the wranglers.

The two fourteen-year-olds started more slowly than their younger rivals. Having been forced to compete in these types of events for the last three summers had taught them to conserve their strength.

Grunting and groaning, with only their smooth young legs for balance and leverage, the two teams of boys slowly pulled their sleds forward over the grass. The twins won the first heat, dragging their sled completely across the line just moments before the fourteen-year-olds. They were excited and happy about their victory and looked on in smug satisfaction as Nathan and several of the wranglers placed more weights on the top of the older boys' sled.

Nathan's face was once again in his latex pony-mask, hiding his pleasant young features with the exception of his sad blue eyes. The thirteen-year-old's cock and balls were currently encased in a small shiny black leather sack, cinched tightly against his hairless groin, punishment for being caught playing with himself several days earlier. As an added corrective reminder, each morning, for the past four days, a large number of tiny red ants were placed into the sack before it was tied over and around the boy's genitals. Only when Nathan managed to work up enough piss to drown the industrious little insects did the biting and burning of his poor penis and balls finally stop. Within the sack, the boy's genitals were red and grotesquely swollen and very sore. Nathan certainly had no desire to touch himself now. He walked gingerly, trying to keep his pony-tail butt-plug from providing him with too much stimulation. The last thing the boy wanted was to have an erection rubbing inside that tight little latex bag.

After five rounds of pulling up and down the track, twelve-year-olds Benjamin and Jackson found their initial victory only a happy memory and their sled so overloaded with lead weights that they could not budge it any further. Cameron and Timothy were thus declared the winners and allowed to have a drink of soda and were taken over to the side of the stables to be hosed down by their wranglers. Poor Benji and Jack were close to tears, having tried so hard with all their strength and courage only to fail in the end. The twins' parents were furious with them and their father gave each of them a sharp swat on the butt before they were marched over to the waiting hoses to be sprayed off with frigid water. The boys knew that a long night of torture and torment awaited them in the specially outfitted dungeon beneath the main house, but a full evening of races still lay ahead of them. The contests, as always, would end with the double sulkys, where the young pony racers would be harnessed in pairs to sleek light-weight racing carts and forced to run a series of sprints and then longer distances around the grassy track.

Benji and Jack were the club's newest stars in this event. They were always driven by Nathan and together this cute threesome nearly always won. The currently sore and miserable twins hoped another series of victories would lessen the sting of the punishment they'd be getting for messing up at the sled pulling contest.

Outside the paddock, Lightning was once again learning that much of a pony-boy's life was spent waiting. This was especially true of the draft ponies, who were little more than beasts of burden. Lightning, his best friend Thunderclap (whom he'd not seen all day), the two cute nine-year-olds, and another pair of thirteen-year-old's made up the Upper Fremont Pony Club's current stock of draft ponies. Kevin had always been a strong, fit little boy, and that was fortunate for him as his future life now promised only the endless drudgery of hard labor and strenuous cart duty. He'd lost all track of the days and had no real idea just how long he'd been in this awful place. Occasionally the dim hope of going home would flash into his young brain, but just as quickly it would be replaced with the constant strain of hard work and harsh pony discipline. He stood there now alone and forlorn and momentarily forgotten, his dirty filthy skin glistening with a fine sheen of boy-sweat.

Dried mud and grime and the waste of the other boys was smeared all around the eleven-year-old's arms and legs and torso, the inevitable result of his daily chore of mucking out the stables. Kevin was too young yet to have developed any particular odor of his own, but the smell of old piss, shit, and the earthy odor from the stables combined to form a rather acrid scent that filled the boy's nostrils. He could no more avoid his own foul smell than he could the daily floggings and beatings. Like most boys his age, he had no particular enthusiasm for taking a shower, especially the icy-cold ones he was forced to endure under his parents' watchful eyes, but after several days of hard work he really wished he could get himself clean.

It was several hours yet before his parents came back for him. By then, the boy now known as Lightning was nearly asleep on his feet. He yawned into his gag and blinked his tired eyes at his mom and dad.

"Let's have it take us for one last ride before we leave it here," he heard his father tell his mother as they both gazed at their naked pony-boy son.

"That's a lovely idea, dear," Beth Harrison replied, running her hands over the boy's sun-bronzed shoulders. "It will be a few months before we can get back here. Let's run him hard, up into the hills and back."

The Harrisons removed their son's shackles, returned the bit to his mouth and, mounting the cart, sharply snapped the reins. The boy's mother lashed him swiftly across his back, resulting in a high-pitched yelp of pain and driving the little boy into a quick-footed gallop.

Kevin was thinking less and less like a human boy all the time, thinking instead like the obedient little pony the club was training him to be, however his mother's words rang in his ears and a sick feeling came to his growling empty stomach. Terror gripped him, and tears came to his sad soft eyes.

'Oh no! They're gonna leave me here forever!'

5. Ponies!

Not all of the ponies were hard at work at the moment. The twin twelve-year-olds, Benjamin and Jackson, were being washed down by their father and one of the club's young groomers. The boys were standing in the smaller paddock next to the stables, with their arms manacled behind their backs and their legs spread wide apart, their well-toned young thighs flexing as they maintained perfect stillness. Unlike the filthy draft ponies, racers like the twins were generally kept clean and presentable and ready for action, physical and otherwise. Every afternoon their fine young sweaty bodies would be soaped up and watered down after their two hour training run across the club's grand acreage. The boys looked forward to this as it was generally the only time they were not chained to one another or exerting themselves to exhaustion under the whips of the wranglers, or their father.

Another reason the boys so enjoyed their daily washing was that Benjamin's cock was temporarily freed from its small cage, and Jackson's penis was released from the cruel cock-and-ball harness that kept the pre-teen boy hard and hurting for hours at a time. Freed of their respective ornamentation, the boys' ample three-inch [7½ cm] cocks were as identical as the rest of them.

The boys' father was using a soaking sponge to wash Benji's dirty well-toned legs, while the groomer, a strapping fourteen-year-old named Townsend, was working on Jackson's chest, paying special attention to the boy's tiny nipples. Groomers were normally the free sons of club members who were too young yet to be able to command the ponies effectively. Assigning these boys as groomers was the first step in their eventual promotion to wrangler. Townsend was a good kid, and working with the ponies always resulted in a noticeable bulge in his shorts. He was particularly fond of the twins and David Mitchell had personally taken the young teenager under his wing.

The two ponies were as fit as they could be. Sturdy well muscled little creatures, with bright lively eyes and perfect teeth, specially whitened by regular trips to the vet. Neither of them had a single hair on their young coltish bodies, nor would they ever be allowed to. General club etiquette required that the bodies of all pony boys be completely hairless. The exception was the boys' pubic hair, which was left to the creative discretion of each pony's family or owner. David Mitchell had already decided that when the day came when the twins started to get a bit of fuzz down there another trip to the vet would make quick work of that and any future pubic hair they might otherwise have grown.

"Make sure you get behind his ball-sack, and clean his ass better than you did yesterday," David told the young lad as Townsend reached down for the grooming brush. "Stick your finger up there if you have to. He's used to it. His legs need a good scrubbing too."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Mitchell," young Townsend tipped his baseball cap. This was his first summer working as a groomer and he didn't want to anger one of Fremont's most respected and influential members. If he did this job well, he'd be a full-fledged wrangler next year, able to whip the boys and have other kinds of fun with them that, at fourteen, he so far had only been able to fantasize about.

Mitchell poured cold water over Benji's head and continued washing him down, noticing that the boy's member had hardened rather alarmingly. Mitchell ignored it for the time being and reached behind the boy to clean his rear end. It was still sore from the thrashing it had received the night before. The twelve-year-old pony snorted and whinnied and whined into his bit.

"Whoa there, boy. Steady," Mitchell said, smacking the boy firmly on the thigh to get him still again. Next to him young Jackson was also getting fidgety and excitable, his erect cock standing forth in all its five inch [12½ cm] glory as Townsend inserted a soapy finger into the twelve-year-old's well-used rectum. Jackson whinnied as well, his pony-voice perfectly identical to his twin brother's. Both boys now sported eager erections and were mincing around on their pony-shoed feet, desperate for some relief. Pre-cum dribbled from both of their turgid boyish tools. It had been nearly a month since Benji's last nocturnal emission, the only type of orgasm he'd ever known or experienced, and Jackson was a few days overdue for his latest milking.

"Careful there," the boy's father reminded the inexperienced young groomer. "That pony is about to cum. Don't let him spill his seed."

"Looks like yours is too, sir," Townsend replied in urgent warning. Indeed young Benji was panting heavily and had a rather glassy look in his normally keen eyes.

"No he is not," David Mitchell answered with authority. He quickly grabbed his son's balls and gave them a hard squeeze. Benji yelped and shivered but did not try to pull away from the iron grip around his aching ball-sack. The boy's cock quickly softened to its harmless three-inch [7½ cm] state. David swatted the boy's butt hard several times.

"This pony needs to be reminded that erections are not allowed," David explained to young Townsend.

Townsend was about to try the same technique and reached down to grab Jackson's balls, but David stopped him. "That doesn't work on him," he said. "Put your hand up behind his ball-sack and press hard, then spank his ass for all he's worth."

Townsend did as he was told, applying firm pressure to Jackson's sensitive perineum. The pony boy's cock twitched, seemed to get even harder for a moment, but then quickly shrunk to match the flaccid three-inch [7½ cm] member of his identical twin.

"Wow, that worked fast," the fourteen-year-old groomer whistled, spanking Jackson hard on the butt for daring to spring an erection without permission. Jackson's penis was kept in an erect state most of the time, but only when properly constrained by the cruel harness. Having an erection while his cock was free was a sign of misbehavior that required and received instant correction.

"You certainly know a lot about handling the ponies, sir," Townsend said admiringly. The boy had black hair and the most beautiful green eyes. He was currently shirtless, displaying a nice lean torso and chest that still had just a hint of boyish immaturity. He was wearing a pair of tight black running shorts, and high-top sneakers. His legs were long and slender but well muscled for his age and still had not sprouted a single hair to mar their boyish beauty. Behind the thin breezy fabric of his shorts there was a perfectly shaped butt in the rear and an ample adolescent bulge in the front.

Always a fancier of boys, David Mitchell was quite pleased with his young protégé. He laughed while he quickly and roughly scrubbed Benji's hairless genitals, making sure the pony got no pleasure from it.

"Well, I know a lot about these two at any rate. Every pony here is a bit different and each of them will respond differently to you. You'll need to learn their personalities if you're going to be a good wrangler."

"I thought they were all just dumb animals, sir, I mean they are slaves 3;"

"Most are, but not all of them. Benji and Jackson are free boys. And as far as I know they are quite intelligent."

Townsend's eyes grew large.

"I'm sorry, sir," Townsend said softly, his big green eyes dancing with fear. "I didn't know your sons were still 3; I mean 3;" He'd just called the sons of one of the club's wealthiest member slaves. "I just assumed 3; "

"That was your first mistake," David chided him, but then his expression softened and stretched his arm gently around the boy's bare sun-bronzed shoulders. "But you are right of course. Most of the ponies you've worked with this summer are slaves. My boys are a special case, but you are not to treat them any differently now that you know. And even so, animals do have unique personalities. Take time to learn each pony and you'll do well."

"Have you thought of racing names for these two yet?" Townsend asked as he used the brush on Jackson's thighs.

David smiled. It was customary for all the boys to be given pony names once they'd been formally broken. For Benji and Jackson that event had occurred last summer, but they were still being identified by their birth names. As they were free boys, the club had given David some leeway where the re-naming tradition was concerned. "That hasn't been an easy decision. They may look alike, but that is the end of their similarities. Jackson is rebellious and head-strong. Benji is obedient and considerably less aggressive. I've decided some time ago that that one," he pointed to Jackson, "will be called Sniper," he looked at the twelve-year-old's dripping cock with unmasked disdain, "seeing as how he's always ready to shoot. But I'm not sure about this one," he mused as he locked Benjamin's penis back into its small cage.

"How about Scout, sir?" Townsend suggested. "Those names kind of match, just like they do."

David seemed to consider that for a moment, then he looked at the two naked pony boys, first Jackson, then Benjamin. Their bright eyes flashed as if they approved, not that it mattered what they thought about it. "Sniper and Scout. I like that. I'll have their butts tattooed with those names tomorrow. Thank you, Townsend. Well done."

"Sure, sir," the fourteen-year-old groomer replied happily. He was currently putting Jackson's penis back into the cock and ball harness. Handling the pony boy's genitals was certainly new to him, but nothing that particularly bothered him. Keeping all the pony boys' cocks under control and making sure they didn't cum was all part of his summer job.

"Put their butt-plugs back in and get them harnessed and bridled. Take them around the grounds in a trap. It's a few hours yet before dinner. Don't run them too hard, let the little beasts cool off and stretch their muscles a bit. Think you can handle two ponies at once."

This would be the young groomer's first big test, and it was the first time anyone had suggested he take any of the pony boys out on his own. Townsend stared coldly at the two naked twins. They stared back at him betraying nothing but their total obedience to whomever held their reins.

"I can."

David Mitchell shook the young groomer's hand. "Have them back in their stalls by six."

"Yes, sir," Townsend replied as he pushed Jackson's horsetail butt-plug into the twelve-year-old's ass. "Bend over more, spread your legs," he ordered, smacking Jackson on the thigh several times. A soft whimper and a fully erect penis, cruelly restrained by its small harness, were the results of his efforts. Benjamin was similarly plugged a moment later. This task accomplished, Townsend set to work getting the twins back into their full pony-cart tack. First came the identical harnesses, handcrafted of fine black leather, which he buckled tightly around their chests. Long heavy chains ran from the central ring in the back of the harnesses to the ornate two-wheeled racing trap that Townsend would be using today. Townsend next encased both of the boys' hands and forearms into their leather pony-hoof mitts that ran up to their elbows and were laced tightly in place. This process took some time, during which the twin pony boys danced nervously about on their feet.

"Keep still, brats," Townsend warned them both with a firm swat to their behinds. Their pony shoes went on next, special boots really that went up to the boys knees and like the arm sleeves were laced up for a tight fit. With hooves now for hands and feet, the boys next received their bridles and blinders. They were already wearing their bits, as these almost never came out, and Townsend made quick work of the remaining headgear, attaching reins to the bits and bridles and placing the blinders on either side of each boy's head. The fourteen-year-old groomer took a step back to admire his handiwork. The pony boys were clean and polished and ready to be taken out. Jackson, with his penis strapped tightly into the cock and ball harness was now sporting a firm erection, pre-cum glistening from his piss-slit. The harness ensured that the boy's nearly perpetual erections were painful affairs and his sweet young face showed it in the form of a sharp grimace.

"Alright, boys," Townsend said as he got them hooked to the cart. He climbed up into the seat, took the reins and snapped them sharply. "Trot," he ordered, and in perfect synchrony the two identical pony boys took off at a quick pace toward the wooded paths that crisscrossed the club's estate.

Townsend couldn't help but feel excited. This was the first time he'd ever been allowed to actually take any of the pony boys out of the stables or paddocks all by himself. His young adolescent cock was rock hard inside his shorts. He confidently whipped the twins up to a good trotting pace, enjoying the grunts and groans that issued from the twelve-year-olds' throats as they pulled him along in the two-wheeled trap. He'd been riding real horses since he was little, and in many ways handling human boy ponies was very similar.

He immediately noticed that Jackson tended to always try to break the reins, and often outpaced his identical twin. The result was that Townsend had to constantly rein in the lively and spirited Jackson.

"Easy, boy, slow down," he said, tugging on Jackson's bridle and bringing the end of the long riding crop down between the pony boy's shoulders.

Benjamin on the other hand always seemed to keep a steady pace, never pulling against the reins and always trying to keep his steps synchronized with his brother's. Townsend found it was not necessary to whip him quite as often, though an occasional lash was simply sound practice to keep the pony boy in line.

At the moment there were four young boys, all fourteen and under, working the summer as groomers at the club. Townsend was the oldest, but like all the others this was his first year and he wanted to make a good impression on the adult members of the club. He felt no sympathy for the pony boys, and while he was not a sadist, he took a certain delight in exercising his authority over them and disciplining them whenever they failed to meet his requirements.

He turned the twins off the main gravel paths that crisscrossed the property and drove them onto one of the many dirt lanes, shaded by trees or bordered by high hedges. The club's groundskeepers did an admirable job of capturing the pastoral landscape of the English countryside right here in Upper Fremont. The dirt lanes presented more of challenge for the pony boys as they were uneven, with lots of twists and turns, ascents and descents. Pulling the traps and carts was difficult enough for the naked twelve-year-old twins, doing so on rough terrain was hard. Soon their fine young bodies were glistening in sexy boy-sweat and they were both breathing hard through their bits as Townsend drove them onward.

"Lift those knees higher, you little beasts," he shouted at them, giving them both a harsh lashing across their shoulders. "You know better than that!"

Spurred on by the young teen's whip, Benjamin and Jackson lifted their legs in a classic pony-style gait. They'd been trained to run this way since they'd first been put under the reins last year, but they sometimes got a bit lazy. Townsend was not about to let them get away with it.

"I want to see those knees in the air," he said again, firmly but without shouting this time. "That's right. Good ponies!"

After a spirited hour-long trot over the grounds, Townsend finally pulled the twins off into a field and yanking hard on their reins brought them to a stop. The two identical pony boys stood there panting and gasping for breath, but making no effort to free themselves from the harnesses and reins. They knew better. Townsend hopped down from the trap, pulled a bottle of water from a bag he'd brought along and took a big swig right in front of the parched and thirsty boys.

"None for you," he said with a smile. "You'll just piss yourselves and I can't have that, can I?"

The identical boys adopted an identically crestfallen expression, but remained still and silent. Their breathing had slowed somewhat now. Townsend tossed his bottle aside and stood close to the younger boys. Jackson, with his cock and balls locked into the cruel constricting harness was once again sporting an erection. The poor boy's penis had in fact been hard for almost the entire run. It was at the moment a deep shade of purple, with little tiny veins visible just beneath the skin. A long string of pre-cum was hanging from the tip. The boy's balls were of a similar shade, plump and swollen and full of twelve-year-old cum that had not been released in quite some time.

Townsend ran his hands over Jackson's chest, twirling his fingers over the boy's nipples and working slowly down to the twelve-year-old's taut flat stomach. Jackson's penis jerked at the older boy's touch, but there was absolutely no chance he could ever have an orgasm with the harness locked around his cock and balls. Townsend was careful not to touch the pony boy's penis but continued to explore his trim athletic little body. Benji meanwhile stood stock still, his head bowed, his cock painfully swollen inside its little cage. He was dripping pre-cum too, more in fact than his brother, but no one ever seemed to notice or care about that. People always tended to pay more attention to Jackson. Benji was used to that fact of life by now.

Realizing there was no else around and that this particular field was well sheltered by nearby trees, Townsend shucked his shorts down his slim muscular legs and tossed them aside. The fourteen-year-old now stood naked with the two pony boys. He was a magnificent specimen of teenaged boyhood and had the lean, trim, angular body that would have made him an ideal pony boy himself, had his fate been different. Aside from a sparse patch of curly black pubic hair, his body was still smooth and hairless. His cock was nothing to brag about, no bigger than that of the twins actually, but it was presently hard, five-inches [12½ cm] long and eager for attention. His balls however were already quite good sized and dangled heavily in a silken low-hanging sack. It had been almost a full day since he'd last jerked off back in the dorm he shared with the other groomers.

"Damn, I really need to cum," he said. Leaving Benji harnessed to the trap, he released Jackson and pushed the boy down onto his knees. Jackson looked up at him expectantly, a fearful gaze in his young eyes. "You want some cock, don't you, pony boy?" Townsend asked. Jackson let out a little snort and a high-pitched whiny to indicate that he most certainly did not. Sucking dicks was really Benji's specialty not his.

"Well, too bad, you're getting some anyway. Open your mouth. I don't want to feel your teeth either 3; now suck me off!"

Jackson obeyed, taking Townsend's hard dripping boycock into his mouth. Townsend gasped and threw his head back in pleasure. This was the first time he'd ever used one of the ponies this way, the first time he'd ever had his dick inside anything other than his own clenched fist. After a few minutes of moans and sighs, the young teen grabbed the twelve-year-old's head and began thrusting his cock harder and faster into the boy's mouth. At that rate it didn't take Townsend long to reach orgasm.

"Swallow it!" he grunted as he filled Jackson's throat with his fresh boy-juice. His cock was still half-hard and probably ready for another go when he pulled it out of Jackson's mouth. Jackson remained on his knees until Townsend pulled him up by his collar and reattached his harness to the cart. The young groomer quickly checked his watch. "Shit. I'm gonna be late getting you back. You boys will have to gallop all the way." He quickly pulled his shorts on, mounted the trap, whipped them both into a frenzy and drove them back toward the stables at a full run. Their father had ordered him to have the twins back by six. It was exactly 5:59 when he brought them galloping into the paddock. David Mitchell was there waiting for them.

"Did they give you any trouble?" he asked as the shirtless young teen stepped down from the cart.

"No, sir, no problems at all."

David could clearly see the wet spot on the front of the boy's shorts. He smiled knowingly as he took his sons' reins and led them back into their stalls. Townsend followed along, eager to be seen in Mr. Mitchell's presence.

"Come to my suite, after dinner, boy," David said as he attached the thick heavy chains to his sons' collars, securing them in the narrow stall they shared. "I have a proposition for you 3; for your future, shall we say."

Townsend's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir. I'll be there, sir. Thank you, sir." The handsome young teen scurried away. David couldn't help but admire that gorgeous little butt under those silky running shorts.

Thunderclap and Lightning were cleaning out the stables under the close supervision of another of the club's young groomers, a boy scarcely older than they themselves. This unpleasant task was part of their daily routine as draft ponies and it marked one of the few times the filthy boys were allowed, and in fact required, to use their hands. Working on their knees, the eleven-year-olds would clean each stall, using their hands to gather up all the old and normally urine-soaked straw and place it in a waiting cart. They emptied the contents of the shit buckets into this cart as well, those that had been used at any rate. Many of the pony boys had become so broken to life as little animals that they would simply squat and shit right on the floor of their stalls. As lowly draft ponies, Lightning and Thunderclap remained plugged even when in their stall at night and did not have even this tiny bit of freedom enjoyed by the other ponies. As they scraped their hands through the smelly shit of the other ponies, the two boys sincerely wished the others didn't have such freedom either. Early in their breaking, Kevin and Jacob had refused to do this task, resulting in a brutal thrashing by their wranglers. Now, four weeks into their new lives, their young bodies were blackened with dirt and mud and human waste and marked with welts and bruises from head to toe. Thunderclap and Lightning offered no further resistance and even the young inexperienced twelve-year-old groomer could handle them with only the occasional flick of his riding crop to keep their little legs moving at a good pace. The two naked boys moved quickly and silently from stall to stall, dumping buckets of water onto the floor of each and scraping out all the waste toward the drains in the center aisle of the stables.

Lightning appeared much as he had since the day his parents had left him here as the property of the Upper Fremont County Club, perhaps a bit thinner, and a bit more ragged. His blonde hair had grown into a long shaggy mane now, running down the center of his otherwise clean-shaven head. His penis remained locked inside its cock-cage, and his scrotum had recently been pierced with two thick heavy rings from which he could be securely tethered to a hitching post, or even attached to a cart. He cried when they told him that he was never going home again, that he was going to be a pony boy until the club decided he was too old to be of further use. He could not guess, nor did the eleven-year-old want to think about what would happen to him then.

Lightning's last day with his parents had been seared forever into his eleven-year-old memory. As a final present to him, they spent hours on end torturing and abusing him. They stretched their little boy on a rack until his shoulders almost separated, they whipped him and beat him simply for the joy of inflicting pain on their helpless naked offspring, they pushed red-hot needles into his little boy-nipples. He screamed and begged them to stop and tears flooded from his shocked and innocent blue eyes as he thrashed about on the rack.

"Mommy! Pleeease, it hurts!," Kevin had cried, choking on his tears, "Why are you doing this to me?! I'll be a good boy, I promise!"

"Now, now," his mother had said to him, running her sharp fingernails over his taut tummy and sticking another needle into his belly-button. "This is all you were made for, boy. This is all you will ever be good for 3;"

His father took a single long needle and slowly, over the next hour, worked it through both of Lightning's little testicles. The hairless eleven-year-old shrieked and howled constantly, until finally, disgusted at the sounds the little animal was making, they shoved a thick penis gag into his mouth and strapped it tightly behind his head.

The boy's little catheterized penis, of course, remained locked in its tiny plastic cage the entire time, trying painfully to erect itself in the face so much pain and terror. Young boys always get hard when they're scared, and Lightning was no exception. The spikes dug into his swollen penis each time it swelled up, causing him even more distress. Clear sticky fluid was leaking out of it, which frightened the sexually innocent boy even more.

Mommy and Daddy next filled his butt with a huge hot soapy enema, then shoved a large plug in him to keep it all inside. The boy's belly was bloated and distended and he screamed into his gag whenever they pressed on it or smacked it. He was forced to lick his mommy's cunt and suck his daddy's dick all while enduring the agonizing cramps of the enema water in his guts. After he was finally allowed to crap out the enema, he was then tied face down to a wooden table and brutally fucked with an increasingly large series of dildos, ending at last with his father's thick hard cock plowing his ruined and bloodied boy-hole.

And so it went on for hours and hours. And yet, in the end, when they dragged his battered and bloodied body back to his stall, chained him to the wall and told him he would be living here from now on, he still cried and begged them to take him home with them. They merely laughed at the sight of their naked pony-boy son pleading to go back to his previous life.

"We'll come visit you. Maybe, if you're good, they'll let you pull us around on the cart again."

And those were the last words his parents spoke to him. Since that day, the harsh routine of life as a pony-boy had filled Lightning's days and nights, but Kevin, the boy who still remained deep inside, often thought of home and mommy and daddy and those days before everything changed. In his eleven-year-old mind, he was sure it was his own fault, that he was not a good boy and so deserved everything that was happening to him. He placed most of the blame on his little penis, which still hadn't learned to keep itself soft, even though it was permanently locked into its little cage. His only solace in this living nightmare was that his best friend Jacob was still here with him.

Thunderclap had undergone some rather drastic changes since his arrival. He no longer had to wear the special harness keeping him on all fours. That was kept in reserve for special visits by his family who had left him here for the duration of the summer, and possibly longer. Cedric Bolard had inquired about purchasing an indenture for the boy and Jana DeLucci had left with her daughters to consider the proposal.

The club's vet had reshaped Thunderclap's ears to more closely resemble those of a small equine, making them stand out a bit more from his head and giving them the appropriate tapered shape. His penis had been re-circumcised, resulting in a perfectly straight tightly-skinned organ that looked a bit smaller than it had been before. Five rods now pierced the underside of the penile shaft laterally, forming a ladder. The rods were held in place with spherical screw-caps on each end. A specially molded clear plastic tube had been fitted over the three-inch [7½ cm] length of the boy's flaccid penile shaft. The tube was designed to accommodate the rods, and the rods themselves helped to keep the tube in place without the need for a cumbersome padlock. Essentially forming a second skin, the tube had the effect of making full erections impossible and imparting a dramatic and permanent downward curve to the eleven-year-old's penis. The end of the boy's catheter was sticking out of his piss-slit and closed off with a small metal clamp.

The most striking and obvious change was certainly Thunderclap's pink hairless ball-sack. Two weeks of scrotal infusion had expanded it to the size of a small grapefruit. His scrotum hung there between his slender dirty legs, huge and round and swollen and dark red in color. The boy's giant ball-sack looked a lot more painful than it actually was, but it was hardly comfortable, and certainly embarrassing. For the first few days after it was done, the young pony boy had a rather difficult time walking around, and even now he had to keep his legs spread wide apart whenever he was standing or kneeling or crawling on all fours.

Having scrubbed out the last of the stalls, and shaken out all the dirt from the threadbare blankets, the eleven-year-olds next washed out the feed trough, still caked with dried pony-mush from the morning. The stuff had a smell even more foul that its taste, but, aside from a daily apple to keep their teeth white and gleaming, it was the only food the pony boys were given.

Lightning and Thunderclap next spread fresh straw into the stalls and quickly double-checked all the piss and shit buckets. They'd missed one a few days earlier and still bore the welts on their little butts for their mistake. They were about to take the cart out to the compost heap when one of the wranglers came back dragging the two nine-year-olds on a long single chain. These two were the youngest ponies at the club, and they were drafts just like Lightning and Thunderclap. Small, skittish little creatures, they were filthy like their older counterparts. Flies buzzed about their naked sun-browned sweaty bodies and bothered their cute round faces. Collared and harnessed and both wearing tiny cock-cages even smaller than Lightning's, they made a natural pair. Squirrel had a short mane of dark brown hair and soft sensitive hazel eyes. Acorn's mane was longer, and strawberry blonde, and his eyes were an icy blue. Their bodies darkened by the sun, Squirrel was a chestnut brown and Acorn a reddish bronze, that is when they weren't covered in muck and dust and dirt.

"Move those legs, you lazy beasts!" the wrangler shouted as he yanked them into the stables.

With bits in their mouths, the boys could only whimper as they were forced to their knees. Their young eyes, normally lively and bright, were filled with fear. They trembled in unison, breathing hard and fast. Heavy manacles went around their wrists and ankles and were clipped together with a short chain, forcing the little ponies' arms behind their backs.

"You two," the wrangler shouted, looking back at Lightning and Thunderclap who were staring terrorized at this latest scene of brutality. "Get your filthy carcasses over here. Now!"

The two eleven-year-olds obeyed without hesitation, running over and skidding to a stop in front of Squirrel and Acorn. The young groomer followed them, curious as to what was about to happen and certain he was going to see something good.

"You two haven't had a good piss all day, have you?" the wrangler asked.

In unison Lightning and Thunderclap shook their heads. The wrangler impatiently moved the boys forward until they were practically standing over the kneeling nine-year-olds. He quickly removed the bits from the younger boys' mouths, then released the clamps on the eleven-year-olds' catheters. An instant later both boys were moaning with relief as their stream of smelly dark urine rushed out of the tubes in their dicks and splashed all over Squirrel and Acorn.

"Open your stinking mouths, brats," the wrangler growled, smacking the club's two smallest ponies on the backs of their heads.

With tears streaming down their dirty faces, the two broken boys opened their little mouths and allowed the older boys to pee in them. They started gagging and choking immediately as the acrid boy-piss filled their throats.

"Swallow it, your worthless little shits. That's all you get to drink today. Maybe next time you won't complain about being thirsty."

When the flow from the catheters finally stopped, little Squirrel and Acorn were soaked with pee and coughing and crying. Acorn doubled over and spit up what little food happened to be in his belly. The wrangler kicked him in the back and knocked him over, holding the boy's face down in his own mess.

"I'm gonna whip your stinkin' hide for that, Acorn," the wrangler said, dragging the strawberry-blonde pony-boy on his knees over to the whipping frame. Squirrel remained motionless, not daring to protest or look around. He'd already learned that pony boys don't react to what happens to other ponies. The only hint of emotion he showed at his counterpart's impending punishment was to bow his head and sniffle.

Squirrel, Lightning and Thunderclap all watched in helpless sympathy as little Acorn was hung by his wrists from the whipping frame, his little pony-shoed feet dangling several inches above the dirt floor of the stable. He was facing them, and they could see the pain and terror in his young eyes as his lean skinny nine-year-old body was stretched taut under its own meager weight. His ribs jutted out and his flat little tummy was heaving in and out as he struggled to breathe. Fear had caused the pre-pubescent boy's tiny penis to harden inside its even tinier cock-cage, causing him yet more distress.

The wrangler selected a particularly nasty whip, thick and heavy, meant to teach a lesson the young pony would not soon forget.

Lightning and Thunderclap were watching in silent terror.

"What are you two standing around for?" the young groomer assigned to supervise them shouted in his still pre-pubescent voice. The two pony boys looked at one another and nodded. They still had work to do and they knew they'd better get it done unless they wanted another whipping too. Together they grabbed hold of the shafts on the cart, and with the young groomer lashing their backs with each step, they pulled the heavy waste-laden four-wheeler outside and around the stables to the compost heap. They could hear the crack of the wrangler's whip, followed by Acorn's shrill wails from inside the stables.

The cart's wheels creaked and squeaked and the boys had to exert themselves to keep the old cart moving. The only tools the boys had to remove the waste from the cart were their bare hands. This was one of the few occasions when Thunderclap's hands weren't locked into the horsey-hoof pods. The idea that from this point on his hands would be freed only to allow him to do nasty unpleasant things was slowly dawning on him.

The two pony boys made swift work of their unpleasant task, goaded on by the increasingly impatient and sadistic twelve-year-old groomer. Lightning and Thunderclap were by now growing accustomed, or at least resigned, to being filthy all the time, but that did little to lessen the stomach-churning stench and horror of mucking out the waste-laden cart by hand. In the late afternoon summer heat, the job was particularly terrible. Flies buzzed all around their faces. Both of the boys fought back the urge to vomit as they cleared off the cart and dumped the pony-boys' collective waste onto the growing compost heap. Their work done, they pulled the heavy cart back to its usual spot beside the stable. The groomer tethered them by their harnesses to the cart, dropped his shorts, revealing his eager slender four-inch [10 cm] boner and quickly jerked off, splashing his meager clear seed on the pony boys' dirty legs.

"There," he said satisfied with his effort. He pulled up his shorts, checked the boys' tethers once more, and walked off with a smug grin on his face. Lightning and Thunderclap obediently waited for the wranglers to come fetch them.

It was nearly an hour before Tyrone and Bryan appeared. The wranglers found the two pony boys sitting on the ground, asleep, resting their backs against the wheels of the cart.

"On your feet, you lazy brats," Tyrone yelled, waking the boys immediately and making them jump to their feet in terror. The black wrangler uncurled a small whip from his belt and gave the boys a savage lashing across their backs. "Ponies stay on their feet at all times!" he shouted, laying into them again and again with the whip, managing to strike both of them with a single blow each time. Bryan arrived moments later and joined his partner, whipping the disobedient pony-boys' chests and legs while Tyrone continued to rain blows across their backs. By now the boys were panicking and jumping about from foot to foot on their slender legs, trying in vain to avoid each falling blow. Only when both boys fell to their knees, sobbing and sniffling and covering their heads with their hands did the whipping stop.

Lightning felt the unmistakable weight of Bryan's booted foot pressing against the large plug in his butt. The odd throaty moan from Thunderclap beside him told him that his best friend was experiencing the same sensation. "Get up! You two need a reminder who's boss around here."

A pair of nipple clamps were produced from the wranglers' pockets and placed on each boy's tiny dime-sized nubbins. Lightning let out a squeal, Thunderclap a somewhat more vocal shout, and the weighted metal clamps were in place, dangling from their sexy little boy-tits. The sudden pain caused both boys' dicks to harden, but their respective chastity devices made quick work of that problem. The wranglers in fact took no notice at all.

"Get used to 'em, you little turds," Tyrone said, tugging on the clamps to make sure they'd bitten-in to the boys' flesh. "You'll be wearing them the rest of the day."

"You've had your rest," Bryan added. "Now it's time to get some real work out of you. Hose down that stinkin' cart!"

The boys scrambled to their feet and complied. His body now covered in fresh red welts Lightning ran to the tap and turned on the water. Thunderclap grabbed the hose, and with his swollen inflated scrotum bouncing left and right, up and down, quickly sprayed the cart inside and out washing away all the remaining pony boy waste. The lads were perhaps too young to grasp the irony that the rugged old wooden cart was kept cleaner than they were.

"That's good enough," Bryan said. "We've got fences to mend in the upper pasture. Get moving!"

The eleven-year-olds once again pulled the creaking cart, this time following the wranglers to a large stack of freshly cut wooden planks.

"Don't just stand there blinking like stupid animals," Tyrone shouted, again laying his whip across their thighs and pointing to the pile of timbers. "Load up."

The planks were long, rough-hewn, and very heavy. It was a struggle for such small skinny boys to manage them, but under the constant lashes and threats of the wranglers, they soon had the cart fully loaded and their hands scraped and torn. Bryan took a moment to pull out their splinters, giving the boys at least a little bit of relief. They both gave him a grateful look.

"Oh, you'll be paying me back later," the young man said, reaching down and grabbing at his crotch. "I'll be feeding you both this monster tonight!"

The boys knew it was not an empty threat, but they had become so used to the daily, and nightly, routines of sexual abuse that they showed no signs of emotion or fear. The wranglers led the way along dirt and stone paths up to the wide open pasture on the north face of the mountain. This marked the end of the club's property and was edged in a sturdy three-railed fence. Club members and the ponies didn't come up here much and some of the parts of the fence had fallen into disrepair over the previous winter.

It required an enormous effort for the boys simply to get the heavy over-loaded cart up into the pasture in the first place. Seeing the little ponies gasping for breath and quaking on their slender hairless legs, the wranglers gave them a quick sip of water and five minutes to get the air back in their lungs. In the meantime, they quickly set up camp, since this job would consume the rest of the evening and have to be finished at dawn the next morning. The realization that they would be spending the night up here in the open with their cruel wranglers came to the boys immediately. They looked at one another and shared a commiserating frown. They'd be worked hard 'til sundown, then raped and abused and probably forced to even do things to each other, all before the work started all over again with the sunrise.

"Unload the cart, pony-brats," Tyrone yelled at them, indicating their brief rest was over. "Put 'em all in a pile. We'll tell you where we need them." He and Bryan then went off to survey the length of the fence, looking for fallen or cracked rails that needed to be replaced.

Lightning and Thunderclap unloaded the cart as quickly as they could. The wooden planks seemed to have somehow gotten even heavier! Lightning paused for a moment, gazing wistfully over the nearby fence-line. Just on the other side there was freedom, or at least the hope of it. He wondered how far he might get. As yet the eleven-year-old boy did not truly grasp that he was now legally the property of the Upper Fremont Pony Club. He was no longer a human being and he had no more rights than any other farm animal, fewer in fact since there were no bleeding-heart organizations dedicated to ensuring the humane treatment of pony boys. Even if he did manage to make his way into a town or chance upon a vehicle along the twisting mountain road he saw in the distance, he would simply be returned to the club, tortured for several days then castrated as all captured runaway slave-boys are, and put right back to work. Unaware of these facts, the boy who had once been called Kevin took a tentative step toward the fence, ready to make a run for freedom and take his chances. His best friend quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him back. Kevin shouted into his gag and stared at the sweaty filthy naked pony boy for a moment. Thunderclap instantly faded and Jacob slowly shook his head. Gagged, they could not speak, but their eyes locked, and slowly filled with tears. The two best friends hugged each other tightly. Moments later, Kevin was Lightning again, a broken spiritless little pony boy, shrugging his shoulders with a sigh and resuming his hard labor beside his partner Thunderclap.

Fence-mending proved a physically difficult if mentally numbing task for the boys. Tyrone and Bryan returned and rail-by-rail directed the boys where to drop the replacement planks. Lugging one plank at a time, the boys were constantly running back and forth along the fence-line, wearing themselves out but willing themselves to stay on their feet. The boys also had to help in removing the cracked and broken rails, transporting them back to the cart. The wranglers themselves handled the task of setting the new planks in place. By sunset, with the help of the two boys, they'd managed to replace half of the damaged or broken rails.

"Good job, brats," Tyrone said as he lit the cooking fire. Praise was heard so rarely that both boys couldn't help but smile through their gags.

"I'm gonna take these two filthy little beasts down to the stream and clean 'em up a bit," Bryan announced, attaching leads to both of the boys' collars. "Don't know about you, Ty, but I want my boy nice and fresh when I'm fucking his tight little ass."

Tyrone agreed this was a sensible plan and went about cooking dinner while Bryan led the boys away into the woods.

Ten minutes later Bryan returned with two dripping-wet boys in tow.

"What, did you just throw them into the water?" Tyrone laughed at the miserable sight of the soaking boys.

"That's exactly what I did, Ty. Held each of them down for a bit 'til they started sputtering. Why waste time scrubbing their worthless hides? Besides, they look fine, don't they?"

Tyrone had to admit that a quick dunking in the stream had done wonders, both for the boys' appearance and their smell. "Well, let's tie them up and then we can eat."

The boys were made to kneel next to the cart. Their wrists were tied tightly behind their backs and the ropes then looped around the cart's front axle, ensuring the two pony boys were properly tethered while the wranglers ate dinner. Their gags were removed and they were again given a sip of water. The clamps on their catheters remained, since the boys had already had their afternoon piss back at the stables.

"Keep your heads down, boys," Bryan ordered. "And no talking or the gags go right back in."

The smell from the cooking fire was heavenly torture for the two boys, whose perpetually empty stomachs were growling and aching. They licked their little tongues over their parched and chapped lips. Occasionally one or both of them would dare to look up, curious to see what it was that smelled so good.

"You know, Ty," Bryan said as he devoured his plate of pork and beans, "those little brats did work hard today. Maybe we should give them some real food."

"Yeah, Bry, I think you're right. Let's fix 'em up a plate."

Meant to overhear this, the boys immediately got excited and began to shift around on their knees.

"It's probably just a trick," Jacob whispered to Kevin.

"Yeah," the slightly smaller boy replied. It was the first time either of them had spoken in nearly two weeks, but neither of them had been able to keep count of that fact.

But it wasn't a trick. Moments later, the wranglers set two plates of hot food down in front of them. The boys looked up greedily and gratefully, hunger so plainly evident in their young innocent eyes.

"Oh, you know, we forgot to get them something to drink," Bryan said in a wicked tone of voice.

"You are right, Bryan," Tyrone replied. "How careless of us. Let's take care of that right now."

Both men unzipped their jeans, pulled out their big boy-fucking cocks and pissed all over the two plates. The boys' expressions turned from gratitude to horror.

"Eat it up boys, get down there and lick those plates clean."

Starving, and already having endured the humiliation of lapping up piss and shit from the floor of the stables, the boys slowly lowered their faces into their plates and ate their piss-soaked dinner, licking everything clean as ordered.

"You boys still have food all over your faces," Tyrone announced when the boys returned to their kneeling position. "Use your tongues and lick each other clean."

Tyrone and Bryan watched with increasingly urgent hard-ons as the two eleven-year-olds licked one another, lapping their little pink tongues over each others lips, chins and cheeks.

Satisfied with the boys' efforts, Bryan untethered them from the cart. The boys' hands remained tied behind their backs. "Which one do you want tonight?" he asked his partner.

Tyrone stared at the two boys. "I'll start with blondie," he said.

Bryan pulled Lightning to his feet and pushed him into Tyrone's waiting grasp. "Come on, you little brat," the black-skinned wrangler said as he dragged the little eleven-year-old white boy into his tent, "we're gonna have some serious fun tonight, you and me!"

Bryan knelt down in front of a trembling Thunderclap and ran his hands over the boy's grotesquely swollen ball-sack. The eleven-year-old's cock was hard, but held downward by the small plastic tube that tightly encased his recently pierced shaft. Bryan had no particular interest in the boy's penis and entertained no thoughts of releasing it from its unusual prison. What he did have interest in was the boy's ass and he didn't bother wasting time in taking the boy back to his tent. He simply flipped the kid over on the ground, pushed the boy's bound wrists up toward his collar and fucked him right there on the spot. Thunderclap's shrill screams and plaintive moans filled the still night air.

Inside Tyrone's tent, Lightning was screaming too as the black wrangler's frightfully long and thick cock tore him open. His screams however were muffled by a penis-gag strapped tightly around his head. Tyrone always preferred that little white pony boys be silent while he fucked them.

Dawn found both boys again tied to the axle of the cart, their wrists still bound behind their backs, both of them sobbing quietly, both of them with blood and sperm oozing from their violated little holes and both of them bearing a fresh covering of bruises and welts on their slender naked bodies. Their bladders were full and swollen, both of them moaning plaintively from their desperate need to pee. And so they lay there now half-awake awaiting the coming of morning.

"Rise and shine, brats!" Bryan shouted at them, kicking them awake with his booted foot.

The boys waited obediently on their knees while the men ate breakfast and drank their coffee. The two young ponies were then made to squat next to a tree where their catheters were finally opened for their morning piss, and their plugs removed so they could take their morning dump. No enemas out here in the fields. They were forced to bury their turds with their hands and then lick each other's butts clean. At first the boys showed some reluctance to do this, but they were quickly and harshly beaten into compliance, with Tyrone forcing Lightning's face into Thunderclap's butt and holding it there until the eleven-year-old started licking. Thunderclap took his turn with only marginally less coercion. Satisfied that the boys had cleaned themselves properly, Tyrone and Bryan pulled out their cocks and had the little pre-teen pony-boys suck them off until they both came, filling the eleven-year-olds' throats with their manly spunk.

"Boys need milk every morning," Bryan laughed as his pushed Thunderclap away, a trail of sperm still dribbling from the boy's quivering lower lip.

The pony-boys were then plugged, gagged, and put back to work, hauling fresh planks into position and dragging the old ones back to the cart. They ached and they hurt, but they kept working, knowing they'd receive far worse treatment if they stopped or disobeyed. The sky above them was crystal clear. The air was cool, as late summer mornings sometimes are, and the naked boys shivered as they went about their work on the dew-covered grass. It was going to be another beautiful day at the Upper Fremont Pony Club.