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Ponyboy slave Prince Tristan by Anne Roqualore (now Anne Rice)

“Have you thoroughly examined him?”

“No and that should be done now. His anus should be measured,” said the Master.

I wondered if they could perceive the effect the words had on me.  I wished I’d taken Beauty a half dozen times in the cart so that at least my cock would be better under my control, but the thought of that only further inflamed me.

Frozen in this shameful stance, legs sprawled, I watched, powerless, the Master going to one of the shelves and reaching up for a morocco-covered case, which he set on the table.

I was turned by the woman so that I faced the table.  She brought down my hands and placed them on the edge of it so I was bending over from the waist, and I struggled to spread my legs as wide as I could so that she wouldn’t have to correct me.

“ And his buttocks are hardly reddened, that’s good,” she said.  I felt her fingers toying with the welts and sore places.  Little riots of pain broke out in the flesh, like lights in my mind, and right before my eyes I saw the leather case opened and two large leather covered phalluses taken out of it.  One was the size of a man’s cock, I would say, and the other somewhat larger.  And the large phallus was decorated at the base with a long bushy shock of black hair, a horse tail.  Each was fitted with a ring, a sort of handle.

I tired to brace myself.  But my mind rebelled as I stared at the thick, glossy hair.  I could not be made to wear such a thing, a thing to make me look like an animal!

The woman’s hand opened a red glass on the desk, the light seeming to strike it for the first time as I noticed it.  And her long fingers gathered up a large dab of cream and disappeared behind me.

I felt the coldness of it against my anus, and knew the appalling helplessness I always experienced  when my anus was touched, opened, Gently but quickly, she spread the moisture, smoothing it well into my crack, and then into my anus itself as I tried to be silent.  I felt Master’s cold eyes; I felt the Mistress’s skirts against me.

The smaller of the two phalluses was lifted from the desk, and slipped sharply and firmly into me.  I shuddered, tensed.  “Shhhh…don’t be stiff,” she said.  “Push out with ur hips, yes, and open to me.  Yes, that’s much better.  Don’t tell me you

Were never measured or mounted on a phallus at the castle.”

My tears came in a flood.  Violent tremors went through my legs and I felt the phallus sliding in, impossibly large and hard, my anus contracting in spasms.  It was as if there had been no other time, yet every time had been as debilitating, as mortifying as this one.

“He’s almost virginal,” she said, “A mere child.” Feel this” And with her left hand she lifted my chest up until I was standing again, my hands behind my neck, legs throbbing, the phallus thrust up into me, her hand securing it.

My Master came around behind me, and I felt the phallus rocked back and forth .  I felt it shift in me even as he obviously let it go.  I felt stuffed and impaled.  And my anus, aquivering heated mound around it.

“And why all those lovely tears?” The Mistress drew near to my face, her left hand lifting it higher.  “Haven’t you ever been fitted before?” she asked.  “You’re going to have a great many of them ordered now for you this very day with a great many different decorations and harnesses.  It’s very seldom that we will leave your anus unplugged.  Now keep those legs wide.”  To my Master she said, “Nicolas, give me the other one.”

With a sudden muffled cry I protested as best I could.  I couldn’t bear to look at that thick mass of black horsetail, and yet I stared full at it as it was lifted.  But she only laughed softly and stroked my face again, “There, there,” she said sincerely. And the smaller phallus was slid out with lightning quickness, leaving my anus to grasp with an odd sensation that sent shivers through me.

She was applying more of the chilling cream, rubbing it in deeper this time, her fingers prying me open, while with the left hand keeping my face high, the room nothing but light and color in my vision.  I couldn’t see my Master.  He was behind me.  And then I felt the larger phallus breaking me open wide, and I groaned.  But again, she said:

“Push your hips back, open.  Open…”

I wanted to cry out, “I cannot,” but I felt it worked slowly back and forth, stretching me, and finally sliding in so that my anus felt enormous, throbbing around this immense object, which seemed three times what I had seen with my own eyes in the case before me.

But there was no sharp pain-only the intensification of feeling opened and rendered defenseless.  And the coarse, tickling hair against my buttocks, being lifted and dropped, it seemed, the stroking almost maddeningly tender.  I couldn’t bear to picture it.  She held the hook, it seemed, and she moved the giant shaft, pushing upwards so that I stood on tiptoe as best I could and she said, “Yes, excellent.”

There it was, the soft words of approval, and I felt a lump in my throat break, felt the warmth in my face and in my chest expanding.  My buttocks swelled.  I felt shoved forward by the thing, though I stood still, and the soft tingling touch of hair was all the more mortifying. 

“Both sizes,” she said. “We will use the smaller ones most often for regular wear and the larger when it seems necessary.”

“Quite good,” said the Master.  “I’ll send for them this afternoon.”  But she did not remove the larger instrument.  She was looking at my face most carefully and I could see the light flickering in her eye, and a swallowed sob caught in my throat silently.

“Now it’s time for us to ride out to the farm,” said my Master, and the words seemed for my benefit.  “I’ve already ordered the coach to be brought around with a harness free for this one.  Leave the large phallus in for now, it will be good for our young Prince to be broken properly to harness.”

But I was only given a second or two to think about what all this meant.  At once, the Master had his firm hand on the ring of the phallus and was pushing me forward with the command, “March.” The hair stroked and tickled the back of my knees. And the phallus seemed to shift in me as if it had a life of its own, poking and prodding me forward.

 

A SPLENDID EQUIPAGE   Tristan:

“No,” I thought, “I can’t be driven outdoors, not disfigured with this bestial decoration.  Please…”

And yet I was hurried through a rear corridor and out a back door into a broad paved road enclosed on the other side by a high stone rampart of the village.

This was a much bigger thoroughfare than the one through which we had come.  It was bordered with tall trees, and I could see guards high above walking in leisurely fashion along the battlements.    And immediately before me I saw a shocking sight of coaches and market carts rattling past, pulled by slaves instead of horses.  As many as eight and ten slaves were harnessed to the large coaches, and here and there a small chariot rolled by pulled only by a couple of pairs, and there were even small market carts without drivers being pulled by lone slaves, the Masters on foot beside them.

But before I could overcome my shock, or perceive how the slaves were turned out, I saw Master’s leather coach before me, and five slaves, the four in pairs, all laced into boots and well harnessed with bits jerking back their head their heads, and their naked buttocks decorated with horsetails.  The coach itself was open with two velvet upholstered seats, and the Master handed the Mistress up to take her place as a smartly dressed youth pushed me forward to complete the third and last pair nearest to the vehicle.

“No, please,” I thought as I had a thousand times at the castle, “no, I beg you…” But no real belief in resistance galvanized me.  I was I the power of these villagers, who placed the long thick bit firmly back in my mouth and the reins over my shoulders.  The thick phallus ground into me as it was shifted up, and I felt a finely made harness coming down over my shoulders with thin straps that went down to band around my hips, which was buckled at once very securely to the ring of the phallus.  I couldn’t now push the thing out.  In fact, it was rammed hard into me and bound to me, and I felt a firm tugging that almost pulled me off my feet as a pair of reins was obviously fixed to this hook and given to those behind me, who could now control both the bit and the phallus as they drove me.

As I looked ahead I saw that all the slaves were so tethered and that all were Princes, the long reins of those in front passing beside my thighs or above my shoulders.  Tight leather rings gathered them together neatly just before me and probably right behind me.  But I was startled to feel my arms being folded against my back and laced tight with harsh tugs.  Rough, gloved hands quickly clamped small black leather weights to the nipples of my chest and gave them little pats to make sure they hung securely.  Like leather teardrops they were, with no other purpose, it seemed, than to make the unspeakable degradation of the equipage all the more piercing.

And with the same silent quickness, my feet were being laced into thick boots with horseshoes on them, like the boots used at the castle for the devastating runs on the Bridle Path.  The leather felt cold against my claves and the horseshoes felt heavier.

But no wild run on that path, driven by the paddle of a mounted rider, had been as degrading as being tethered with these other human ponies.  Even as I grasped that it had been completely done-I was now outfitted exactly like the others and all those I saw clopping past on the busy road-my head was jerked up, and I felt two sharp pulls of the reins, which started the whole team moving.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw the slave next to me lifting his knees in an unusual high march, and I did the same, the harness tugging on the shaft in my anus as the Master called out, “Faster, Tristan, better than that.  Remember how I taught you to march.”  And a thick strap licked down with a loud popping noise at the welts on my thighs and buttocks as, in a blur, I ran with the others.

We couldn’t have been traveling very fast, but it seemed we were racing.  Ahead of me I could see the limitless blue sky., the ramparts, and the high seated drivers and occupants of passing carriages.  And again there was that horrid sense of actuality, that we were true naked slaves here, not royal play things.  We were the groaning underbelly or a place so vast and vital and overwhelming it made the castle seem a monstrous confection.

Before me the Princes strained under their harnesses almost as if outdoing one another for speed, reddened buttocks jogging the long sleek tails back and forth, muscles standing out in their strong  calves above the tight leather boots, horseshoes ringing on the cobblestones.  I groaned as the reins jerked  my head higher and the strap walloped the backs of my knees, and the tears flowed more freely than ever down my face so that it was almost a mercy to have the bit to cry against.  The weights tugged at my nipples, knocked against my chest, sending ripples of sensation through me.  I felt my nakedness perhaps as I’d never felt it before, as though the harnesses and reins and the horsetail only further revealed me.

The reins were given three jerks.  The team slowed to a rhythmic trot as if it knew the commands.  And winded and wet with tears, I fell into it gratefully.  The strap licked at the Prince beside me now, and I saw him arch his back and lift his knees even higher.

And over the jumble of sounds, the clops of the shoes, the groans and outright cries of the other ponies, I could hear the thin rise and fall of the sound of the Master and Mistress talking together.

The words weren’t clear, only the unmistakable sound of conversation.

“Head up, Tristan!” the Master said sharply, and

There came that cruel jerk of the bit along with another through the ring in my anus, lifting me

Right off my feet for a moment, so I cried loudly behind the gag and ran fast when I let down, the phallus seeming to enlarge inside of me as if my body existed for no other purpose than to embrace it.

I sobbed against the gag, trying to catch my breath the better to measure it and weather the pace of the team.  And there came the unmistakable rise and fall of a conversation and I felt utterly forsaken.

Not even the whippings in the soldiers’ camp when I had tried to escape on the journey to the castle had violated me and debased me as this punishment.  And the glimpse of those battlements

Above, leaning idly against the stone or pointing now and then to passing coaches, only made my soul feel all the more frail.  Something in me was absolutely annihilated.

We rounded a turn, the road widening, the rush of the horseshoes and rolling wheels growing louder.  The phallus seemed to drive me, lift me, propel me forward, the long popping strap lapping my claves almost playfully.  I seemed to have caught my breath, to have gotten a merciful

second wind, and the tears streaming down my face felt cold in the breeze instead fo scalding hot.

We were moving through the high gates, out of the village by another way  than that through which I had entered with the other slaves that morning.

And I saw about me the opened farmland, dotted with thatched cottages and little orchards, and the road beneath became freshly turned earth, softer under my feet.  But  a new sense of dread came over me.  A warm sensation crawled over my naked balls, elongating and toughening my never-flagging organ.

I saw naked slaves tethered to plows or working on their hands and knees in the wheat.  And the feeling of being utterly bereft intensified.

Other human ponies, rushing towards us and past us, evoked greater and greater trepidation in me.  I looked like they did.  I was merely one of them.

Now we were turning into a small road, trotting briskly towards a large half timbered manor house with several chimneys rising from its high pitched slate roof , and the strap was only flicking me now and then, stinging me and making my muscles jump.

With a fierce pull on the reins we were brought to a stop, my head snapped back as I cried out, the sound  completely distorted by the thick bit, and I stood with the others panting and shivering as the dust of the road settled.

THE FARM AND THE STABLE

At once several naked male slaves advanced towards us.   I could hear the coach creaking as the Master and Mistress were helped down.  And these slaves, all very darkly browned by the sun, their shaggy hair sun-bleached and gleaming, commenced to unharness us, slipping the immense phallus out of my buttocks and leaving it tethered to the equipage.  I let go of the cruel bit with a gasp.  I felt emptied like a sack, light and without will.

And as two roughly dressed youths appeared, both with long flat wooden sticks in their hands, I followed the other ponies along a narrow path to a low building that was obviously a stable.

At once we were bent at the waist over a huge beam, our cocks pressed down by the wood, and made to grasp with out teeth leather rings that hung from another such rough bar before us.  I had to strain to catch the thing in my teeth, the beam against my belly biting into the flesh, and once I did my feet almost left the ground.  My arms were still laced behind my back so I couldn’t have caught myself.  But I didn’t fall.  I held fast to the soft leather ring like the others.  And when I felt the splash of warm water all over my aching backside and legs, I was grateful for it.

Nothing had ever felt so delicious, I thought.  That is, until I was dried all over and oil was rubbed into my muscles.  This was ecstasy, even as I stretched my neck so torturously.  And it did not matter much that the shaggy-haired sun browned slaves were so rough and quick, their fingers pressing forcefully at the welts and lacerations.  I heard grunts and groans from all around, as much from pleasure as from biting the ring.  Our shoes were removed, and my burning feet were oiled which made them tingle exquisitely.

Then we were pulled up and led to another beam over which we were made to lean in the same manner, to lap our food from an open tough just as if we were ponies.

Greedily the slaves ate.  I struggled to overcome the pure mortification of the image. But my face was pressed into the stew. The taste was rich and good.  The tears standing in my eyes again, I lapped sloppily as the others, one of the groom slaves lifting my hair and stroking it almost lovingly.  I realized he was stroking me just as one would a beautiful horse.  In fact he was petting my rump.  And the mortification shot through me again, my cock pushing against the beam that held it bent down towards the earth and my balls feeling mercilessly heavy.

When I could eat no more, bowl of milk was held for me to lap, and pushed into my face again and again as I hurriedly tried to empty it.  And by the tome I had lapped this up, and had some cool fresh spring water, all the painful fatigue in my legs had melted.  What was left was the throb of welts and that feeling that my buttocks were frightfully enormous and scarlet with lash marks and that my anus gaped from the phallus that had widened it.

But I was merely one of six, arms tightly laced like the others.  All the ponies were the same.  How could they not be?

My head was lifted, and another soft leather ring with a long leather lead attached was forced into my mouth.  I bit down and was pulled up and back away from the trough by it.  All the ponies were being pulled up in the same manner, they ran ahead, struggling after the dark skinned slave

Who tugged us by the leads towards the orchard.

We trotted fast, pulled with hard humiliating tugs, groaning and grunting as our feet crushed the grass beneath us.  Now our arms were being unbound.

I was taken by the hair, the ring removed from my mouth, and I was pushed down on my hands and knees.  The branches of the trees spread out above making a green shade from the sun, and I saw the beautiful burgundy velvet of Mistress’s dress beside me.

She took me by the hair, just as the groom slave had done, and lifted my head so that for one second I looked directly at her.  Her small face was very white and her eyes a deep gray with the same dark center I saw in Master’s eyes, but at once I looked down, my heart thudding in fear of her correction.

“Do you have a soft mouth, Prince?” she asked. I knew I was not to speak, and confused by here question, I shook my head gently.  All around me the other ponies were busy at some task, but I could not clearly see what they were doing. The Mistress pushed my face into the grass.  I saw before me a ripe green apple. “A soft mouth will take that piece of fruit firmly in its teeth and deposit it in there in the basket as the other slaves are doing and never leave the slightest teeth marks on it.” She said.

As she let my hair, go I picked up the apple and, frantically searching for the basket, trotted forward to put the apple in it.  The other slaves worked fast and I rushed to imitate their speed, seeing not only the Mistress’s skirts and boots, but also the Master standing not far away from her.  I went desperately to my task, finding another apple, and another and another, and becoming anxious and frenzied when I could find no more.

But quite suddenly another phallus was rammed dry into my anus and I forced forward with such speed that surely a long rod was driving it.  I was rushing after the others deeper into the orchard,

the grass prickling my penis and balls, and once again I had an apple in my teeth, and the phallus stabbed me towards the waiting basket.  I glimpsed a young mans boots behind me.  And that gave

some relief, that it was not the Master or Mistress.

I tried to find the next apple on my own, hoping the tool would be withdrawn, but I was tumbled forward by it and could not reach the basket quick enough.  The phallus drove me this way and that as I piled up the apples, until the basket was quite full and all the slaves in a little flock were sent scampering to another stand of trees; I was the only one driven by a phallus.  My face burned at the thought that I alone required it, but no matter how I hurried, it pushed me ruthlessly forward.  The grass tortured my penis.  It tortured the tender insides of my thighs and even my throat as I scooped up the apples.  But nothing could stop me from trying to keep pace.

And when I saw the dim figures of the Master and Mistress quite far away, moving towards the

manor house, I felt a flush of gratitude that they wouldn’t see my difficulties.  And I continued to work frantically.

Finally all the baskets were filed. We searched in vain for more apples. And I was pushed after the little group as we rose to our feet and started to trot again towards the stables, our arms folded behind our backs as if they had been laced there.  I thought the phallus would let me alone then, but it pierced me and drove me still, and I struggled to catch up with the others.

The sight of the stables filled me with dread, though I did not know why.

We were whipped into a long hay-strewn room, the hay feeling good under my feet, and then the other slaves were gathered up one by one and made to squat beneath a long thick beam some four feet above the ground and at least that many feet from the wall behind it. Each slave had his arms lashed around the beam, elbows pointed sharply forward.  And hid legs were positioned wide and back at a low squat so that his cock and balls jutted painfully.  Each head was bowed beneath the beam, hair fallen in reddened faces.  I waited, trembling, for the same, realizing that this had been done very fast, all five slaves tethered at once, and that I had been spared.  The fear in me blazed a little hotter.

But I was forced on my hands and knees again and driven towards the first of the slaves, the one who had lead the team, a powerfully built blond-haired slave who twisted and thrust his hips out as I approached, struggling it seemed for some comfort in the miserable squatting position.

At once I realized what I was to do, and absolute perplexity stopped me.  I was so starved for the thick glistening cock before my face.  But how the sucking of it would torture my own organ!  I could only hope for mercy afterwards.  But as I opened my mouth, the groom pulled up on the phallus.

“Balls first,”  he said, “a good tongue bathing!”

The Prince groaned and rolled his hips towards me.  I hastened to obey, my buttocks held up by the phallus, my own cock ready to burst.  My tongue lapped at the soft, salty skin, lifting the balls and letting them slide out of my mouth, then lapping fast again, trying to cover them, as the taste of warm flesh and salt intoxicated me.   The Prince wriggled and danced as I licked, his extraordinarily muscled legs flexing up and down as much as much as the space would allow.  I mouthed, all of the scrotum, sucking on it, nipping at it.  And unable to wait any longer for the cock, I drew back and closed my lips on it, plunging to the nest of pubic hair in the fury of sucking.  Back and forth I went until I realized that the Prince was driving at his own rhythm.

And all I needed to do was hold my head still, the phallus burning into my anus as the cock slipped in and out of my lips, grazing my teeth, and I grew ever more delirious with the thickness of it, the wetness of it, the smooth tip pumping against the roof of my mouth, my own hips pumping shamelessly now, grinding up and down in the same rhythm.  But when it emptied into my throat, there was no relief for my cock dancing in the empty air.  I could only swallow the sour, salty fluid hungrily.

At once I was pulled back.  A dish of wine was given to me to lap.  And I was marched to the next waiting Prince, who was already struggling in the inevitable rhythm.

My jaws ached when I finished the row.

My throat ached.  And my own cock could not have been any stiffer, any more eager.  I was now at the mercy of the groom and desperate for even a sign that I should know some relief from the torture.

He immediately bound me to the beam, my arms thrust over it, my legs in the same awkward, degrading squat.  But there was no slave there to satisfy me.  And as the groom left us alone in the empty stable, I broke into soft muffled groans, my hips straining forward helplessly.

The stable was quiet now.

The others must have slumbered.  The late afternoon sun leaked like vapor through the open door.  I dreamed of relief in all its glorious forms, Lord Stefan lying under me in that land long ago where we had been friends and lovers before either of us had ever come to this strange Kingdom, Beauty’s delicious sex riding my cock, the  Master or mistresses hand touching me.

But this only made my torment worse.

Then softly I heard the slave next to me.  “It’s always so” he said sleepily.  He stretched his neck, twisting his head so that his loose black hair fell down more freely.  I could only see a little of his face.  Like all the rest he had an obvious beauty.  “One is made to satisfy the others,” he said.  “And when there is a new slave he is always the one.  Other times it’s chosen in various ways, but the one chosen must suffer.”

“Yes, I see,” I said miserably.  It seemed he was slumbering again.

“What is our Mistress’s name?” I pressed, thinking he might know, since surely this was not his first day.

“Mistress Julia is her name, but she’s not my Mistress,” he whispered.  “Rest now.  You need your rest, uncomfortable as it is, believe me.”

“My name is Tristan,” I said.  “how long have you been here?”

“Two years,” he said. “My name is Jerard.  I tried to run away from the castle and almost reached the border of the next Kingdom.  I would have been safe there.  But when I was only an hour or less away a ban of peasants hunted me down and caught me.  They never help an escaping slave.  And I had stolen clothes from their cottage.  They stripped me fast enough and bound me hand and foot and brought me back, and I sentenced to three years in the village.  The Queen never even looked at me again.”

I winced.  Three years! And he had served two already!

“But would you really have been safe if you…?”

“Yes but the great difficulty is reaching the border.”

“And you weren’t afraid that your parents…?

Didn’t they send you to the Queen and tell you to obey?”

“I was too afraid of the Queen,” he said.  “And I wouldn’t have gone home anyway.”

“Have you tried since?’

“No,” he laughed softly under his breath.  “I am one of the best ponies in the village.  I was sold right away to the public stables.  I’m rented out every day by rich Masters and Mistresses, though Master Nicolas and Mistress Julia rent me most often.  I still hope for clemency from her Majesty, that I’ll be allowed back to the castle early, but if not, I won’t weep.  If I weren’t run hard every day I’d probably become anxious.  Now and then I feel fretful and I kick or struggle, but a good thrashing quiets me down beautifully.  My Master knows just when I need it; even if I have been very good, he knows.  I like pulling a handsome coach like your Master’s coach.  I like the shiny new harnesses and reins, and he swings a hard strap, that one, the Queens Chronicler.   You know he means it.  Every now and then he’ll stop and rub my hair, or give me a pinch, and I almost  come on the spot.  He declares his authority over my cock, too, lashing it and laughing at it.  I adore him.  Once he had me pull a little basket cart on two wheels all by myself, while he walked beside it.  I hate the small carts, but with your Master, I tell you I almost lost my mind from pride.

It was so lovely.

>”Why was it lovely?’ I asked, mutely fascinated.  I was trying to picture him, his long black hair, the hair of the horse tail, and the slender elegant figure of my master walking beside him.  All that lovely white hair in the sun, my Master’s lean thoughtful face, those deep blue eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I’m not much for words.  I’m always proud when I am trotting.  But I was all alone with him.  We came out of the village for a twilight walk in the country.  All the women were out at their gates to bid him good evening.  And the gentlemen passed, returning from a day of inspection at their farms to their lodgings in the village.

“Every morning now and then your Master would lift the hair off the back of my neck and smooth it out.  He’d tethered the rein good and high so my head was way back, and he gave me many a crack on the calves I didn’t need just because he liked it.  It was the most exhilarating feeling, trotting on the road, and hearing the crunch of his boots beside me.  I didn’t care if I ever saw the castle again.  Or ever left the Kingdom.  He always asks for me, your Master.  The other ponies are terrified of him.  They come back to the stables with their buttocks raw and they say he whips them twice as much as does anyone else, but I revere him.  He does what he does well.  And so do I.   And so will you now that he’s your Master.”

I couldn’t answer.

He didn’t say any more after that.  He soon fell asleep, and I squatted very still, my thighs aching, my cock as miserable as before, thinking of his little descriptions.  It sent chills through me to listen to what he said, and yet I understood what he was saying.

It unnerved me.  But I understood it.  (aside/  this was my epiphany!! For I understood too!!)

When they released us and drove us out to the coach, it was almost dark, and I felt myself fascinated by the harness and the nipple clamps and the reins and the lacings and the phallus as they were all refitted.  Of course they hurt and frightened me.  But I was thinking of Jerard’s words.  I could see him harnessed in front of me.  I stared at the way he tossed his head, stamped his  feet in the boots as if to improve the fit.  And I stared forward at nothing with wide, baffled eyes as the phallus was worked well into me and the straps pulled tight, lifting me off the ground,

And we were jerked into a fast trot down the road, away from the manor house.

Tears were already spilling down my face as we turned on the road, the dark battlements of the village looming before us.  Lights burned in the north and south towers.  And it must have been that same time of evening that Jerard had described, as there were few carriages on the road, women leaned on their gates, waving as we passed.  Now and then I saw a lone man walking.  I was marching briskly as I could, my chin painfully high, the heavy, thick phallus seeming to pulse with heat inside me.

I was cracked over and over again with the strap, but not once was I reprimanded.  And just before we reached the Master’s house, I remembered with a start what Jerard had said about nearly reaching the neighboring Kingdom!  Perhaps he was wrong that he would have been received.  And what about his father?  Mine had said to obey, that the Queen was all powerful and I would be well rewarded for my service, well enhanced in wisdom.  I tried to put it out of my mind.  I’d never really thought of escape.  It was too baffling a thought, too much against the grain of what was already so hard to accommodate.

It was dark when we pulled up to the Master’s door.  My boots and harness were taken off, everything thing but the phallus, and all the other ponies were whipped away to the public stables, pulling the empty coach after them.

I stood still thinking of Jerard’s other words and wondering at the strange, hot shiver that went through mewhen my Mistress lifted my face and brushed my hair back from it.

“There, there,” she said again in that tender voice.  She blotted my forehead and my wet cheeks with a smooth handkerchief of white linen.  I looked right into her eyes, and she kissed my lips, my cock almost dancing, as the kiss took the breath out of me.

She slipped the phallus out so quickly I was pulled off-balance, glancing back at her in alarm.  And then she disappeared into the rich little house, and I stood shaken, gazing up at the high-peaked roof and the fine sprinkling of stars above it, realizing I was alone with the Master, his thick strap in his hand as always.

He turned me around and had me march along the broad paved road back in the direction of the market-place.


wildmanimal1@yahoo.com  Boston MA wish this was me!

(Source: untamedmanimal.tumbl)

now this is the way i LIKED TO GET PLOWED!! luv power fucking ..where the bottom gets pile driver driven right into the pavement..
lookin for playmates boston MA area   wildmanimal1   at     yahoo for emails or messenger

now this is the way i LIKED TO GET PLOWED!! luv power fucking ..where the bottom gets pile driver driven right into the pavement..

lookin for playmates boston MA area   wildmanimal1   at     yahoo for emails or messenger

(via hotrufftrade)

i have a silo for this missile..either end!!!

i have a silo for this missile..either end!!!

(via hotrufftrade)

GOT FEET?

feet1feet2feet3feet4feet5feet6feet7feet8feet9feet10feet11
__._,_.___

(Source: untamedmanimal.tumbl)

"Have you ever danced with the Devil by the pale moonlight?" queried the Joker of Batman..

"Have you ever danced with the Devil by the pale moonlight?" queried the Joker of Batman..

(via cocainepractice)

he can plug into my power port for a recharge anytime!

(Source: untamedmanimal.tumbl)

fetishpets:

Cool Perfomance

DAM!!! well edited, well choreographed, and a big ole YEEEEEE HAAWWWWWW to the ponygals!!tail belt shoulda been ridin on top of the undies tho. human tail bone is at the top of the crack of the ass.. butt i don’t wanna get picky!!

(Source: youtube.com)

lotta vey hairy men gittin it on!

 

(Source: untamedmanimal.tumbl)

blkundies:

Ass n briefs

want him layin on his stomach..me on top.. in oposite position so’s i cud stretch the waist band of those undies stick my head in and butt much him to oblivion

blkundies:

Ass n briefs

want him layin on his stomach..me on top.. in oposite position so’s i cud stretch the waist band of those undies stick my head in and butt much him to oblivion

(via nirwin69)