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

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

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

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

  * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Rimming my puckered hole, he eased one finger inside and asked, “Can I get a ride?”

  Could he? I almost fell over myself lowering my elbows to the floor to raise my ass as an invitation. The fake horse tail I wore spilled down my back. Lathering lotion onto his cock, Phillip spread my ass wide again and held my cheeks open as he slid his thick length inside. Finally. This was what I wanted—these hard thrusts, these hands working me to release.

  He eased fully into me and every inch of me trembled beneath him. I moaned through the bit, biting down hard on it as he pulled out, his movements so mind-numbingly slow that I wanted to weep. He slid out until just the tip of his dick remained inside me and I almost panicked…he couldn’t be done, could he? Please no, I begged. I tried to rock back, get him into me again, but he moved away, keeping that distance between us. My body quivered from the end of his shaft like a drop of water, dangling from a faucet, just about to fall…

  Then he pushed back into me, filling me completely, and began to ride me in earnest. I choked back a sob as the pinch and burn of entry became the glorious feel of his slick cock pumping into me. With one hand, he scooped up my reins and tugged at them, pulling my head back with each thrust. I needed this, I needed him. I was truly a pony, ridden hard by the gorgeous man behind me. My control was gone, my body no longer mine. Between my legs, my dick throbbed in time with my racing heart.

  Forgetting the hoofed gloves I wore, I moved a hand down to stroke myself—I was near release, I needed it—but Phillip slapped it away. I hung my head, the desire in me so sharp that it almost hurt. Phillip gave a gentle pull on the reins, just enough to remind me that he was in charge, and then he wrapped his own hand around my erection. As he rode me, he thumbed over the slit at my cock head. In gratitude, I whimpered and fucked into his hand.

  I felt him lean down over me, his breath tickling behind my ear as he whispered, “Don’t come until I tell you.” I shook my head as I ground back into him, trying to find release, and I heard him laugh behind me, a deep, throaty laugh that could give me wet dreams. Like an expert horseman, Phillip shifted against me and his angle changed. Each new thrust drove into me, hard and sweet. My body was on fire. I felt him pounding through me into my very soul—I could taste him in the back of my mouth and I wanted more. With each movement, my leather bonds tightened against sweat-slicked skin. When he slapped my ass, urging me onward, faster, on, I moaned to keep up with him. Hadn’t I once thought I would I hate this? Why hadn’t I ever tried it out before?

  Another slap, this one stinging my already overworked ass, and I could tell he was close. I bucked into his hand and came in ropy spurts that drained me of energy. Phillip stayed inside me and I clenched around him, holding him in—I never wanted him to leave. As my muscles bunched around him, I felt him come, hard and fast inside me, with a grunt of pleasure that made me proud that I brought him to that, me. I felt my mouth try to pull into a stupid grin and was glad for the bit that held it back. I wanted to hear that grunt again. I wanted to please him again.

  When he pulled out of me, I felt the loss of him as a physical rip in my soul. My entire body seemed to fold into itself, hollow without him in me. My knees and arms buckled, dumping me to the ground. I felt cold, alone, empty.

  Suddenly Phillip was there, covering my body with his. His lips were soft against the back of my neck. “Good pony,” he purred. One hand stroked my head, his fingers mussing my hair, as the other rubbed my stomach, smeared with my own juices. I wanted to lie like this forever, be this close to him, never let him go.

  After a while, he unsnapped my gloves, removing the hooves. I kept still as he unsnapped the boots, as well. Then he removed the bit and turned my face towards his. Our lips met in a sweet crush and tentatively, I touched his smooth chin. As our kiss deepened, my hands trailed down his throat and over the leather vest he wore, rubbing at the hard nipples hidden beneath. I ventured lower as I licked into him, my fingers at his waist now, brushing through kinked hair to find him already hardening again. Before I could take him in hand, though, he caught my wrist and smiled into our kiss. “Not yet,” he sighed.

  I pulled away, confused and a little hurt, but he kissed me again, hard, demanding. His lips covered mine as if he owned me. “Don’t worry,” he assured me. “I’ll tell you when.”

  The promise in his words followed us as, hand in hand, he led me back to the tack room for my clothes.

  * * * *

  Later I found Sean in the vendor hall. He wore a pony outfit similar to the one I had recently changed out of. His arms were hobbled behind his back and his reins were loose in the hands of a Papa Bear. Literally—the man wore a dingy bear suit that might’ve been a school mascot costume in a previous life. The face that peered out from the bear’s mouth was just Sean’s type: older, bearded, a mountain of a man. I approached them, remembered where I was, and turned to the bear for permission. “I need to talk to my friend,” I told him, pointing at Sean. “Two minutes, that’s all.”

  The bear sized me up. “Weren’t you the one who got horse-whipped earlier today?” I shifted uncomfortably and the man shook Sean’s reins. “Two minutes.”

  I led Sean a little ways off. Before I said a word, he laughed. “That was you?” he wanted to know.

  “Shut up,” I told him. I looked around the room before I spotted Phillip, waiting for me by the exit. Quickly I said, “Listen, I’m gonna get out of here. I sort of met someone…”

  Sean turned around, eyes searching. “Who is it?” He must’ve seen Phillip wave, because he laughed again. “Phillip Ross! I knew it! He’s the one I told you about.”

  “You didn’t mention anyone specific,” I reminded him.

  “I meant him,” Sean said. “Phillip’s just up your alley, isn’t he? I knew you two would hook up. But you know he’s into this stuff all the time, right? No plain-Jane sex with him, I’ve heard. Very kinky.”

  “Whatever he wants,” I assured him. My body still hummed from our earlier tryst.

  With his shoulder, Sean nudged me. “Who would’ve thought you’d turn out to be such a sub after all? Aren’t you glad I brought you now?”

  I didn’t answer. As Sean’s bear-clad friend started towards us, I ducked into the thinning crowd and headed for Phillip. I still wasn’t completely into the whole bondage scene but, for this guy, I was willing to give it a go. One good thing about pony play…with that bit in my mouth, I wouldn’t have to call him Master.

  About J.M. Snyder

  A multi-published author of gay erotic/romantic fiction, J.M. Snyder began

  writing boyband slash before self-publishing through iUniverse, Lulu

  Press, and CreateSpace. Currently Snyder works with several different

  e-publish
ers, most notably Amber Allure Press and eXcessica Publishing,

  and has several short stories published in anthologies by Alyson Books,

  Cleis Press, and others. For more information, including excerpts, free

  stories, and monthly contests, please visit http://www.jmsnyder.net

  That Eureka Moment

  By Alex Jordaine

  Ask any masochist or sadist about the first time they realized they got off big time on what they do—what they are—and they’re likely to have an interesting tale to tell. Although what our masochist and what our sadist each have to say will be very different, their stories are liable to share in common a cathartic sense of everything suddenly falling into place as if by magic: That Eureka Moment.

  THE MASOCHIST’S TALE

  When Julie looked back at the person she’d been only five short years ago it felt strange—almost like a false memory of someone else’s life. Had that really been her? Julie Ball was so damn pleased with herself for coming out as a lesbian you’d have thought she was the first person who’d ever done it. She was so sophisticated, wasn’t she? So uninhibited, so daring ... So deluded, more like.

  The truth was that in her own way she was as repressed as some frustrated Victorian spinster. There was a whole dark side to her sexuality she hadn’t even begun to come to terms with, let alone explore, for the simple reason that she’d yet to acknowledge that it existed at all. Let’s face it, she’d said to herself afterwards wryly, you can’t come out of the closet unless you’ve ventured in there in the first place. Julie learnt that lesson eventually, though, and in a very literal sense. It was a woman called Bridget who made it happen.