Pete Brown's Slaves

(“Ponies” Have always had a fascination for me. And I have written about them extensively. What follows is a story fragment I found somewhere on the net, back in 2001. I think the writer - whoever he was - captures the essence of a man being turned into a helpless pony magnificently. Pete Brown.).



ONCE A PONY...

i'm not really writing this. i'm only thinking it. i'll never
write or read anything again or even speak. It's amazing how clear and
accurate my memory has become since all i have is my memory, devoid of
being able to write things down or having any human means of
communication. i chose this destiny for myself. But once chosen, it
took on a life all it's own, totally beyond my control. i chose to
become a slave, a ponyboy. But now i'm not so sure that it's what i
want. Sometimes, i'm sure it's not. What i want doesn't matter
anymore. i'm a ponyboy now and always. It's a small community up in
the mountains. The law there is sparse and it doesn't matter anyway
because they elect their sheriff from among themselves. Among the
people in charge of this small community, there are plenty of very
affluent people who have made sure that even the wildlife management
people assigned to the area are those who share their interests. When
i signed on for this, i didn't fully understand that there was no going
back. i know now. Too bad it doesn't do me any good now.

When i arrived, i was asked several questions mostly designed to
ascertain that i had told no one where i was going and that i couldn't
be traced beyond the city my flight arrived in (having been picked up
at the airport by people who worked here). One tends to be very
secretive about these sorts of interests. i had intended to spend the
summer here. i was told they could end it at any time if they found me
unsatisfactory. The foreman, who had not mentioned his name, told me i
could call this off at any time by saying a safeword he would give me.
The word was "ponyboy." All the ponyboys had the same safeword, he
said. In was an in-joke. It was a word a ponyboy was never allowed to
say.

Once they were certain that nobody knew where i was, i was taken
out to the large stable where the ponyboys were kept. In the yard, the
stable hands hosed me down and then shaved my chest, stomach, legs,
pubes and balls. my body from the neck down was clean shaven as was my
face. Then they pierced the skin of each of my balls at the back of
them. my arms were held during this incredibly painful process. i was
in too much pain to yell any safewords. A strange-looking "yoke" was
then run through the two thick folds of pierced skin and locked tightly
around my balls. It brought my balls up into a neatly bound package,
stretching the skin and squeezing my nuts until i almost thought the
skin would break and my nuts would burst. A metal bar extended back
from the yoke, going under my crotch. In back, a handlebar shaped
piece of metal extended across the bar. Manacles were welded to the
handlebars. my hands were then locked into the manacles. i stood
naked and humiliated, bending slightly at the knees, thrusting my ass
backwards in a useless attempt to relief the pressure on my balls. One
of the men (i later picked up the information that his name was Jim
from hearing him talk to others) was fitting a strange piece of metal
into a pair of pincers.

He walked over to me and said, "Open wide, horsy." He was holding the
pincers in front of my mouth, so it wasn't difficult to guess his intent.
i hadn't been able to ask many questions. There's two i just had to ask.
"How long will this be in?", i said. "How will i say the safeword with-"
i had intended to say, "-that in." But i never got the chance. Jim slapped me across the face- hard!

As i stood, stunned emotionally and psychologically, one
of the stable hands grabbed my hair and held me in place. Another
squeezed my nostrils closed with one hand and squeezed my jaw with the
other. When i finally opened my mouth to gasp for air, my jaws were
forced wide open. Jim fitted the metal clamp over my tongue and moved
the pincers across my tongue, squeezing the clamp tightly into place
over my tongue. It was painfully tight. Panicking, i tried to say,
"Ponyboy!" But all i could manage was "Uuggg-fff-ooohhh!" Speaking was
impossible with this clamp on my tongue. None of them was listening,
anyway. Jim then proceeded to pierce the skin in the middle of my
nostrils. He inserted a heavy ring. Then he attached a chain and
leash. Pulling me by the nose, he began leading me to the stable.

i was slightly crouched and trying to duckwalk because the yoke was
pulling my balls down and between the cheeks of my ass. My arms,
manacled behind my back, were useless. i realised that i was meant to
be mute like a dumb animal while i was here. But how long would i be
here and how could i call it off without being able to speak?

i was led into a stall in the stable past rows of restrained
ponyboys. i was taken into a stall. my ankles were manacled to the
floor at either side of the stall, spreading my legs wide. A wide
leather belt hung from the ceiling by a rope. Jim strapped it around
me. It covered most of my waist. There was a small wooden platform
protruding from the stall door near the top. Hinges held it at the
bottom and it hung on two chains. There was a small snap-hook in the
middle of it. Jim unhooked the leash from my nose and bent my head
down to the platform. He snapped the hook through my nosering. i had
enough leverage to place my forehead on the platform but not enough to
turn my head and rest either side of my head on it. Without another
word, Jim climbed over the door and left.

There i was, legs spread wide, leaning forward at the waist, yoked
and hands manacled behind me, nose locked in place, naked, shaved and
effectively gagged, in a stall in a stable. i was a ponyboy- and i was
scared shitless!

Later, i was to find out that i had made an unintentional joke. i
was many things now, but "shitless" sure wasn't one of them. That
first night, i hadn't quite grasped the situation. As time wore on, i
kept expecting they'd free me soon. It crossed my mind that this was
just a big joke, an initiation. But it started getting dark soon. It
stayed dark for a long time. my tongue hurt. my balls hurt. my
wrists hurt. i realised that, by taking the weight off my legs, the
belt took my weight. But my head hurt from not being able to turn it.
At night, it was starting to get a little chilly in here. i was cold.

The stench in here was incredible. There were mosquitos buzzing about,
landing and biting me. i shook and moaned but they just landed and
stuck me, gorging on the minuscule amounts of blood they could take.
i was soon a mass of insect bites. i needed to piss. i realised that
the only way to do it was right here. Despite my yoked balls, i
managed to piss a yellow stream. With the yoke squeezing my nuts, i
realised i'd have to take frequent, short pisses. Waiting until i
really needed to go a lot would be too painful. A prolonged urination
wasn't a good idea with that yoke on. Too painful, as if everything
wasn't painful anyway. The absolute worst part was that i couldn't
sleep in this painful, uncomfortable situation. They couldn't
seriously expect me to spend my nights like this for any length of
time. This had to be just the "boot camp."

Somehow, i actually managed to fall asleep for a few minutes here
and there. i had no way of telling time, but it was early summer. So
when it started getting light out, i knew it was around five in the
morning. Stable hands were working their way through the stable. i
heard one walk to my stall and stop in front of it. Two hands reached
around my head and disconnected me from the hook holding my nose. The
door opened. i still hung, head lowered. A bluejean-clad figure i
distinctly recognised as female entered the stall. She unhooked my
ankles from their manacles. Then she gave me a hard shot across the
ass with a riding crop. "Stand up!" she ordered.
i found it almost impossible to rise to a standing position my back hurt so bad.
She assisted by pulling my hair. i realised i was looking at a woman in
her early twenties, about my age, as she unstrapped the belt from
around me. She placed a bowl on the floor in front of me. When i just
stood there, she said, "Get on your knees and eat!"

i painfully lowered myself. i was staring at a strange-looking gruel.
my suspicion was that these were oats ground up and mixed with a
nutrient-rich paste. When i just stared dumbly at it (no pun intended)
she said, "Well, eat, you stupid horse!"

To help, she stepped on the back of my head with her heavy, mud and
manure-encrusted workboot and shoved my face into the mixture. i took
a big mouthful and, to my surprise, found it wasn't that bad. Oh, it
tasted bitter. But it wasn't disgusting except to look at. i
suspected it was highly nutritious. Once she saw i was eating, she let
me finish on my own. With the clamp in, i couldn't completely close my
mouth, so i couldn't chew food. But i could manage to swallow pasty
food like this. Then she connected a lead-rope to my nosering and
ordered me to my feet. She led me out of the stable. my cock was
hardening as my eyes followed the swaying motion of her hips and her
ass wiggling in tight jeans. She looked back once. She didn't look at
my eyes, but straight at my cock. She smiled to herself as if
affirming that she had seen what she knew she would see. She never
really looked at my face or eyes. An intense feeling of humiliation
washed over me. She might have found me attractive, but it was like i
was a mindless animal, not worth wasting the personal union of eye
contact on.

Once i was out in the yard, a man walked up and attached a painful
clamp to each of my nipples. i cried out at this because they bit
deeply into my nipples. Tears ran down my face and i whimpered through
my clamped tongue, begging him to remove the clamps from my nipples.
But i was ignored. Neither my pain or my moaning was of any relevance.
There was a chain running between the nipple-clamps. A horseshoe (talk
about adding insult to agony) hung from the chain, stretching my
nipples. i stood sobbing in pain. i was dragged over to the side of
the ranch-house. A woman stood there with an electric razor. She
blitzed my long hair, shaving all of it except for a long narrow strip
that started at the top centre of my head and ran back from there.
This would be my mane. A bridal and harness were placed over my head.
The bridal contained a cruel star-shaped bit that fit over my tongue
adding even more to the excruciating agony my tongue was already in.
Reins were attached to the harness.

A groom, a good-looking blond young man, began rubbing oil all over
my body until it glistened with an oily sheen that accentuated my muscles.
He didn't rub the oil onto my cock. Instead, he took a lube can and squirted it all
over my cock without ever touching it. i was left standing there until a woman
walked up to me. She was blond, probably in her mid-thirties and
average-looking. She was carrying a series of small black pouches.
She quickly fit one over my balls. The rim was elastic and snugly
hugged my balls. A long tube ran from the pouch and there was a bulb
at the other end of the tube. The woman gave one squeeze to the tube
and the pouch tightened around my balls. She strung the tube through
my crotch and behind me. Another groom pierced the skin under the head
of my cock as i whimpered in pain. He ran a ring through the fold of
skin and snapped it shut. Then he took a very light cowbell and hooked
it to the ring. He also pierced my navel. Just when i thought it
couldn't get any worse, a young girl who couldn't have been more than
eighteen walked up to me wearing only cutoff jeans and a tight halter
top, accentuating her very mature figure and ample breasts. She smiled
at the man.

"If you'd be so kind, Paul?" she said to the man.

"Anything for a lady," he quipped.

He pulled on my nose ring, bending me over. Then he grabbed my ass and
spread my cheeks. The girl then started working the thick object she
had been carrying into my ass. It was a cock-shaped dildo. She pushed
it ever deeper into my ass until it finally penetrated my rectum, the
wide head popping into my anal splinter. Horse hairs had been
connected to the other end of the dildo, the end that was sticking out
of my ass. i had been given a horse tail. my cock was erect because
of this intrusion, trying to lift up in spite of the bell and ringing
it in the process. i had also needed to take a shit really bad after
eating that meal, but had hoped to have a minute alone to do it. Now,
with this thing in me, i couldn't. Worse yet, bad joke though it may
be, it was painfully pushing in my stool. Still worse, the dildo was
hollow in the centre. She slowly inserted a plastic tube through the
dildo and i flinched forward when i felt it pass my splinter.

i was led over to a wagon that i would be pulling that day. There
were ponyboys being connected to carts, buggies, wagons, ploughs, etc.
There were four of us lined up side by side in front of a large hay
wagon. Two poles extended out to either side of us. A crosspiece ran
between them. we were placed with our asses a few inches in front of
the crosspiece. Four chains were looped around the crosspiece. Then
the other ends were wrapped around the bar running between our legs and
padlocked into place. Clearly, we had to grab the crosspiece with our
manacled hands and pull, otherwise the chain would yank our balls.
Somehow, i don't think our balls and scrotums could survive pulling the
weight of that wagon. If our arms cramped up or our hands got too numb
to hold on, we'd be in serious trouble. The reins and the tubes
leading from the pouches were handed back to the wagon-driver, a young
attractive man no more than eighteen. The plastic tubes running from
the dildos were also handed back to him. He inserted them into a
canister. When the path was clear of other horses, a groom said,

"Okay, Leonard. You're clear. Make these dumb animals work for their oats."

"Giddyup, horses!" he yelled.

We started to pull the wagon.

"I said, 'Giddyup,' and i meant with all you've got!" he said.

There was a pump handle on top of the canister. He pushed down on it
once. Something shot down the plastic tube and straight into my
bowels. my bowels felt like they were going to explode but couldn't
past the dildo. my guts were on fire. my eyes snapped wide open and,
along with my fellow horses, i leapt forward.

"Unless you want to feel that again, you'd better run as fast as you
can, you sorry nags," the boy yelled.

i ran as fast as i could. He didn't bother with the reins very much.
He just held all four of the tubes running from our balls. He would
guide us by yanking left or right on our balls.

When he wanted us to speed up, he would whip our backs and asses
with his whip. They were a criss-crossed patch of red stripes before
long. When he really wanted to motivate us, he'd give us a slight dose
from the canister. i later found out from overhearing them talk that
it was chewing tobacco, used, spit-soaked chewing tobacco, collected
from the spittoon jars about the ranch, that was being shot into our
bowels. gods! No wonder it gave agony a new meaning. When he wanted
us to turn, he'd use the reins. When he wanted us to turn sharply and
quickly, he's use the tubes connected to the pouches, yanking left or
right. He'd use the reins to slow us down. When he wanted us to stop,
he'd squeeze the bulb several times. The pouches would tighten around
out nuts so tight that we couldn't walk anymore.

He ran us out to the haying field. we didn't have it too bad at
first. we stopped frequently so that the field hands could load the
wagon with the stacks of hay that the bailer had left strewn in the
field. But the wagon kept getting heavier and heavier. we were
digging our bare feet into the ground, pulling it, our arms straining.
The ground was soft and it was a major effort to pull the wagon. One
more shot up the asses and we screamed, more a whinny of equine agony,
and redoubled our efforts that we thought were at their maximum. All
this time, mosquitos were biting us, particularly our unprotected
flanks. But we were helpless to do anything and even attempting to
take the time to do anything about it was met with a whip. But we
finally dragged our heavy-laden wagon clear of the field, through the
back yard and into the gravel driveway.

The rocks in the driveway bit into our bare feet, scraping and
cutting them. we staggered and whimpered in pain but were told to run
without breaking pace. we were run past the ranch-house and forced to
turn right onto a dirt and gravel road. It wasn't a hundred yards
before we reached a steep hill that we had to go up. Two of the grooms
who accompanied the driver (adding even more weight to the wagon)
jumped down and started whipping our backs. They grabbed our harnesses
and pulled the bits down even harder into our mouths while pulling us
forward. They squeezed and twisted our nipples, using the clamps,
then ordered us to speed up or they'd do it again. Crying and gasping,
we dug our feet into the ground and strained with all our strength to
haul the wagon fast enough to please our masters. we made it. It too
the inspiration of ass-whipping, nipple-squeezing and one shot of
tobacco juice, but we made it. we were gasping for breath, our chests
heaving. But our masters weren't concerned for our conditions. we
were mindless beasts of burden. The other two jumped on the wagon.
Leonard whipped our asses and yelled at us to run because we had a long
way to go.

It was a short distance before another turn. we turned left and
started down a steep hill. This time, the driver had to use the brakes
on the wagon to keep it from running over us. Then we had a straight,
even path for half a mile followed by another steep downgrade and he
braked his way down again. After that, there was a straightaway that
extended for miles. we were kept running at a brisk trot. A couple of
times, i jumped out of step to avoid a nasty rock in the road. The
second time i did it, i felt a spurt of juice up my ass and a whiplash
that drew blood across my ass. "Stay in pace," the driver yelled.
Soon, i saw another nasty rock. i hoped that the natural path of my
steps would allow me to avoid it. But it didn't. i stepped on it at a
brisk trot. It dug into my foot. i winced in pain. It ripped across
my foot, tearing off skin, leaving a nice gouge and soaking my foot in
a nice cover of blood. i felt the blood seep between my toes. i
instinctively started limping as it was painful every time i stepped on
it. This time two lashes struck my ass, drawing blood.
"The next time, it'll be four," the driver said. "Don't limp. Maintain a
steady pace, you dumb piece of horse shit."

i did. i stepped fully on my right foot each time in spite of the
pain. It didn't really matter. Before long, my left foot suffered a
similar mishap, then my right foot again, and then yet again my right
foot, then my left again. we were all just as bad off.

i was drenched in sweat. In horse terms, i was well-lathered. my
chest was heaving. With the bits in, i had to keep my mouth fairly
wide open. Drool was running out of my mouth and seeping down, hanging
in thick rivulets just like a horse foaming at the mouth. my shoulders
were on fire from pulling the heavy load. my hands were numb, but i
couldn't let go or my nuts would be wrenched and injured badly. As it
was, they were hurting badly, squeezed into the tight pouch with the
yoke entrapping them too. The insects were continuing to have a feast.
my bowels were screaming for release. The need to urinate was almost
equally desperate. i discovered that, rather than making an effort to
piss, i needed to just relax and let it piddle out. It would end up
splashing back on my hands and running into my crotch and down my legs,
but i had no choice. with my arms trapped in their position behind my
back, my armpits burned, feeling like two trapped furnaces of heat, raw
and sore. my thighs were beginning to get raw. i was so sweaty and,
being naked, they were rubbing together and becoming raw and inflamed.
And on and on we ran.

There were some cabins on this road, obviously inhabited by the
people who ran this place. More than a few men and women came out to
watch us run by. Sometimes it was a single man or woman. More often,
it was a man and woman, or two women or two men or a mixture of several
together. They ranged in age from teens to their sixties. Some of the
younger women were either topless or wearing very skimpy tops. A few
made their enjoyment of teasing and tormenting us even more obvious by
pulling up their tops, if they were wearing any, as we passed. It's
difficult to believe that we could have any capacity for sexual arousal
amidst all this torment. Perhaps most people couldn't. But we were
drawn here to begin with because we found the idea of such treatment
arousing- to a point. The fact that this point had long been reached
and passed didn't prevent us from feeling a tortured desire. The
humiliating and helpless situation we were in enhanced it in some ways.

Finally, after a run of what must have been a good five miles, we
reached a small village. There was a creek crossing the road and we
literally whinnied in shock as our bruised, bloody and battered feet
struck the cold water. Oh, how we longed to kneel and dip our dry,
aching throats into that cool water, to ease the pain in our tortured,
swollen tongues. Just to feel the water soothing away the heat from
our sweltering, sweat-drenched bodies would have been a mercy beyond
description. When Leonard reined us in once we crossed the river, my
hopes flared. He and the other two got out and filled their canteens.
They splashed the cold water in their faces. Leonard and the two
grooms, male and female, peeled off their shirts and drenched
themselves. Walking up in front of us, their bodies glistening with
water as ours were glistening with hot, steamy oil, they all drank
their fill of the cool, refreshing water. Then Leonard said, "Well,
that's enough for me. We can get more on the way back."

He then turned his canteen upside-down and let the water run out into the
Dirt right in front of us. The grooms did the same. Except the girl added
an extra touch. She ran the water over her breasts and then jiggled
them in front of our faces before laughing and walking back to the
wagon, having tortured us with two overwhelming desires at the same
time. i couldn't even moan. i just hung my head. i was a broken
horse. i was desperately thirsty beyond any thirst i'd ever known
before. my cock was hard and the bell hanging from it was jingling. i
was desperate with desires. But i was beaten. i knew i would just do
what they told me without resistance. i was a tame horse, spirit
broken. Of course, that didn't mean they were done with me. i think
it was at that moment that i truly realised the situation: the safeword
was useless. This clamp would always be on my tongue. They were never
going to let me go.

Fortunately, while they were merciless, they were also realistic.
They knew when we were on the verge of physical collapse. They ran us
to a farm supply business in the village. we were reined in and the
hay was loaded onto waiting trucks for a trip far away. we were only
there for ten minutes, so we weren't released from the wagon, but we
were led over to a water trough. It was dirty and there were dead bugs
floating in it. we drank without hesitation. The grooms pulled our
heads up and pulled us away long before our thirsts were satisfied.
They knew we would get sick if we drank too much and they intended to
run us hard regardless.

we were then reined around and forced to begin trotting back to
the stable five miles away. we passed many other teams of ponyboys
still headed to the village. our burden was far lighter on the way
back, of course, but that only meant that we were expected to run
extremely fast. What we were expected to do, we did! we had no
choice. The trip to the village had taken about three hours judging by
the sun and the trip back under two. Counting preparations in the
morning, this would put it about an hour before noon although it was
difficult to be sure. we were reined in at the stable and allowed to
drink from the water trough. The driver and his two assistants left to
get lunch. A young woman and two men immediately took their places.
The men checked our feet, dislodging any pebbles that had imbedded
themselves. The woman said, "These horses are well-lathered. There's
nothing that turns me on more than a sweaty, frustrated stallion."
If we thought that implied any relief for us, we were sadly mistaken.
The woman turned and deeply french-kissed one of the men. we couldn't
help but moan and try to thrust at the air, a difficult task "yoked"
and "pouched" as we were. The woman then added her special addition.
She removed the bells and then hooked our cock rings to our navel rings
so our cocks were sticking straight up. Then they all climbed aboard
the wagon and the woman ran us to the haying field again.

i felt terror and disbelief. They couldn't seriously expect us to
make that run again on the same day. They just couldn't! It would be-
what? Impossible? No! i realised the reality of the situation. It
wasn't literally impossible. we would be in agony worse than anything
we'd ever experienced, but it wasn't physically impossible. They
enjoyed our agony. we were beasts of burden, nothing more. If there
was any possibility of doing it, how much effort and pain it caused was
irrelevant! we did it again. i don't know how. Yes, i do. we did it
because there was simply no choice. This time, i even managed to
occasionally lapse into what i call 'horse-think.' This is rather
contradictory because it mostly amounts to not thinking at all. It's
not daydreaming. It's not remembering who you used to be. That life
is gone even if it was only yesterday. 'Horse-think' means having no
existence except what you are physically doing right at the moment. If
you are running, you are thinking only of that. If you are standing
and breathing, that's all you are thinking of. you don't daydream
anymore. you don't remember. you don't think. you don't really
listen to the superior masters and mistresses when they speak to each
other. They are your owners, superior humans. you are only a horse.
They own you. Their human words are an unintelligible jumble to your
animal mind. you obey them through the signals designed to penetrate
your stupid, animal brain. Tobacco juice, reins, pouches squeezing
your balls, and whips, among other things are the only "words" you
understand. Of course, i can only maintain this 'horse-think' for
brief periods. But it steadily gets longer. i suspect some of my
fellow ponies aren't mentally human anymore. i can't ever know for
sure, of course. i won't even know when i've finally crossed over. By
definition, once i do, i'll never think about it.

On the run to the village, once we were on the straightaway, i
heard gasping and moaning sounds from behind us. i couldn't turn to
look but i strongly suspected that the woman and one of her assistants
were making out and fucking in the back of the wagon, leaving one
assistant to drive the wagon. my cock got hard as a rock and my balls
ached even worse at the knowledge that this man was enjoying the sexual
pleasure and release i so desperately wanted.

When we crossed the river, we were reined in. All three of our
owners shed their clothes and dove into the river for a moment. Then
they walked toward us, the men with tanned hard muscles, the woman with
a tanned curvaceous figure and large jiggling breasts. She sensuously
combed her hair back. we ponyboys were literally prancing in place and
champing at our own painful bits in frustration. our hard dicks were
straining and our hips were thrusting with our desperation to release
the aching, painful need of the pent-up cum in our balls. They dried
themselves off and dressed in front of us. They got into the wagon.
The woman laughed, "Enjoy the show, you horny animals? Then enjoy
this!" The juice hit us in the rectums and we jumped forward, running
all-out with our straining cocks sticking straight up. On the way back,
we heard the woman and the other assistant enjoying themselves in the
back of the wagon. we could only whinny in frustration, a sound i was
already finding was coming to me rather naturally.

We made it. we got there and back. It was late afternoon. For a
frightened moment, i thought they might do it again. i believe it
really would have been physically impossible this time. But they
didn't. They released us from the wagon. The harnesses were removed
from our heads, the tubes from our asses and the pouches from our
balls. our cocks were unhooked from our navels. we were taken to the
yard. The tails were slowly and painfully pulled out of our asses. As
soon as mine was gone, the floodgates were released. Leaning forward,
liquidy shit burst out of my anal splinter. With my hands below my
ass, the shit ran all over them, all over my balls and down my legs.
But then i was hosed down with warm water. Soap was quickly rubbed
over my body and i was hosed again. The water was sprayed as much as
possible up into my armpits but most of it didn't penetrate since i was
still yoked and my hands still manacled behind me. my armpits were
still sweaty and smouldering. my feet were treated with disinfectant,
which had me crying out in pain. Then i was led to my stall by the
girl who had led me out that morning, an eternity ago. Again, she had
me kneel and eat my gruel from a bowl. Then she let me guzzle my fill
from a water bucket. She had to help me stand back up. She chained my
legs wide and put me into the belt. She bent me forward and hooked my
nose ring to the platform. Then she climbed out and left.

Before long, the meal i had just eaten hit me and i couldn't help
shitting again. It went over my hands, balls and legs again. The
stench made me cough. Before long, bugs were touring my flanks,
attracted to the smell of a free meal. To go into a full list of my
pains and agonies would be pointless. Leaning into the belt, forehead
on the platform, i cried uncontrollably. It would have been merciful
if i could have cried myself to sleep, but sleep seemed impossible.
The bugs, the cold, the burning armpits and uncomfortable position, the
overwhelming need to cum, along with everything else, made it seem
impossible. Yet, somehow, i managed to fall asleep for short periods
of time, here and there. But morning came all too early.

This went on for days. By the third night, i was so exhausted
that i fell asleep within minutes, before it was even dark out, and
didn't awaken until the groom slapped my ass with a crop. That changed
my perspective a little bit. It was possible to sleep despite all my
agony and frustration due to sheer exhaustion. Somehow, knowing i
could at least attain the escape and refreshment of sleep made things a
little better. Not going to the stall at night worrying if sleep was
possible might make attaining it easier.


(The story ended here - I never found any more of it)