Istari and Calvinus

The Fremont Stakes

Part I
The Fremont Stakes

There was an unmistakable air of excitement in the stables as the young jockeys, all between the ages of eight and twelve, busily prepared their stallions for the first race of the annual Fremont Stakes.

"Don't dawdle, Jamie. You and Caliban are in the first heat."

"Okay, dad," twelve-year-old Jamie Taylor said happily as he finished washing down the smooth hairless thighs of his fourteen-year-old stallion, giving the naked youth a firm swat on his young teenaged butt to remind him to keep still. Jamie had yet to put the handsome beast into his racing bit, bridle and face mask, and so it was still the delicate lightly freckled face of a cute young teenaged boy that stared back at his owners, man and boy, with bright lively hazel eyes. He snorted and whinnied, and his erect six-inch cock [15 cm], freed of its chastity cage just moments earlier, was throbbing and oozing pre-cum. The young boy-stallion was clearly excited about the upcoming race. He shifted his weight from one bare foot to the other, and his pony-tail butt-plug swayed back and forth behind him.

He nodded his head sharply causing his long golden-blond hair to fall down into his face. Most of the other boy stallions had their heads clean-shaven, or styled in a manner to resemble a horse's mane, but all would agree it would have been a crime against the beauty of nature to do anything to mar such a perfect head of hair.

"Whoa there, Caliban," Jamie said, following his smack to the boy's perfect young ass with a more gentle rubbing of the boy's neck and a scratch behind his right ear. He tenderly brushed the fourteen-year-old's sweaty hair away from his intelligent hazel eyes once more. "Easy, boy. I gotta finish washing you first."

The fourteen-year-old stilled himself immediately but his soft pink lips curled into a slight frown. He didn't see the need for all this. He just wanted to race. But he obeyed and offered no sign of defiance.

Jamie's dad was proud of the confidence with which his young son handled his lean and muscular boy-stallion. Raising and training another boy to live, think, and thrive as an equine took a great deal of focus and effort, and Jamie had proven himself an enthusiastic and firm master ever since he'd been presented with Caliban as a birthday present. Jamie was only eight back then, and Caliban only ten. Their first year was spent breaking Caliban to the bit, bridle and reins, and slowly, insistently, ever so gently stripping the young slave of any thoughts of the free human boy had been only a year earlier. Of any thoughts of being a human boy at all.

Four years later, Caliban was the ideal boy-stallion. Long and lean and exquisitely muscled. He had been branded on his right butt-cheek with the stylized initials 'JT' of his young master. His vocal chords had been severed rendering him incapable of speaking. He could vocalize shrieks and grunts and groans and had learned to neigh and whinny like a real horse. His eardrums had been expertly punctured, rendering him incapable of deciphering human speech. He could still hear sounds, but he had to focus on the tone and timbre of his young master's voice, and the crack of the riding crop across his back, butt, thighs, or balls, to know what was expected of him. His trim muscular young body was still naturally hairless, with the exception of a small sparse collection of light brown pubic hairs just above his impressive six-inch [15 cm] erection. Caliban's balls were large and heavy, and had been that way ever since they'd dropped when he was eleven. They dangled provocatively in a low-hanging hairless sack between his silken smooth thighs. The term 'hung like a horse' was a particularly apt and ironic description of young Caliban. Jamie himself was the one who started bragging that Caliban would make an excellent stud, and samples of the boy's seed were already being milked from him on a monthly basis, in impressively large quantities, and sold to breeders worldwide.

"I think you took his cock-cage off too soon, Jamie," dad said, observing the fourteen-year-old's long, thick, throbbing, drooling teenaged erection. "Don't let him cum, or he'll be sluggish out there."

Jamie rolled his eyes, grabbed Caliban's erect, tightly circumcised penis and give it several quick teasing strokes. Caliban groaned in frustration and thrust his narrow hips forward desperately. Jamie took his hand away and swatted the boy's butt again, considerably harder this time. "I know what I'm doing, dad. Geesh." The boy spoke with such twelve-year-old assurance that his dad had no possible rebuttal.

"Well, you've got ten minutes to get him onto the track or you'll be disqualified. You still have to put him in his body harness, and you're not even in your riding gear yet."

Indeed he wasn't. Jamie was, in fact, wearing only his slightly pee-stained jockstrap, his three-inch [7½cm] erection tenting it out rather adorably, his sweet firm pre-teen butt on display for all to see. Jamie was not shy. He'd been strutting around the stables like this, twelve-year-old boner and all, for the last half-hour. Most of the other young riders were equally scantily dressed, not wanting to get their fancy silk riding clothes dirty or torn as they prepared their teenaged stallions.

"I'll be ready, dad. And you can't be here coaching me either. That'll get me disqualified too."

"Alright, alright," dad said, tussling the lad's dark brown hair, worn almost as long as Caliban's blond mop. As a pair, the two of them were surely the most handsome boys in the stables, at least to dad's admittedly biased eyes. "I'll see you after the races are done."

"Yeah. You can meet us in the winner's circle."

I hope so, the boy's father thought as he walked away. The organizers of this annual event had just announced that the final race of the day would have some very high-risk stakes for the young riders, a fact young Jamie was blissfully unaware of at the moment. Jamie adjusted the hard little twig inside his jockstrap and went back to work. He finished washing Caliban's smooth hairless skin then rubbed the naked stallion down with oil until the lean fourteen-year-old's entire body was glistening from his slender neck all the way to his adorable toes. The boy had big feet with high arches, perfect for running. The oil accentuated his lean muscular frame and the taut sinewy lines of his limbs and the tightness of his firm sexy abdomen. A perfect young teenaged body, a sweet and incredibly cute face, a spectacular head of hair, a large healthy cock and balls. Caliban truly was a gorgeous animal, and he'd won just as many trophies for presentation and show as he had for his speed and agility on the racetrack.

Caliban's cock remained rock hard and the boy was panting, his eyes filled with desperate need, as his young master oiled his cock and balls too. There were no special points for appearance associated with today's event, but any good young rider knew that his mount should always be in top condition.

Jamie then reached behind the older boy and checked that the young stallion's horse-tail butt-plug was properly seated. All racers would be inspected prior to their first heat, and an improperly placed plug was cause for immediate disqualification. Caliban grunted and groaned plaintively as he felt the large plug pressing on that spot deep inside him. A large dribble of pre-cum oozed from his throbbing erection.

"Don't cum, Caliban," Jamie warned, giving the older boy's hairless ball-sack a firm masterful squeeze and tug. Caliban whined and winced and his cock immediately softened, if only slightly. The boy's eyes watered as he felt that unpleasant but very familiar ache in his groin. Having his balls squeezed, tugged, pulled, kicked lightly or otherwise abused was a daily part of the control his master exercised over him and Caliban immediately stood still and silent again.

Jamie placed the boy into his mounting harness next. Made of sturdy leather, it strapped around the boy's waist, with connecting straps running around the boy's genitals and between his legs. Further straps went around the fourteen-year-old's long lean torso and chest passing just under the boy's slim sinewy arms. The buckles and locking clasps were heavy-duty and needed to be. The mounting seat was attached to the back of it, just between and slightly below the level of the boy's shoulders. Jamie would be sitting in this small seat with his legs wrapped around Caliban's torso. Carrying the full weight of a boy only a few years younger than himself was a difficult and exhausting task. But years of training had given the boy-stallion the strength, stamina, and balance to do it, at a full run. "Hey loser," another young voice said as Jamie was strapping the bit and bridle to Caliban's mouth and head. Jamie turned to see Aston Culpepper, his best friend and rival standing just at the edge of Caliban's stall.

Aston was a twelve-year-old just like Jamie, only a little further along in his growth toward adolescence. The boy was already dressed in his silk racing shirt, spandex shorts and his heavy leather riding-boots. His sleeveless racing shirt was a light blue today with vertical golden stripes. His number '8' was emblazoned on the back, and the name of his sponsor, a local restaurant, was plastered across the front. His tight form-fitting shorts were silver, showing off his shapely thighs and a nice bulge considerably larger than Jamie's own tiny boy-bits. His strawberry-blond hair was longish, and dropped in loose unkempt curls over his shoulders.

"Hey Aston," Jamie replied as he pushed the bit into Caliban's mouth. The young stallion bit down obediently and bowed his head and neck so his considerably shorter master could easily strap it in place. "How's it hangin'?"

"Great," the other boy said, his voice noticeably fuller and richer when compared to Jamie's thin reedy soprano. "I got Scout ready to go. We're just waiting 'til they call us." Aston pointed to the stall opposite Caliban's, to a brown-haired boy with smooth sun-bronzed skin, about fourteen years of age, trim and muscular and already in full racing tack, saddled, bridled, drool falling from his soft pink boyish lips as they curled around the thick bit in his mouth. The boy was a little taller and a bit more muscular than Caliban, his shoulders broader, his chest, thighs and calves a bit more defined. The boy's cock and balls were imprisoned inside a small confining stainless steel pod, which Jamie knew was welded permanently in place. Sharp spikes hidden inside the pod provided constant encouragement for Scout to keep his young cock soft.

Jamie smiled at Scout, one of Caliban's chief rivals. The young stallion had put on a little more muscle since the last time they'd raced him. Today was not going to be an easy victory for Caliban, but Jamie understood the paradox that more muscle meant more weight. Caliban would lose to Scout every time in a longer race, but his light and trim and perfectly muscled form was built perfectly for short sprints like these. Jamie then shifted his gaze to the boy in the stall to Scout's left, where Caliban's other main rival was ready and waiting and prancing from foot to foot, clearly a bundle of youthful energy. This boy was exactly and totally identical to Scout, with the notable exception that his hairless genitals were not confined within a steel pod, rather kept within a tight cock and ball harness, which ensured that his young penis remained fully and painfully engorged. The boy's blue eyes danced and flickered and he snorted and attempted to charge forward, held in place by a heavy shackle and chain locked around his left ankle.

"Who's riding Sniper today?" Jamie asked, running his eyes up and down the lean trim frame of Scout's identical twin brother.

"Oh, my cousin Willy is here. He's gonna ride Sniper."

"Willy? On Sniper?! Dude that's totally crazy. He's like only eight, right?"

"Yeah. It's gonna be his first race."

Jamie remembered his own first race and felt an immediate twinge of sympathy for young Willy. "Well, I don't care. If he and Sniper get in my way, I'll run them down!"

"Me too."

Jamie stared again at the twin stallions. "Hey Aston, how come you never let Scout out of his pod. I mean I always take Caliban's cock-cage off before he races. He runs a lot better with a boner!"

Aston laughed. "That's their father's idea. Scout's had his cock locked up like that since he was ten years old. It never comes off. Ever. The lock is welded shut, so it can't ever come off. Plus it helps us tell them apart. Scout's cock is always locked up, and Sniper's is like always hard. I mean seriously, they're totally identical right, 'cept for that."

Jamie realized that made good logical sense. "You think Sniper's gonna cum during the race again?"

"Duh! He always shoots his stuff once he gets running. That harness thing keeps him so horny he's just begging to cum."

"I bet all you gotta do is just touch his dick and he'd start shooting!" Jamie laughed, pointing at Sniper's throbbing, angry erection.

"Ha. I'll tell Willy to do that when he comes back. Sniper 'll shoot his stuff all over Willy's silks! That'll totally freak him out! Hey, you better get dressed. They're gonna call our numbers in like five minutes. I'm gonna take Scout out there now and let him get his feet under him."

Aston attached a leather leash to Scout's collar and walked him out of the stables toward the track. "Good luck, Jamie!" he called, turning back and placing his hand against his forehead and forming his thumb and index finger in the shape of an 'L'. "You're gonna need it! Loser!"

"Suck my big hard cock!" Jamie shouted back at his best friend, lewdly grabbing at his crotch and thrusting his slim hips in Aston's general direction.

"Ha! You wish! Willy's got a bigger willie than you!"

Jamie blushed, but somehow all that dirty talk and teasing was making his young cock even harder. Leaving Caliban chained in his stall, Jamie went over to the jockey's area at the far end of the stables and found his locker. He'd brought two sets of silks today. The first one featured shiny black spandex shorts and a yellow sleeveless silken shirt with bold black stripes, the other set had electric blue spandex shorts and a simple golden-colored shirt. Both sets had his number '23' on the back and on the front of the right thigh. Both shirts had the logo of his sponsor, a local car dealership owned by his uncle, the largest one in the state. He decided on the golden shirt for the qualifying heats. He'd change into his black striped kit if and when he and Caliban advanced to the semi-final races.

He slid the tight form-fitting shorts up his legs and around his waist. They hugged the twelve-year-old in all the right places, showing off his adorable butt and his cute little round boy-bulge in front. He wriggled into his shirt next, equally tight and so silky and cool against his smooth skin.

He pulled on his riding boots, laced them up and hurried back to Caliban. "Ready, boy?" he asked as he placed the boy's hands and forearms into a pair of leather gloves and bracers that prevented the fourteen-year-old from using his hands during the race. They were stylized to make the boy's encased arms look like hooves. The Fremont Stakes was a sprint race, placing priority on each young animal's speed and agility. The boy-stallions were thus allowed to use their arms for balance, and so Jamie did not strap them behind the boy's back as he often did prior to other races.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Jamie attached the heavy chain to Caliban's steel collar and led his boy-stallion proudly out of the stables and onto the track.

A large and appreciative crowd welcomed him as the public address system announced his arrival. He waved enthusiastically with his left hand while he pulled Caliban forward with his right. Caliban's circumcised penis was soft at the moment, four inches [10 cm] of thick teenaged boymeat swaying provocatively between the boy's shapely smooth thighs.

"Number 23," the disembodied voice echoed, "A six time winner this season and a returning two-time champion of the Fremont Stakes. Jameson Taylor, age twelve, riding his own stallion, Caliban."

It was in fact rather unusual for the boy jockey to also be the owner of the boy stallion, but Jamie's dad had always intended his son to be Caliban's first and only rider. Why pay some other man's kid to do the job when you can train your own to do it for free!

Jamie led Caliban into his assigned place in the starting gate. Caliban dropped to his knees and Jamie easily straddled the specially designed saddle attached to the young teen's harness. Once his butt was on the seat, he wrapped his strong slim legs around Caliban's torso and grabbed the boy-stallion's bridle with both hands.

"Up, Caliban!" he shouted, pressing his thighs into the boy's sides. With a snort and a boyish grunt, Caliban stood up straight once again, with Jamie now in a 'piggy-back' position in the saddle. An attendant handed him his riding crop and Jamie tested it out with a gentle swat on Caliban's bare butt. Caliban whinnied and his cock swelled to a semi-erect state, but he did not move from his spot.

Jamie took a quick look around to size up the competition. He liked his odds in this first heat. He knew most of the boy-jockeys and their stallions by name. He actually went to school with a couple of the sexily dressed young riders. And even with one of the stallions. That's right. Thirteen-year-old Kyle Wilkerson raced under the name Blizzard. He was the only free boy among the stallions. He was simply 'into' the ponyboy lifestyle and his father obliged him, keeping the boy as a pony at home in a small custom-built stable in the family's back yard and entering him in most of the big local races. Jamie was good friends with Kyle and the two of them often hung out together. Kyle was almost always in 'pony' mode, but having grown up with Caliban, Jamie didn't find anything terribly strange about being buddies with one of the boy-stallions. Today Kyle, or Blizzard, was in the gate to Jamie's immediate left, being ridden by a very nervous and very small ten-year-old whom Jamie had not met before.

"Hey Blizz," Jamie said with boyish twelve-year-old affection for his friend. In full harness, bit and bridle, Kyle could not reply, but he flashed his brown eyes at Jamie and curled his lips around his bit in a smile. He scuffed his bare right foot against the sandy dirt, and his hard hairless four-inch [10 cm] cock throbbed and dripped pre-cum, indicating he was ready to race. "Gonna beat me and Caliban today?"

Blizzard snorted excitedly, nearly knocking his novice jockey off his back.

Jamie wondered at the identity of the kid, but figured it wouldn't matter. Blizzard never won anything anyway. He looked to his right. Aston and Scout were directly next to him. Aston gave him a quick smile, then returned his focus to the track and his mount. Willy and Sniper were three gates down. Sniper snorting and moving around in the tiny confines of the starting gate, his eight-year-old jockey frantically trying to keep the fourteen-year-old animal under control.

"Riders ready," the announcer called. A moment later the starting bell rang out and the gates all opened. "And they're off!"

Jamie swung his arm back and brought the crop down hard on Caliban's butt. "Go, go, go!"

Caliban was first out of the gate, but as jockey and stallion Jamie and Caliban were very close in weight, closer than most of the other pairs, thus it always took Caliban several strides to get up to his full speed. Jamie brought the crop down hard again and again in rapid succession, driving the teenaged boy forward. As expected, Caliban had instantly fallen back into eighth position, but Jamie knew it would not stay that way for long. He could feel Caliban's fine strong muscles working beneath him as with each of the young teen's long strides they picked up speed.

Jamie leaned forward a bit, helping Caliban find better balance and leverage. The young teen grunted and clamped down hard on his bit. His young muscles were already burning, but the excitement of the race was starting to consume him. His large bare teen-boy feet gracefully carried him and his master down the track. With almost no effort he passed three of the less skilled jockeys, including the hapless Willy who had absolutely no control over the youthful and willful Sniper.

Jamie knew that fourth place was all they needed to advance to the next heat, but he wanted his choice of starting gate, so he cracked the riding crop down again and pressed his thighs more tightly into Caliban's sides.

"Faster, boy! Faster! Catch number 17 for third." Jamie knew that Caliban could not actually understand what he was saying, but the intensity of his voice and the tug on his bridle sent the message to the young beast just as clearly.

Caliban whinnied and with his hard cock bouncing and swaying with each rapid footfall he moved his fine handsome legs even faster. At the first turn he passed the target in question, but still Jamie did not ease off. He whipped Caliban into frenzy. "Run! Run! Go faster!" Jamie's high voice cried out.

They were running side by side next to Blizzard now. The lone free stallion gazed over at Jamie and Caliban and sneered into his bit. He'd been training harder than usual for this race and he wasn't going to just let them get an easy pass. Ignoring his ineffectual young jockey's attempts to control him, he moved closer to Caliban until they were almost shoulder to shoulder, their bare feet kicking up dirt from the track as the second turn approached.

"Hey, Blizz!" Jamie shouted in the heat of competition, "back off, dude!"

He didn't. And Jamie had no choice but to drive Caliban to the outside, costing him several lengths before he could recover.

"Dammit!" the twelve-year-old shouted as he saw Blizzard's cute butt with his signature red pony-tail butt-plug swinging tauntingly in front of them once again.

"Catch him!" he growled angrily into Caliban's ears.

Not used to being pushed off his line by another stallion, Caliban was equally pissed and needed no encouragement. He took off with a blast of speed that nearly knocked Jamie out of his saddle. He passed Blizzard on the straightaway and by the third turn he'd put himself and his master comfortably in third. Jamie eased up at that point and did not use the crop again. Caliban made one last pass for second place, enough to advance and give them a good choice of starting gate for the next heat. Aston and Scout finished first.

"Good race, huh Jamie?" Aston said as he moved Scout up beside them. "Yeah. If we'd had another hundred feet [30 m] Caliban would've caught you."

"Yep. And another two hundred feet [60 m] Scout would have left him behind again."

The two young jockeys knew precisely the strengths and limits of their respective stallions.

Caliban and Scout both knelt down on command and Jamie and Aston got out of their saddles. Figuring they'd hang out together until all the preliminary heats were done, they chained the two handsome young stallions together by their iron collars and led them off to the watering station.

Two young water boys about Jamie and Aston's age brought the two jockeys some bottled water for their thirst. They were slaves owned by the Upper Fremont Pony Club, host of the event. Naked and in leather collars, cuffs and harnesses, the two boys made an attractive pair. Jamie noted that both of the boys had had their balls cut out, their small little cocklets pierced with heavy silver rings dangling useless over the empty space were their little ball-sacs should have been. There were special races just for geldings, but all the animals in today's competition still had their balls.

"I need to piss!" Aston exclaimed as he unashamedly pulled his tight riding pants down, revealing his smooth hard five-inch [12½ cm] erection crowned by a sparse patch of dark pubic hair. Jamie tried to hide his fascination and jealousy at his friend's considerable endowment. "See something you like, faggot?" Aston said, making a kissy expression with his lips.

"You wish," was Jamie's only response as he tugged at the small erection in his pants. Aston grabbed one of the water boys by the ring on his leather collar and forced him to his knees.

The blond-haired twelve-year-old gelding, with the name 'Lightning' tattooed across his chest, obediently opened his mouth. Aston grunted, aimed his hard dick, clenched his eyes closed and pissed into the boy's mouth, softening his cock as he did so.

"There that's better," he said as he pulled his pants back up and pushed the slave boy away with a twelve-year-old's disdain. "Don't you need to pee, Jamie?"

Indeed Jamie did, but he knew that pulling his pants down in front of Aston and revealing his piss-hard hairless little cocklet would only result in another round of merciless teasing.

"I'm good. I'll wait."

"Savin' it for Caliban, right?"

"What? Oh, yeah. That's it," Jamie replied, suddenly thinking that might not be such a bad idea.

Jamie and Aston found a shady spot and sat down with Caliban and Scout standing next to them dripping with sweat and dirty from the first race. The two friends talked about school and girls, a subject that lately seemed to be fascinating to Aston but of little interest to Jamie, and finally they heard the call for the next round of heats.

"Let's see where we are in the draw," Aston said, getting up and adjusting his nearly constant boner.

Jamie stared at it, wondering what it would be like to have it in his mouth… or his butt. Aston noticed it and smirked. "If you beat me today, I'll let you suck it, deal?"

Jamie pretended to be disgusted at such a proposition, but secretly his little heart was pounding. "Deal. But you have to suck Caliban's too!"

Aston's smirk changed to a frown, considering the humiliation of having to suck the cock of a boy-stallion.

"What, are you chicken?" Jamie teased, flapping his arms like a bird. "No. It's a deal, fag!"

"Stop calling me that."

"Stop being one and I will."

The two boys went on like this as they walked their teenaged stallions back to the track, jabbing and jibing and teasing each other as twelve-year-old friends will.

The second round featured four races, the top four finishers in each advancing to the semi-final races later in the afternoon. The two semis would then set the final eight-stallion field.

Jamie and Aston agreed that their bet would only count for the finals, meaning they both had to get there first.

Already an experienced race strategist at the age of twelve, Jamie played it safe in his next heat, driving Caliban just hard enough to finish third and advance to the semis. Aston, always the more aggressive of the two friends, again drove Scout hard, finishing first and getting his choice not only of starting gate, but of which semi-final leg he'd be running in.

They now had several hours before the next races. Jamie led Caliban back to his stall, carefully removed all of the boy's racing tack, hosed him down with ice cold water and locked the fourteen-year-old's penis back into its tight steel cock-cage. Caliban's eyes watered as the burning need in his teenaged loins was denied once again.

"Easy, boy," Jamie said, giving the young teen a gentle swat on his butt and playfully jiggling Caliban's butt-plug.

Jamie stripped off his sweaty dirty silks and stood naked in front of his stallion. He played with himself for a moment, producing a straining three-inch [7½ cm] erection. He'd only just recently discovered the pleasure that could be found in his hard little rod. He closed his eyes as he felt his little balls draw up inside him and that tingling feeling start to build. A little drop of clear fluid glistened on his piss-slit. Just then his father appeared in Caliban's stall.

"Great job so far, Jamie," he said as he stared at his naked son's perfect round little boy-butt and the backs of the twelve-year-old's silky smooth handsome legs.

His son turned around revealing his cute little hairless boner, and blushing fiercely with a guilty expression across his face.

"Again? You need to keep your hands off that little thing, boy. Do we need to put it in a cage like Caliban's?"

"No, dad. Sorry, dad."

"You need to focus all your attention on the race, especially if you make the finals." Jamie wondered why his dad was being so serious today. Sure the prize money was great, and so was the spotlight and moderate fame of being a highly ranked boy-jockey, but Jamie always raced for the fun of it.

"What's the big deal, dad?"

Jamie's father hesitated, as if he was holding a big secret. "It's nothing. Just make sure you stay focused. There are some very special stakes today."

"Cool! What are they?"

"Just win and you'll find out."

Jamie was a bit puzzled. His dad had never put any emphasis on winning, never pushed him like he seemed to be doing today. Geesh, grown-ups! he thought to himself. He shrugged his bare shoulders and secured Caliban to his stall by attaching a thick heavy chain on the floor to his collar. He then padlocked the door to the stall to keep the young animal safe inside and went off in search of something to eat before the next race. The event had the air of a fairgrounds, with lots of food and other exhibits to go along with the races themselves and it didn't take the twelve-year-old long to find something fried and yummy to fill his growling stomach.

Two hours later, young Jamie was basking in the glory of winning his semi-final heat, advancing him to the final race with seven other boy-jockeys and their stallions. Aston had finished first in his heat as well. As all the boys washed their teenaged beasts down for the final race, the public address system announced that the finals would be run with very high stakes, a 'Special Elimination' race. The crowd applauded wildly. A great day of racing had just gotten even better and many were immediately running to place their bets. All the youthful jockeys froze on the spot when they heard this announcement and glanced around nervously at each other.

'Special Elimination' meant that the last-place jockey would forfeit his freedom and be legally declared a slave for life. The individual placing the most lucrative bet on the race would not only win a large amount of cash, but would also win the losing boy-jockey as a slave. Several of the boys wet themselves at this terrifying news. Jamie was one of them. He vaguely knew there were risks, beyond bodily injury, in being a boy-jockey. But he'd never run in a 'Special Elimination' race before. He'd heard rumors about them, but, like most of the boy-jockeys, he had always assumed they were just a myth meant to frighten the boys and encourage them to drive their youthful boy-stallions harder.

"Dad?" he asked as his father once again stood at the edge of Caliban's stall. "Is this for real?"

"Sorry, Jamie, it's true. I didn't know about it until just before your first race. They didn't announce it to the sponsors or owners until just before they called you to the starting gate. Once you ran that first race, it was too late to back out."

"So, so if I lose… I… I become a slave?"

"Afraid so, kiddo. So you better not lose."

Jamie was able to shrug it off fairly quickly. In three years of competitive racing, he and Caliban had never finished last. Never. Still these were high stakes indeed. He was scared and excited and for some reason his little cocklet was harder than he'd ever known it to be.

The bell sounded, calling all the boy-jockeys and their boy-stallions to the gate. "This is it," Jamie's dad said, giving the boy a quick hug. "Be careful out there."

In the starting gate, Jamie was again next to Aston. If Aston was afraid of this surprising new development, he didn't show it.

"Better not finish last, Jamie. It'd suck if you had to be a slave." "Suck for you too, loser," Jamie snipped back.

The announcer counted down. The boys all gripped the bridles. Caliban shifted anxiously beneath Jamie. The twelve-year-old could feel the fourteen-year-old slave boy's surging energy and excitement.

"Riders ready…" the starting bell sounded and the gates opened. "And they're off on the most important race of their young lives!"

Caliban got off to his usual slow start, but Jamie was not worried. He could feel the boy's strength, the confidence of his strides. He was comfortably in the middle of the pack at the first turn. He brought the riding crop down hard and fast, driving Caliban forward, urging him to his top speed, sooner than he normally would have. He couldn't risk finishing last. He couldn't.

Down the next straightaway Caliban was gaining on the third place boy. And then it happened.

Little Willy and Sniper, who had overcome their earlier problems and managed to be the final pair to make the finals, came up fast behind them. Sniper, as always, was running hard and wild, his erect cock throbbing, his ripe hairless balls bouncing. The young animal was barely under his eight-year-old jockey's command. He came too close to Caliban, the front of his right foot hitting the back of Caliban's left heel. Not enough to stop the sexually crazed Sniper on his wild dash, but enough to cause Caliban to stumble.

"No!" Jamie called, bringing the crop down hard on Caliban's butt. "Oh, nooo!"

Young Blizzard came up beside them and for a moment the two boy-stallions were neck and neck. Around the second turn their sweaty straining bodies actually touched, only for an instant, but with Caliban already off his stride and off balance, the normally uneventful contact caused the fourteen-year-old to trip. With Jamie holding on for dear life now, Caliban stumbled and tumbled and crashed to his knees as Blizzard ran on down the straightaway.

"Caliban! Get up! Get up you stupid animal! I don't wanna be a slave!"

But of course, with his eardrums punctured years ago, Caliban could not decipher his young master's frantic cries. Only the shattered frightened tone of his voice, which signaled to the teenaged boy that his master must be hurt.

Caliban thus did what he'd been trained to do when his master was in danger during a race. He stopped running.

"Noooo! No. Run! Caliban, pleeease! Run!"

By the time the fourteen-year-old realized his mistake and started off again, it was far too late. He was in last place. Four other stallions had already finished the race. Jamie was crying and thrashing him now with the crop, driving him to the finish line in a hopeless effort. Fifth. Sixth. Seventh. There was only one cute boy-jockey and his handsome teenaged boy-stallion left on the track now. Six-time winner and former Fremont Stakes champion Jameson Taylor. They crossed the line in last place.

Jamie didn't wait for Caliban to kneel down and let him dismount. He literally jumped from the saddle and started beating Caliban with the crop, then with his bare balled-up fists.

"You stupid animal!"

A moment later two uniformed private security officers pulled the slightly-built twelve-year-old off the young boy-stallion. They yanked his arms behind his back and placed a pair of shackles around his wrists.

While twelve-year-old Aston Culpepper was celebrating his first ever victory in the Fremont Stakes, twelve-year-old Jameson Taylor was being stripped naked in front of everyone, a black leather mask and muzzle placed over his face to blind and silence him. He peed again as several of the older jockeys snickered at his tiny uncut little pecker and his marble-sized balls. Then the boy felt something cold and metallic being placed around his neck. He knew it was an iron slave collar. A heavy lock was closed ensuring the collar would not come off. His ankles were shackled next and he could feel the weight of the short heavy chain between them. He cried out into the mask. His high voice muffled by the thick leather muzzle.

"Daddy! Daddy help me!"

But Jameson's father could do nothing but watch in disappointment and horror. All those years of training now down the drain. A champion stallion now with no rider. He did the only thing he could legally and logically do at this point. He turned away from the crying hysterical young slave who just moments ago had been his beloved son and went over to Caliban and took the young stallion's reins.

Caliban was watching his former master's enslavement with evident confusion but without even a glint of sympathy or concern. His cock was still rock hard and throbbing with the rapid beat of his young heart, a long string of pre-cum dangling from the tip.

Jamie was hung from whipping post near the winner's circle, given a quick and very public flogging then dragged away and locked in a small cage awaiting his new owner. Caliban was dragged away as well, bound in heavy chains, his cock-cage in place once more, and secured within the tight confines of his transport trailer. Jamie's father had remained to witness his son's first flogging as a slave, but he now had no further rights to see or speak to the boy, and so he simply drove away, taking his prized young stallion with him. The very next day, Jamie's father would begin the search for a new boy-jockey.

Epilogue

Jamie was sitting naked within a small dirty stall, crying softly. His back still bore the welts of his flogging. He was filthy and tired and the dirt on which he sat was wet with his own pee.

He wore an iron collar around his neck and similar iron shackles connected by thick heavy chains were locked around his slender wrists and ankles. His little cock and balls were encased and hidden behind a tight steel chastity belt which gave him the appearance of being completely flat up front, no little boy-bulge to be seen. Within the belt there were sharp metal spikes which caused him constant agony any time his little penis attempted to become erect. Jamie was already learning his first painful lesson as a slave boy. Erections are not allowed. A large plug was currently in his virginal little butt, with a long luxuriant dark brown tail extending from the end of it. The pony-tail was made from the boy's own hair, which had been shaved clean on the sides, leaving only a horse's mane running down the center. His septum had been pierced with a thick heavy steel ring.

There was presently a big bit-gag in his mouth, causing him to drool constantly. His eyes were covered by a studded leather blindfold keeping him in total darkness.

The twelve-year-old slave had no idea how long he'd been in this place or where he was. Suddenly he heard keys turning in a lock and door creaking open.

He called out into his bit-gag, a muffled 'Help me!'

More keys and clinking of chains and the barred door to his stall was opened. "Well, hello, loser," a familiar voice said.

Immediately Jamie's heart leapt with hope.

He felt small hands working at the blindfold and bit-gag and removing them. His puffy red tear-filled eyes glimpsed the smiling lightly freckled face of his best friend Aston Culpepper.

"Aston! Get… get me outta here, please!"

Aston's smile darkened and a wicked glint came to his playful green eyes. Then the twelve-year-old raised his hand and slapped Jamie hard across the face. "Shut up! You're a stallion now and stallions don't talk. Tomorrow we're gonna take you to the vet and have your vocal cords cut and your eardrums punctured. Dad says we should have your balls out too, but that's my decision and I haven't decided if I'm gonna let you keep 'em yet."

Jamie stared at Aston in shock. "But… you… I mean… you're…"

"That's right, dumbass. My dad placed a big bet that you'd fuck up and lose that race and you did! Now we're even more stinking rich and you're my slave. This is so fucking cool!"

"But… you're my best friend…"

"I was your best friend, turd. Now I'm your master. You better get used to that in a hurry. There's three weeks until the next race and Willy's gonna be riding you. Let's hope you make a better stallion than you did a jockey." Aston laughed at him and went over to a small electric brazier. Jamie noticed it was red hot. Aston placed a branding iron into it and started rolling it around.

"Gotta brand you, Loser. That's your name now by the way. But before I do that I remember we had a bet didn't we?"

"Y… yes," Jamie said as he started crying once again.

"If you won, I'd let you suck my cock, and I'd have to suck Caliban's. Wasn't that right?"

"Y… yeah."

Aston slapped Jamie hard again, this time leaving a red mark on the boy's bewildered and distraught face.

"Well you lost, Loser, but guess what? Since you're my slave now, you can suck my cock anyway!"

Aston laughed again and quickly shucked off his shorts revealing his impressive uncut five-inch [12½ cm] erection and his cute little bush of light brown pubic hair. Aston's balls were surprisingly heavy for a boy so young, dangling low the warmth of the stables that would now be Jamie's new home.

"Get sucking!"

To his shame and confusion, Jamie felt his cock harden inside his new chastity belt. He yelped as the spikes did their work, biting into his misbehaving boyflesh and encouraging it to soften again.

"Yeah," Aston smirked, guessing correctly at what was going on behind the metal plate of his new slave's belt. "I thought so."

Jamie dropped to his knees and wrapped his trembling lips around Aston's cock, so much bigger than his own trapped and useless little member.

"Ohhh, yeeeah, wow!' Aston said as he felt another boy's lips embrace his aching erection for the first time in his life. "That's one thing you're really gonna be good at!"

Like most highly-strung twelve-year-old's it didn't take Aston long to shoot his fresh thick creamy boy-spunk into Jamie's gagging throat, a shockingly large amount of it for a boy not yet in his teens. While his cum was still dripping from Jamie's lips he went to the brazier and pulled out the branding iron, now red hot. Jamie got a good look at it. He was going to be branded with a big 'L'.

"L for Loser," Aston said merrily. "I wanted to put this on your forehead, but my dad says that would mess up your looks. He thinks you're cute or something. So I'm gonna put it on your butt. Left side or right side? Choose quick or I'll just do both!"

"L… left, I guess," Jamie sobbed.

Aston smirked at him again and strapped the bit back into Jamie's mouth. The last words Jamie would ever speak would be his telling his new master on which butt-cheek he wanted to be branded. Aston made him stand up in his chains and then bend over and grab his ankles. He aimed up carefully and pressed the iron against the soft flesh of the new boy-stallion's butt.

Jamie shrieked and clamped down on his bit and collapsed in a heap of sweaty naked misery onto the floor. He peed himself and felt the spikes digging in to his hardening cocklet yet again and sobbed as the harsh horror and reality of his new life crashed down upon him.

"Get some sleep, Loser," Aston said with a laugh, kicking the naked boy curled up at his feet. "We got a lot to do tomorrow!"

"Whip his lazy ass harder, Willy," twelve-year-old Aston Culpepper shouted from his place perched on the split-rail fence that surrounded the paddock.

Within the confines of the training grounds, eight-year-old Willy, dressed only a tight fitting pair of cut-off shorts brought the small leather whip down again across Jamie's shoulders.

The naked twelve-year-old pony-slave whimpered and clamped down harder on the rubber bit in his mouth. His eyes watered, but he knew the sting of the whip meant he was to move faster.

Jamie was faintly aware of Willy's high prepubescent voice yelling at him, but since they'd punctured his ear drums he could no longer decipher human speech. His world was by no means silent, but all sounds that come to him now were little more than murmurs and rumbles, as if he were under water and trying to hear someone talking to him from up above.

The lash came down between his shoulder blades again.

Willy was proving to be quite the sadistic little master, egged on of course by his cousin Aston, who was never far from him as they trained Jamie for his first race.

Just a month ago, Jamie was a champion jockey, riding his champion boy-stallion. In three years of racing, Jamie and his fourteen-year-old ride Caliban had only lost once. But that single loss had changed his life forever. Stripped naked, collared, publicly whipped in front of his father and his friends, blindfolded, gagged and dragged away in chains.

When his best friend Aston had appeared in his cell and removed the cruel blinders and bridle, his heart had momentarily filled with hope.

Hope that was quickly dashed when Aston made it very clear what the future of their relationship would be.

The very next morning, branded, collared, chained, locked into a cruel chastity belt, and again blinded and gagged, Aston and his father had taken their new slave to the local vet. At twelve, but already an experienced handler of pony-slaves, Jamie knew the procedures that would be done to him, but the knowledge only terrified him all the more.

The vet and his two young assistants, teenaged boys only a few years older than he and Aston, strapped him down to the cold metal examination chair. Then the procedures began. The first steps in transforming the human boy into an obedient two-legged equine. First they punctured his ear-drums. A careful and precise operation using tiny hooked probes and needles. The boy first felt a growing pressure deep within both ears as the ice cold probes were slowly inserted.

Then came the shattering pain. He screamed at the top of his lungs, but could barely hear the sound coming from his own mouth.

Tears streamed from his soulful eyes and his chest heaved with anguished sobs. The pain faded quickly, but the knowledge that he'd been deafened forever, for the rest of his life, stayed with him as they removed his gag for the next procedure.

Jamie knew what was coming. His eyes rested on Aston, his former rival and best-friend. The boy stared back at him with cold detachment, and there was clearly an erection in the boy's tight spandex racing shorts.

"Mr. Culpepper," the vet said to Aston's father, "perhaps your son would like to sever the young animal's vocal chords. It is a skill he should definitely learn if he's going to inherit the Culpepper Stables some day."

Aston's eyes widened with delight at the prospect of being allowed to try his hand at such a delicate and important task.

"Can I, dad?" he asked. "By all means, son."

Jamie heard only the faintest sounds of human voices through his ruined ears. But he noticed Mr. Culpepper gently pushing his son forward. One of the young assistants placed the dental spreader into the boy's hands.

Moments later, Jamie's mouth was being held wide open by the cruel metal device strapped in place tightly behind his head. He could not even close his lips over it.

"The mouth piece is designed to expose the animal's dentition as well," the vet explained, "you know, his teeth…"

Aston nodded.

"… in case you wanted to remove them as well."

"Not today," Aston's dad said, but clearly the tone of his voice, which Jamie mercifully could not hear, indicated that procedure might be a very real possibility for some time in the future.

Jamie closed his eyes tightly when he got one look at the long flexible metal tube with the tiny blades at the end. With shaking hands Aston fed the device down his former friend's throat. Jamie gagged and choked and thrashed in his bonds, the normal reaction for a pony-slave about to have his vocal chords cut. After several more minutes of struggling, the vet guided Aston to the proper spot.

"You're there. Now just press the plunger with your free hand."

Aston did as instructed. He felt some slight resistance at first, but it gave way quickly.

Jamie let out a choked gurgling cry as the deed was done. The pain was excruciating.

Under the veterinarian's instructions, Aston slowly withdrew the tube. Jamie began coughing and retching almost immediately, blood spattering out of his mouth and onto his bare chest. The vet immediately forced a hose into the boy's throat to ensure he did not choke to death on his own blood. Jamie was still thrashing and shaking, and during the ordeal he had peed himself. The boy's urine was dripping down out of the small hole at the base of his chastity belt.

"What a wimp, right, dad?" Aston asked with a laugh.

Satisfied the young pony-slave was out of danger, the veterinarian removed the hose. Jamie's mouth was gagged again.

"Are you having this one gelded, Mr. Culpepper?" the vet asked.

Aston's father looked down at his son. "He's your responsibility, boy. What do you want to do?"

Aston tapped playfully on the metal plate covering Jamie's genitals. "I'm letting him keep them for now. We can always have him nutted later, right, dad?"

"Absolutely."

***

A month had passed since that terrible day, and each day since had been a repeat of the day before. Hard training, running, pulling carts, frequent whippings, and his daily use by both Aston and Willy for their increasingly nasty sexual games. Aston fucked him at least once a day, and he was obliged to suck little Willy's willie practically every hour, or so it seemed. Jamie had lost all track of time, and it already felt like his new life had become a sad painful routine of pain, shame and degradation.

Jamie Taylor no longer existed. He was no longer a human boy of twelve. He was a pony-slave, an animal, nothing more than a beast of burden. His one chance, his one chance to perhaps escape a life of hard labor and brutal abuse was to prove himself as skilled at being a racing stallion as he had once been at being a jockey.

But this was proving harder than he thought. He was small for his age, and while wiry and strong, he really did not have the long lanky build of a racer. Fate had pretty much destined him to be a drayage slave, but he did not yet understand that, nor did Willy or Aston who both had thought it would be riotously fun to have one of their former rivals running in the races.

Jamie was currently tethered by his harness to a sturdy wooden pole in the middle of the training paddock. The leather leads allowed him to move about six feet [2 m] from the pole, running in a frantic circle around it as Willy whipped him harder and harder at Aston's command.

The twelve-year-old's bare feet were sore and aching but had already become toughened to running upon the firmly packed earth of the paddock. Already the pony-boy's legs had grown even more shapely and muscular than they'd been before, and Jamie's endurance, as he was driven relentlessly around the pole, had also improved markedly from those first terrible days.

But balance was still hard for him. His arms were locked in binders behind his back, virtually twenty-four hours a day now, so the boy had to learn to correct his balance with subtle moves of his hips, abdomen and chest. Not a skill that comes naturally to a boy on the cusp of puberty, and one that Jamie was consistently failing to master.

How did Caliban make this look so easy? he thought to himself. If anything, the last month had given him a new appreciation for how hard his former boy-stallion must have worked, day after day, to be the best runner in the county. He thought about Caliban frequently, much to his own surprise, and often accompanied by a rather uncomfortable swelling within the hidden confines of his chastity belt. The device ensured that erections were impossible, but his eager young penis tried do on a regular basis nonetheless. The belt had not been removed since he was officially marked and branded as a slave. Willy generally ignored Jamie's ever-growing frustration, but Aston took particular delight in teasing his former best-friend about the fact that he would never be allowed to get hard or even so much as see or touch his own useless little cock again. Often to further drive the point home, Aston would then drop his shorts, revealing his impressive five-inch [12½ cm] boner, crowned with a tiny little patch of pubic hair.

"See this. This what a real cock looks like. Not your pathetic thing. Even Willy's got a bigger one than yours. No reason to ever take that belt off you." Aston would grab his erection and wave it in Jamie's face. "This is the only cock you need to worry about from now on. Get busy." Aston would say the words but of course Jamie could not hear them, but he got the idea. He knew Aston, and had seen the boy taunt other pony boys before, so his mind filled in what his ears could not discern.

What followed, of course, was now part of his daily routine, opening his lips and eagerly taking Aston's throbbing boner into his mouth. After a few seconds, Aston would grab hold of his head and begin thrusting his narrow hips violently in and out, moaning and groaning.

"No teeth, loser, or we'll take you back to the vet and have 'em all pulled."

Again Jamie could not hear the words but could guess the intent, and Jamie knew it was not an empty threat. He'd personally encountered several boy-stallions who'd had that particular procedure done. He was exceedingly careful to ensure Aston never felt even the slightest scraping along the length of his smooth five-inch [12½ cm] shaft.

Aston would then tighten his grip, make one final push, and shoot his seed, surprisingly large amounts of it, down Jamie's waiting throat.

And all the while, Jamie's penis would be straining painfully and pathetically inside the belt in a vain attempt to get hard. Jamie hated that. He knew what boners meant. He knew if his little cock was trying to get hard that it must mean at least some part of him liked it.

The realization that maybe he liked being a slave, that maybe it felt good and right and exciting when Aston called him names and shoved his cock down his throat or up his butt. Maybe it was natural for him to get off on being whipped. He's always had a boner in his shorts when he did those things to Caliban, but he never imagined that being a slave might actually turn him on. Now with his cock aching as it fought the cruel restraint he was confused. No part of him wanted to be an animal forever, and he cringed at the thought of being forced to race in front of former school friends, or those who had been jealous of his success. If he could wake up and find this was a dream he would cry with relief and never want to go back to the nightmare. No, he did not want to be a slave, but he could not help the way his body reacted when Aston fucked him.

Jamie woke up in his stall and knew at once today was special. No one had told him when the race day would be, but he at once recognised the signs. It was early, not even fully light yet, but already Aston was here with Willy. They were speaking together, not in whispers, but even though Jamie could make out the sounds, he could not decipher the conversation. It was so frustrating to be able to hear conversation but never understand any of it. He knew exactly why it was done, of course. He was not a human anymore, so would never again be allowed to understand human speech, but he had never understood how frustrating that would be for ponies like Caliban until it had been done to himself.

There were three of them in the stable, but Aston and Willy acted almost as though Jamie were not there at all. They laughed and joked and Jamie could imagine their conversation, wished he could join in, but all the notice they took of him was to open his stall, unfasten his bindings and lead him out.

Willy was clearly excited. He was almost hopping with anticipation as he started to fetch tack, and Aston turned a cold hose on Jamie. Jamie shuddered and let out a voiceless squeal of protest as the cold water hit him. The sound he made was almost an animal whinny, as his severed vocal chords could no longer make sounds much better than a snort. That amused Aston and he laughed as he began washing off dirt and pee that had run down Jamie's leg where he had relieved himself in the night. Jamie still had not really got used to the fact that he had to just relieve himself where he stood. There were no toilets and no privacy for animals. You did your business wherever you were and waited for someone to clean you up when they felt like it.

Today he was being cleaned especially well, and that was another indication that today was a race day, but what really proved it for Jamie was when the boys put a racing harness on him. The saddle he would wear was not fastened yet – that would go on just before the race – but the tack that would support it was going on now, and it wasn't training tack either. This was the best black leather with polished brass buckles that were being fastened on him.

So it was today, he thought. Today Willy would race him. He wondered what the meet was, who else would be there, and what the stakes would be like. Instinctively his mind had been wandering over thoughts of form, stats and odds, until he came up short with the realisation he could make no wagers on races today, and even if he won the race it would not be him standing on the podium lifting the winner's cup.

A thought came to him. Would his dad be there? He had always gone to race meets with his dad, and with Caliban. What had happened to Caliban anyway? Had dad found a new jockey for him?

Jamie missed his dad. They had done so much together, how could he have allowed this to happen? How could he have just let them make him a slave?

Jamie knew the law, of course. It had been many years since the plague that had killed the horses before it had jumped species and started to affect humans too. He had just been a baby when mum had died at the tail end of things. The plague had killed millions by then, and still would if they had not created the vaccine, but the vaccine itself had a side effect. It disproportionately killed female embryos so that for the past 15 years the number of male live births outnumbered female births by almost 10 to 1.

That was why the laws had changed. The only horses left were in protective reserves, and could no longer be bred for racing, whereas there were simply far too many boys for girls in the world now. That was why the new stables had been started. Voluntary at first, there were still pony boys who joined the stables for the life style, but as the popularity of the new animal racing had grown and laws had changed, increasingly slaves had become the main source of new pony boys. Slavery was for life now, and it provided a means of easing the pressure of having so many more boys than girls. Jamie had always expected that, as a successful jockey and son of a trainer, he would be one of the boys who eventually married and had kids of his own. Now all that was gone, and his dad had been forced to give him up. He had lost, he had become a legal slave and that was the end of it. There were no reprieves, no manumission, no second thoughts. With ten times as many boys as girls, the authorities needed to control the numbers and this was how they did it.

That might be the law, but Dad was still his dad. He still missed him and he still wondered whether his father would speak to him and try to help him today. He hoped so.

Callum set down the book he had been reading and rubbed his eyes. He was tired, and he should be asleep, but he loved reading stories and this was the only time he ever had to read them.

He was lucky, he supposed, that he could read at all. Most slaves were not allowed anywhere near books, nor some of the other comforts he enjoyed, like a bed at night – albeit a hard and old one – and a room to call his own, although it was little more than a cupboard.

Most slaves were not allowed such luxuries, but Callum was not like most slaves.

He was unusual, although by no means unique, in that he was owned by a female Mistress. More unusual again was that his Mistress was almost the same age as him, and she doted upon her property in a manner that would have been unfitting were she not such a spoiled brat.

It was not so unusual that a girl would be spoiled of course. There were few enough of them since the Oestrovirus had swept the globe twenty years ago. A virus that was lethal to women but not to men. The Y Chromosome, it turned out, had contained all the genetic ingredients required to aid the body's immune system to fight the virus, so that men fell ill but recovered, where women fell ill and died.

Twenty years of genetic research had frantically ensued, but with no breakthroughs as the world rapidly became a world of men. The only cure that reliably worked was gene therapy to ensure babies had a Y chromosome, and that basically selected them to be boys. With a fatality rate amongst women of 90%, the world had eventually changed so that men now outnumbered women and girls by 10:1. Fewer girls were conceived and of those only one in ten survived their first year of life, so they became immensely valued, and usually spoiled rotten as the population imbalance threatened to grow greater.

That was certainly true of Jenna Drew, or JD as she preferred to be known. Not that Callum could call her by her name, nor any name, as he, like nearly all slaves, had had his vocal chords cut and his eardrums punctured on the day he had been sold to his mistress. Slaves were classed as animals, and it was important that the difference in status was marked, and it also meant they could not overhear and pass secrets spoken by their betters.

Callum imagined what it would be like to be living in the world before the Oestrovirus. The book he had been reading was about a boy who discovered he was a wizard and went off to a magical school, and even though Callum knew it was all made up, he could not help but wish for a world where everyone was equal, like in the book. Like it had been in the time when the book was written. Then again, even in the story there were slaves, although they were a magical race of elves who liked their slavery, so he supposed that made it alright.

There were a few boys who volunteered for slavery now too. Submissive types who actually seemed to enjoy the lifestyle, they could volunteer to become slaves, and as a reward they were spared the surgery that would render them voiceless, as long as they voluntarily never spoke except when spoken to. They also kept their hearing, but they remained slaves. Fortunate slaves who might even go to school and one day form part of a slave elite, doing jobs that the free did not want to do but required intelligence and social interaction, but legally they were still not human in the same way the involuntary slaves were classed as livestock.

Callum wished now that he had volunteered, because then at least he would be able to hear human speech properly, rather than as it was now: only able to hear like he was permanently underwater, with all sounds muffled and quietened by his deliberately punctured eardrums. He could make out his mistress' tone, but not understand anything she said. One of the reasons she let him read was that she often grew as frustrated by this as he did, and would resort to writing out long lists of instructions for him to read and obey.

Callum had not volunteered to be a slave. The first ten years of his life he had been free and he had never considered he would be anything else. He had played games with his friends in which he liked to be the one in charge: the spaceship captain, or the sheriff enforcing the law, or the leader of a gang. He had dreams of what he would be when he grew up, and like every boy, those were big dreams.

Callum had enjoyed sports, and had been pretty good at them. He swam well, played football and rugby, and enjoyed cycling too. He had not been top of the class in school but he enjoyed it, and had a wide circle of friends.

That had all changed when he was ten though, and as he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, thoughts of boy wizards were swept away by the recurrent memory that always haunted him at this time of night. The memory of the night his father had returned home, drunk and agitated.

The front door had crashed shut, and that had been the noise that woke Callum up that night. The bang of the door had rapidly been followed by the crash of the hall table as his father fell against it, and then his angry shouts.

This was not the first time his father had returned home drunk, and the boy knew it was best to feign sleep, and to stay quietly in his room. When Dad was drunk it was like there was a demon inside him, and that demon would turn violent at the sight of his son. So it was that Callum had listened to the mayhem from downstairs but not ventured out of his bed, even when his father had started shouting his name.

"Callum, get down here you miserable turd," his father had shouted, the drink slurring his speech. Callum had not come, and then he heard the man climbing the stairs. Callum had hid under the covers as his bedroom door flew open, light rushing into his room, silhouetting the form of his father.

"Callum? Don't you fucking well pretend you are sleeping you miserable git!" The covers were ripped away and there was his father standing over him, stinking of booze and cigarette smoke, swaying slightly but looking large and menacing to the ten year old boy.

"Put some clothes on!"

Callum could no longer pretend sleep so he did the only other thing that would save him from his father's wrath. He obeyed, quickly, quietly, asking no questions, dressing in the clothes he had discarded earlier in the night when he had taken himself to bed.

"Come downstairs."

He had followed his father down the stairs, and that was when he realised his father was not alone here. There were two men with him. Two sober men, who stood quietly as he followed his father who stumbled and nearly fell down the stairs.

"Here he is. What did I tell you?"

One of the men stepped forward and put his left hand on Callum's shoulder.

Callum looked into his eyes nervously, and moreso when the man lifted his chin with his right hand, and then forced his mouth open.

"Say ‘ahh'" the man said and Callum had done so, feeling like he was at the dentist. Was this man a dentist? He was having a good look in his mouth.

"No cavities," the man confirmed, but then he was behind the boy, running a hand down his back, and then feeling his buttocks. Callum did not like that and made to protest, but the man cuffed him lightly.

"Stay still boy," he said and the glare from his father was enough to hold him back. Callum was already guessing what had happened now. He knew the laws on slavery well enough. After the sickness the population imbalance had threatened the fabric of society, and there had been many orphans. Boy orphans whose mother had died and who had either lost or never known their fathers. If girls were orphaned they quickly found adoptive families, but boys were not so lucky, and with all the other stresses on society, the economy in near collapse, and every assumption in the world turned on its head, various solutions had been mooted to the problem, but it was slavery that had won out. Slavery was reinstitute, and to assuage fears about human rights of the slaves, the simple solution was to strip the boys of their humanity. Neat and simple, and the orphanages were emptied in weeks.

Surely, though, his father would never do this to him? Dad was terrible when drunk but loving and affectionate when sober. Callum would never have thought that any of those drunken episodes would lead to anything as permanent as…

"Your father here has been playing poker with us this evening, boy. He had quite a good run of it, and at one point he was several thousand dollars up. Thought lady luck was smiling on him.

"Then there was a hand where he could have doubled that again. Laid out his cards, and would you believe it, he had a full house? Kings too! Such an excellent hand! Well we all congratulated him, told him he had luck truly smiling on his side tonight, and he was about to take the pot, when I said: unless…

"That is when I showed him my cards, and you know what? I had four of a kind.

Four of a kind? Would you believe it? Eight thousand dollars on the table and a full house with kings could not win it!

"He could have cut and run then, and things would have been all square, but you know how it is? Well perhaps not – you are a bit young for poker – but when you have tasted that much money and seen it all taken away from you, well it can change you. Your dad certainly changed, chasing the dream, he was. Chasing the dream.

"The thing is, his luck changed at that point. Sure he won a couple of rounds, but by the end of the night he was so badly in debt that he was, well, how should I put it?

Bankrupt? Broke? Destitute.

"You see your Dad has been slipping into debt for a while and today his tab reached its limit. A poker debt is a legal debt, and your father had to pay. You want to know what he sold to pay off his losses?"

Callum swallowed, looked at his father, his glare accusing, but dad just glared right back.

"Useless, good for nothing kid. Eating me out of house and home, and not even a girl? Just another stupid boy. A stupid boy who killed his fucking mother when he popped out. Would you believe that? She survived the goddamn virus just to be killed by a useless boy who went and got himself all twisted up and messed her up when he came out. Good riddance to yeh."

Those were his father's last words to him as Callum was led out. He did not know how much he had sold for, and he wondered if he had covered all the debts, or just the ones that had to be paid right then. He suspected the latter, but that was no longer his concern as he was led away, his father signing the contract that stripped him of his humanity, and turned his own son into livestock for auction.

Callum tried to push the memory away, but one memory was replaced with another. Now he remembered how he woke up from a miserable half sleep in an outbuilding at the farmhouse he had been taken to that night, hearing the bubbly chattering voice he knew well enough already. JD! He would know that voice anywhere, and when she threw the rickety door open and morning light flooded the room Callum had been thrown into, she squealed with delight.

Callum had watched her in incredulity. He knew JD from school, but he did not much like her. She, like most girls, was hopelessly spoiled and overstuffed with self importance. She was always trying to organise the boys at school to do her bidding, and some of them complied quickly enough.

Not Callum, though. He tended to avoid JD, and if she sought him out, he always refused to play her games, and would not let her join his own. It had all come to a head one day when he had been building a den in the woods, and she had found it. They had made a sign that said 'boys only' and thrown mud-balls at her until she ran away in tears.

After that Callum had expected some punishment, but it seemed that JD never told anyone what had happened. Instead she had marched up to him the next day and told him he would kiss her one day! Callum had been disconcerted by that, so he told her he would sooner kiss a leech, and so JD said that he would do that too.

He had not worried about it though. In fact he had laughed it off, because she was just a stupid girl and he was a 10 year old boy, and after that she didn't seem to follow him around quite so much, which was good.

Good until this moment, when a squealing bubbling JD was jumping up and down and hugging her father. Behind them was the man who had brought him here last night, and Callum realised that he must be Mr Drew's foreman or something.

"You got him for me! Oh Daddy, I love you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Her father was smiling and kissed his daughter on the head.

"Now you must thank Sam too. It was his careful and painstaking work that set up Mr Christie. He even managed to turn a profit out of the venture!"

Now JD hugged the other man and said:"Thank you Sam," leaving the other man looking mildly taken aback and patting her head.

"Anything for you, princess," he replied.

Callum watched the scene unfold, his mouth open, aghast at what he was seeing.

It did not matter, because the result was the same. He had been bought to be the property of the most annoying girl he knew.

"I know just the mark I want to put on him," she said. "I drew it all out, it is in my room. I will show you in a minute!"

"Of course poppet," her father replied. "But first, Callum, you are going to kiss me, and then Sam can get you a leech to kiss too."

Mr Drew looked at his daughter, amusement in his eyes as he slowly shook his head.

"I think we should have his balls taken off by the look of it. My little girl is growing up!"

"There is no hurry, sir," Sam replied. "He is not shooting yet."

Mr Drew nodded. His daughter was growing up, but she was not going to have to worry about unwanted pregnancy for a while either. Her body was not ready for that yet. There was no hurry with the castration, but there must be not mistakes either.

"Very well, but have him caged. I don't ever want him getting hard again, understand?"

***

Callum really wanted to be asleep, but still sleep evaded him as he was forced to relive those memories again. He recalled the way he was made to stand up, and remove his clothes. Slaves, he was told, did not own clothes, did not wear clothes.

That had turned out to be half a lie. True enough he owned nothing now, could legally own nothing, and spent much of his time naked, but JD often dressed him up in all manner of outfits, and she quite liked him to wear bikini briefs or other underwear around the house, claiming, when she wrote the information down at all, that it was unhygienic otherwise.

Nevertheless he had been forced to strip then and there in front of his new mistress, covering himself quickly as his face turned so red that he could feel the heat radiate from his own ears. JD then went right up to him and extracted their first kiss from him. He had made no move to kiss back, and that had earned him his first beating. Sam had fetched a cane from nearby – he obviously had known he would need it – told Callum to bend over and touch his toes, and then caned him, ten solid strokes. The first stroke had him yelping out in pain as the rod swished loudly through the air, and landed with a crack that erupted into an urgent pain that heated up his bum cheeks, made him want to grab them. He had moved his hands but been warned not to touch as the next blow followed quickly on. By the tenth he was distressed and begging for mercy.

After that he had kissed JD again, tears in his eyes, but a forced feigned passion in what he did, and this seemed to satisfy her enough to move on to him kissing a leech. Only when all that was done had he been taken to the vets, tasting blood from his sore lip.

"Usual modifications?" the vet had asked as Callum was strapped down. "Voice and hearing, yes.

Also we have an intricate mark – it will need a laser."

"Laser mark? That will cost you. Why not a hot brand?"

"No, the laser mark. It is for my daughter."

The vet nodded a knowing smile and began to hum as he set to work, clamping Callum's head down. "Please, I don't want to be a slave!" Callum protested. "Please don't take my voice!"

"Oh I hate it when they go all whiny," the vet said in derision. "Can't you manage any better last words?"

He did not give Callum the chance to do so, because he then thrust a long metal tube into Callum's mouth, and a suction tube beside it. He turned to a monitor, carefully guided the first tube to the right location, and then pressed a button.

Callum's head seemed to explode with the pain that suddenly surged through his throat, as the machine neatly severed his vocal chords in a manner designed to allow him to breathe normally but never speak again. He tried to scream, but nothing happened, and instead he just heard the gurgle of the suction tube as the blood that started to flow was sucked away, and tiny needles cauterised the wound.

The boy began to have a far away feeling, as if this could not be happening, as the vet continued to hum, but now pushed a metal probe into his ear. Callum writhed and pulled at his restraints, but the vet just laughed as he pressed a button on the end of the device. There was a loud bang in Callum's ear and then a feeling of disorientation, and the humming seemed to be quieter.

The vet moved the tube to the other ear, and again there was a sharp pain, a terrifying bang as his ear drum was shredded, and then it was as though he had been plunged underwater. The humming of the vet was all but inaudible, and he could hear the blood rushing in his head, and his own moans, but little else. Everything was fuzzy and far off and when the vet opened his mouth, Callum knew he was speaking, but all he could hear was a muffled mumbling. Tears filled his eyes and ran down his face as he realised that he would never hear another word again.

The vet was not finished though. He moved away and fetched a machine located on a roller base, from which another terrifying tube protruded. The tube ran to a black box, with a bright yellow warning: "Danger. LASER."

Now the vet was studying a drawing, and then he was speaking again. Callum could not understand the words, but he heard a response. JD was there, and she came over and was discussing the drawing. The vet was nodding as she babbled away to him, and Callum felt left out of the whole thing.

Finally the vet put on some dark protective glasses, picked up the end of the laser, fiddled with it, and then turned to Callum's body, leaning over him, holding the end of the laser like a giant biro. He switched it on, and Callum saw the brightness reflecting from where the blade of light now bit into his skin, and a moment later he felt it too. He tried to squeal his pain, but he had no voice now and his distress was just a hissing as ever muscle tensed.

A laser was much more accurate than a hot brand, and it was carefully designed to destroy the collagen layer of the skin as well as the epidermis to leave a sunken mark like a deep brand, but more intricate, and without damaging any deeper than the collagen layer it was designed to destroy. It may be more accurate but it was no less painful, and Callum knew ten minutes of excruciating agony. If that was not enough, when the vet placed the laser down, he picked up a tattoo gun and set to work decorating the mark as per the design. That took well over an hour, and every needle prick hurt, but the ones on the places where the laser had marked him were excruciating, like being stung repeatedly by hornets.

When at last it was done, the vet had one last surprise for him. He fetched out a tiny cage, and carefully took the boy's penis in his hand, feeding it into the cage. It was a tight fit, and took some forcing to get the cage on, but when it was done, the vet took some pliers and bent another loop around his balls, bringing the loop back to just under his penis,Then he used some kind of needle and poked a hole right into his ball sac.

Callum's whole body went taught with pain as the vet punctured two holes into his scrotum and then fed the wire right through the hole, after which he used another tool to crimp the wires tight together. Another loop ran under his balls, and that too was crimped into place, and then the wires were twisted together and fused into place. This cage was not coming off without very strong wire cutters!

The message was clear. He was never to be allowed to get hard again.

At the age of ten he had not had many erections in any case, but over the ensuing year his body had started to awaken, and also his penis had grown a little, so that it was permanently pushing against the bars. Now there were times – many times – when his body tried to get hard, and the cage snuffed out his desires in a wave of agony. He was a slave. Erections were for free boys only.

And that was what hurt the most about being JD's slave. She could make him be more intimate with her than any other boy was allowed to be, but if his body dared to respond to that with anything approaching lust then the painful punishment his cage extracted was a clear reminder to him that he was there for her pleasure and not the other way around.

Still he had an easier life than most slaves. He fetched and carried for JD, followed her around, cooked for her, cleaned her room, washed her clothes, played silly games with her and allowed himself to be shown off to her friends, sometimes dressed in stupid clothes she chose for him, and sometimes naked. It was hard work and constantly humiliating but it was still a good life compared to many slaves.

It had its bad times of course. The day JD had asked some of his former friends around to play had been one. He remembered that day well enough, when he saw Jack, Alex, Milo and the others for the first time. They looked at him, pointed, laughed. Where he had hoped they might still be his friend they clearly had other ideas and immediately sent him to fetch refreshments, and when he returned, JD wrote him a note to explain they would be playing a game of cowboys and cowgirls.

It was a stupid game. They were 11 now and surely the boys must have thought it stupid, but they were enthusiastic. Callum was less so as he supposed he would be made to be an Indian, but in fact it was worse than that: they sent him out back and played at being cowboys lassoing an animal, with him as the animal. Callum knew they were all laughing at him, but still he had to let it happen, and then after that they had climbed on his back and made him give them pony rides one after another until he had literally dropped from exhaustion – and even that earned him a beating for laziness.

That was probably what had sparked JD's interest in the Fremont stables though. It was clear that she quite liked seeing him have boys ride him, and so a few days later he had been taken to the Upper Fremont Pony club for the first time.

They had looked him over, measured him up for a saddle and had a long discussion with JD about something, after which she had begun taking him along every weekend for training sessions.

The Upper Fremont Pony Club was one of a few such institutions. The Oestrovirus had begun in horses and only later crossed the species barrier, and horses now were functionally extinct, all but wiped out by a virus that had been even more virulent for them. There were horses in zoos still, and work to bring them back, but for now the few horses that existed were very expensive and mostly found on a few ranches. Thus with the arrival of slavery had come the new pony racing, where slave boys were raced against each other. It also consumed the oversupply of slave boys, and had become a popular sport in its own right, with heavy betting on the outcome, and televised meetings too.

JD clearly had hopes that Callum would be a champion mount, or perhaps she just wanted to see him compete against the champions. In any case tomorrow that would all come to fruition, as it was the day of his first race. Tomorrow marked the beginning of the Fremont Cup, when seasoned and new slaves would be raced against each other for the first time, and JD was entering him.

Tomorrow he would find out if he was good enough to be a true Fremont pony boy, and JD had given him a promise and a threat: if he won a race she would have his cage removed and a bigger one fitted – something that he longed for urgently as his penis hurt constantly these days. She might even let him enjoy himself by cumming, just one time, she said. If he lost, however, she would never remove the cage ever again, and he would lose all his privileges and be kept outside with the other animals, used only for drayage. Having his penis locked forever in a ten year old sized cock cage was something that Callum desperately wished to avoid. As he grew bigger he could only guess what that cage would do to him, and he certainly did not want to lose the privileges JD afforded him.

Tomorrow he would find out what his future would be.

Kyle Wilkerson woke up early to the sound of the stable door being unlocked, and his father entering. Summer sunlight spilled into the semi dark, silhouetting his father against the doorway, but Kyle could see that he was carrying a harness and tack, and he knew why. Today was race day.

Today was the day of the Fremont cup.

The boy bristled with excitement, and stomped his feet, letting out a snort. He did not speak because it was the summer holiday period, and so he was in full pony mode. He did not speak, but unlike most other pony boys, he could do so if he wanted, and he could hear too.

"Good morning Blizzard. Time to get you washed down and tacked up," his father said, and led his son out of the stable and into the yard of their home.

Thirteen year old Kyle was one of a rare breed of free boy stallions. He was a pony boy because that was what he was into, and had been for as long as he remembered. His father indulged him by keeping him in this custom built stable at their home and entering him for most races, and the state encouraged his father by offering tax breaks and other financial incentives, because it officially encouraged voluntary slavery as a means of easing the pressures caused by the imbalance of men to women.

That did not mean Kyle got off easily, of course. To qualify for the tax breaks it was necessary for Mr Wilkerson to satisfy the state that Kyle was indeed treated as a pony boy at all times, and so he no longer even had a bedroom in the house, and all vacation and weekend time was spent in pony boy mode now. From the moment he stepped off the school bus he would strip off his clothes and allow himself to be led away to his stable.

It had not started out that way though.

Kyle remembered how, from his earliest memories, he was interested in the racing. When he had been five or six he had played with friends at being a pony, and would strip to his underpants and let his friends ride him.

One boy in particular, Jamie Tyler, had enjoyed playing those games with him, and as the two of them grew older there had been other games too.

Kyle recalled the time when, aged eight or nine, he and Jamie had found some rope in the garage and played tie up games. He had instantly volunteered to be the one tied up, wanting to be the prisoner in the game and submitting to Jamie's interrogation. Jamie had enjoyed doing the interrogation, and Kyle remembered that wonderful feeling like butterflies in his stomach as he had been stripped by his friend and forced to crawl around on the floor.

Jamie's father had bought a pony boy for Jamie at about that time, and Kyle remembered seeing Caliban for the first time. The ten year old had been unbroken, although he had been processed when Mr Tyler bought him, so that he could no longer hear or speak. From the moment he saw Caliban, and Jamie's pride at his new mount, Kyle had known that this was something he wanted too.

He had spoken to his father about it that very day, but Mr Wilkerson would not allow rushed decisions. He had seen how Kyle was, and noted how he enjoyed the submissive role in the games he played, but he also knew that the pony boy lifestyle was not something you just did now and again. If Kyle was serious about this then it would become his life, and although he would remain technically free, he would live life as though he was a slave.

At first he tried talking Kyle out of it, but after two weeks of nagging, Mr Wilkerson took Kyle on his first visit to the Upper Fremont Pony Club, for a trial weekend.

Kyle remembered the excitement of that weekend as he arrived in the car, was greeted by one of the trainers and immediately told to strip. He had felt that delicious mix of humiliation, hesitation, and excitement as he took his clothes off in front of the trainer and was fitted up for his tack.

The weekend had been painful,humiliation and a time of constant hard work. He had been housed in a smelly stable, forbidden from using the bathroom, locked up at night and worked hard in the day. He should have hated it.

"How was it?" his father had asked when he picked him up on Sunday night to take him home.

"Amazing!" Kyle had said at once. "Can we come back next week?"

Sometimes Kyle wondered if there was something wrong with him. Why did he like this life?

But there was no doubt that he did. When he was praised by a trainer, there was nothing in the world that felt better. A pat on the head served as well as a prolonged embrace, making him feel good all over, and when he was tacked up, or tied up, forced to parade around naked, he felt such excitement that he could not describe, and as his body had grown, he had found he would get an almost constant stiffy whenever he was restrained.

Of course pony boys were not allowed to do anything about those stiffies unless a trainer decided to do it for them. The first time that happened was still one of the most exciting moments Kyle had ever known. The trainer had entered the stable where Kyle had been tied up and in the semi dark he had walked behind the pony boy. He had put his hands around the boy's chest, making him shover with pleasure as fingers touched and teased his nipples before running down his soft skin, over his hips.

Kyle had felt the trainer's own stiffy pushing between his naked bum crack. The trainer was in his teens. Bigger and stronger than the pony boy, he was also very hot blooded and it did not take long before the teenage cock penetrated Kyle's boy hole. That had hurt a lot, but already his pony training had involved butt plug tails and so he learned how not to resist but allow the boy to enter him. He had also learned that the pain excited him and his own stiffy grew even more pronounced.

After that the trainer had started to fuck him, still standing in the stall. The hands grazed his hips, explored his inner thighs, teased his balls as the boy fucked him. His body rocked, and he heard the growing teenage excitement, and then the wonderful sensation of the hands stroking his own penis. Kyle had snorted his pleasure. He could not have said anything more as he was gagged, but he would have chosen to snort in any case as the boy fucked him more incessantly now, but also expertly brought the pony boy's small penis close to orgasm. Kyle indicated his own arousal by whinnying as the teen fucked him, and their bodies intertwined, until in an explosion of pleasure, the trainer unloaded his seed inside him and bit down on Kyle's shoulder. It was that bite and the sudden rigid hard push, the pulsing cock unloading as it rubbed his prostate, that sent Kyle over the edge into that moment of perfect release.

After that the trainer had withdrawn, swatted his bare bum and walked out, without so much as a word. Kyle felt like he should have been insulted, but instead he felt that this was the most perfect gift he had ever been given, and more than anything he looked forward to being used that way again.

Over time his father too had come to accept that this was a lifestyle that Kyle really did want. Kyle remembered how the comforts of his home life were gradually removed. His games console was taken away, and then the TV. One thing after another was removed, but all these changes made Kyle excited, because the whole point was that they were difficult and they set him apart.

He watched Caliban grow and saw Jamie's pride in him as he began to win races, and Kyle wanted that too. He wanted to race and for his riders to feel proud of him, and at last, when he had turned 12, his father had signed him up as a full voluntary pony boy.

There had, of course, been that disastrous race recently, and Kyle still felt sorry about how his slip with his inexperienced rider had contributed to Jamie panicking and Caliban stopping in the most important race of his life. Kyle knew that Jamie had never wanted to be a pony boy – not once. Always when they had played it was Kyle who was the pony boy and Jamie in charge, but the stakes on that race had been high, and Jamie had lost.

Today would be the first day he would see Jamie since he had been made a slave, and he still remembered how his friend had been dragged away from where he had been savagely beating Caliban, screaming that he did not want to be a slave. He remembered Jamie's first whipping: punishment for his beating of Caliban after he had lost, when he was already technically a slave, and Caliban no longer his property. He remembered watching them shave Jamie's hair and fit his collar, before leading the sobbing boy away.

That was the last time he had seen Jamie, but today he knew that Jamie was to be in the racing line up, racing under his new but inauspicious pony name of 'Loser'. That had been a cruel name to give him, Kyle thought. He hoped that Loser would not blame him for what had happened, and he hoped too that he had begun to accept his new life. Jamie had never wanted it, but Kyle knew that he could enjoy it if he learned to accept it. In some ways he almost envied Jamie, because the thought of being forced against his will to be a pony boy: well that just made Kyle hard to think about it. Kyle was a pony boy because he wanted to be, but even more he wanted to be forced to be it. He wanted someone to come and take away his life choices, impose their will on him, and reward him by fucking him and perhaps allowing him pleasure… perhaps.

Kyle, as a free boy, still attended school and acted as a normal boy in school time, albeit with some constant ribbing from some of the other boys about his outside interests. Jamie had always understood him at school though, and so now it was especially hard for him to look at the empty desk where his friend had once sat.

He would see Jamie today, and that would be good, although, of course, Jamie could not speak to him now. Still it would be good to see his friend again.

Jamie found himself getting very nervous as he was led out of the trailer at the Upper Fremont Pony Club. He knew the place well. How many times had he led Caliban out of a trailer at this very spot? He knew the drill too, and allowed himself to be led to the stalls with the other ponies to await their race. As he walked past the old rough hewn gate posts of the stable, Jamie felt his heart lurch. Always before he had led Caliban into here and then rushed off with Aston or one of his other friends to enjoy the fair, with barely a thought about how the pony boys felt as they anticipated their races. Today was the first time he would be the one left in here though.

He was led into his stall and his tether was fastened. Pony boys had been known to try to escape, although the punishments for doing so were harsh, and the chance of success almost nil. After all, he sported his owner's brand on his bum, his hair was cut to form a mane, he could not hear or speak and his hands were bound. It did not take a police detective to look at a boy like himself on the run and realise he was an escapee.

Anyone taking him in would be guilty of theft of property, so really there was little point in the tether – at least for any slave who thought it through, but some boys still tried it, and so the tethers were still used.

Thus Jamie waited. The stable was warm, and smelled of sweat. He was aware of other pony boys in other stalls although he could not see over the walls. He needed to pee, and cursed again the chastity belt Aston kept him in all the time. He remembered Aston's amusement on the day Jamie had discovered he was now the boy's property, and how he had been told he would never get another erection again. Some pony boys were allowed to have erections and even sometimes to have orgasms if they won races. Scout, for instance. Jamie had always rewarded Caliban too by allowing him to cum after a good race, but Aston seemed to delight in withholding even that simple pleasure. Jamie was still hairless, less developed than Aston, but he had discovered orgasm before he was made a slave, and had always enjoyed doing it – very often with thoughts of Aston in his head.

He often had imagined doing it with Aston, and even now the thought of the bigger boy in his tight racing shorts made Jamie's cock strain inside its restraint, causing him terrible pain that persisted until his body responded to his mind's urgent demands that he stop getting hard. He had always admired Aston's body, but the feeling did not seem to be mutual. Aston used him now and often, but he used any available slave, so that did not mean that he thought highly of Jamie.

He had to pee. There was nothing for it, and he let himself go. The hot brackish liquid squirted from his trapped cock into the belt and then ran down his legs. Warm at first it quickly cooled.

Suddenly he felt a slap on his head and he looked around, startled to see Willy glaring at him and pointing at the puddle he was standing in. A moment later the boy had turned a hose on him and once again Jamie had to endure a cold wash down before the boy started to fit him with the racing saddle.

This was it then. He was about to run his first race. Jamie felt nervous and excited.

Was he good enough? Might he win? who would he run against?

The preparations finished, he was led out of the stable, and as he walked towards the track he saw the first faces he recognised. Two boys from his class at school pointed in his direction and hooted and laughed. Jamie looked away, his cheeks blazing.

He was led onto the track, and the announcer was speaking into his microphone, the words booming around the stadium. Even at this volume Jamie's ears were no longer good enough to make out the words, but he knew when Willy raised his hand that the boy was being introduced with his new mount. He could hear applause, and see hundreds of eyes focus on him. Jamie felt self conscious as he stood there with every head turned to him. With the chastity belt still on, he was not quite naked, but he doubted he could have felt any more self couscous if his little hairless cock was exposed for everyone to see. The chastity belt just made it worse, as everyone knew what it was, and what he was being denied. Every person there was no doubt being told that this new pony was Loser, the former champion jockey, Jamie Taylor, loser of the special elimination round a month before.

Jamie fretted and Willy calmed him with a hand. He allowed himself to be led to the start line and Willy mounted up. At once Jamie felt the strain on the straps of his tack and the pull on the bit in his mouth as the smaller boy sat in the saddle, his feet wrapped around Jamie. He stepped forward to regain his balance and received a light swat from Willy's riding crop. His bum started to sting at once, but he knew why the boy had done it, and he carefully stepped back onto the start line. It was not as easy as it looked having a boy ride on your back. The saddles were so high that balance was hard, and it was just hard work too.

Jamie looked to his side and saw Blizzard. Their eyes met, and he saw recognition in Blizzard's eyes. Blizzard was a free boy, Kyle Wilkerson, a school friend of Jamie's. He raced as a pony boy just because he liked it. It was never something Jamie had understood though. The idea of intentionally turning up at the Upper Fremont Pony club, and taking off all you clothes, allowing someone to tack you up, saddle you and ride you for sport – and to do it voluntarily – had seemed like madness. Sure, that was what Caliban did for Jamie, but Jamie remembered all the work they had gone through to break Caliban in. He had never wanted it, but learned to accept his place. Kyle rode as Blizzard because he actually liked it, and Jamie had often laughed about that with Aston.

There was no laughing now though. Blizzard's eyes were large with recognition, and maybe something else. Was that pity? Kyle at least got to go back to school during the week. He lived a normal life except for these meetings, but Jamie's place in the class would have been empty this last month and Kyle knew exactly why. Jamie tried to acknowledge his friend, but his hands were fastened in the restraints now, and even his attempts to smile were pulled into an ugly grimace by the bit. He might have tried something else but just then Willy tugged on the reigns, bringing his head around. The race was close to starting.

Jamie faced front, dimly aware of the other pony boys here. He was somewhat gratified to see that Scout, Sniper and Caliban were not on the line up. All the pony boys on the line were younger than the bigger teenage mounts. He might have a chance of winning this race, although he had no way of knowing whether this was just a heat or a single race.

The starter dropped a flag and at once Jamie felt the sharp sting of the crop on his flank. He jerked forward and started to run. Beside him all the others were out of the gates too. Willy was bouncing in excitement on his back, the crop coming down again and again. Jamie wanted to shout in anger at the stinging pain as the crop raised angry red welts on his bare flesh. He ran as fast as he could, but it was hard work, and to his dismay he saw that he was being left behind by the rest of the field. Willy's crop work became ever more frantic and Jamie put on a burst of speed, but as fast as he could run, he did not seem to be gaining on any of the others. He could see Blizzard towards the back of the pack, and some others that he knew, but he realised with growing despair that he just wasn't fast enough. Not even without the best racers on the circuit, he was going to come in a very embarrassing last place.

The crop fell again and again, and Jamie ran on. Someone had stumbled and he saw his chance.

He ran harder, faster, and realised he was gaining on them. He might not be last yet. How far had he run? How much left?

Jamie looked around and recognised the second bend. Yes he was definitely gaining on the boy who had stumbled, and as he put on an extra spurt of speed, he felt his lungs burn, his calf muscles tighten, but he was going to do it. He was going to catch the boy up.

He was alongside the boy and then he made his rookie mistake, although he might tell himself the mistake was Willy's for allowing it. Instead of holding his head forward with the reigns, Willy had allowed some slack and Jamie turned to see the boy he was passing. The young jockey on the boy's back lashed out with his crop, and Jamie flinched. The crop never touched him, which would have had the boy disqualified, but because Jamie was looking directly at the boy, he saw the crop coming and ducked away instinctively, and that one movement was enough. Racing pony boys was all about discipline and training, and Jamie had forgotten his training, and his movement put him off balance. He heard a wail from Willy, a sudden tug on his reigns, but it was too late. The weight of the saddle shifted and he hyper extended his leg as he tried to correct himself and stop himself from spilling his rider over his head.

As Jamie came down on his leg he opened his mouth to howl in pain, only the sound that came out was more animal than human. Pain suddenly radiated from his knee and the leg buckled. The boy collapsed, throwing his mount sideways into the dirt. His hands being bound, he fell onto his side, and more pain shot up his arm, his head banged against the hard ground and he would have shrieked if he could. He would have grabbed his knee if his hands were free, but instead all he could do was writhe in agony as Willy pulled himself to his feet and laid into him with the crop.

Aston came running over to join his father and the vet as they hovered over Jamie. "Is his leg broken?"

"No, not broken. He will have some torn ligaments but they will heal in time," the vet reassured him, squeezing the boy's shoulder.

Jamie lay on the floor, tears of pain running down his face. They had strapped his knee and cleaned up a gash in his shoulder and on his head. The racing tack had come off now, although he still had his harness on. All around them the racing meet continued, but Jamie's first race in his career had ended in ignominy.

"It seems this animal is well named," the vet set, looking down at the miserable pony boy. Aston nodded, and his father looked on thoughtfully.

"How long until he can race again?" Aston asked, and now it was his father who put a hand on his shoulder and turned his son towards him.

"Aston, we have discussed this. Loser is too small to make a good mount. You saw that race: he was not even close. If he had not fallen he would have been laughed across the line."

"He was just not ready, Dad. We can keep training him," Aston protested, but his father was shaking his head.

"You know better than that, my boy. He will never be half the racer that Scout is. We have started him too late and he was better suited to riding than to being ridden. No, Loser is exactly what you called him. He is never going to win anything, we have to face facts."

Aston looked darkly at his former friend. He had wanted to ride him one day, but he knew his father was right. Aston was already larger than Jamie, and Jamie's father had never been that tall either. He would never have the size needed to win races. He felt angry though. Loser was not going to get away with this! If he was going to get out of racing then Aston was going to make him pay.

"Dad, if he is not gonna race, I want him marked up like Lightning and Thunderclap. Can we get that done today? The tattooist is here, I saw his van."

Aston's father nodded. "Of course, I was going to suggest it in any case. Let's make sure everyone knows who he is."

***

Jamie stumbled and hissed breath through his teeth as he was dragged to the tattooist. There was some strapping on his knee and his cuts had been cleaned up, but that was as much medical attention as he was going to get from the vet. He did not know what Aston intended for him, but he knew where he was being led. His heart sank at the knowledge that he was about to be given another mark by his former friend, and he wondered what it would be.

He was made to lie on his back, and when the tattooist leaned over him with the needle gun, he knew at once that it was his chest that would be marked. He winced as the needles started to bite. Small pinpricks over and over as the needle drilled into his flesh, and tiny amounts of ink was injected with them.

Jamie could not see the word being formed, but he guessed what it was long before it was finished. Aston had told him on the day he had been made a slave that his new name was to be Loser. Another humiliation heaped upon all the other humiliations on the last day he had been legally human. Now the name was being emblazoned on his chest for all to see. He had lost his first race, but who would ever take a racer seriously who was called Loser anyway? He imagined what Kyle would say, what his other friends would say, what Dad would say.

He had not realised how much a tattoo hurt until now. His chest was very sore and the needling was not carried out with any care towards the sentiment of the pony boy being needled, but it was not the pain of the tattoo that hurt most – it was that this word would be written on him for the rest of his life. He would forever be Loser. Aston could sell him on, but his name would be fixed now. Even the other pony boys would look down on him with a name like that.

When it was done Aston led Jamie back to the stable block and he expected he would be tethered up and left while Aston went off to enjoy the fair and market stalls. He longed to be going with him, but knew that life was over for him. At least he would be left alone in his misery in the stable block.

Jamie limped towards the stables, but saw they were not alone there after all. Someone was tacking up another racer in the yard, and Jamie looked up, catching his breath. He knew that pony boy – knew everything about him. That had been his own mount for years now. Caliban.

Jamie could not speak out but it was as though Caliban heard his thoughts, and turned his bright and intelligent eyes towards him. Jamie saw the flicker of recognition and then an excited movement and pacing that had the boy who was fastening his harness cursing and swatting Caliban's bare butt. The boy looked at Jamie, and Jamie recognised him. That was Jack, the eight year old son of their next door neighbour. Jamie had spoken to Jack many a time, the smaller boy idolising him because of his skill as a Jockey. He had always been hanging around, asking questions, offering to help with things, and sometimes Jamie would even let him ride Caliban.

Jamie's father came out of the stable block carrying Caliban's bit, and Jamie looked into the eyes of his father for the first time. Dad was talking to Jack as he came out of the stable, and Jamie felt the wrench of hearing a familiar voice but being entirely unable to make out the words. However he heard the moment that Dad stopped talking and followed Jack's gaze, and then their eyes met.

Jamie looked into his father's eyes, his own eyes wide with grief, his chest an angry red framing the tattoo that emblazoned his new name for all the world to see. He wanted to say something, and wished again his vocal chords had not been cut. He wanted to plead for Dad to take him home and end this nightmare. Surely Dad would not leave him like this?

Dad's eyes had grown round with the shock of recognition, but then a change came over him. His expression changed and he turned to Aston, said a few words and Aston replied. There was disdain in his Dad's expression now, and he simply turned to Jack, ruffled the boy's hair and carried on getting Caliban ready. He did not so much as look at Jamie again as he was led into the stable block and tethered up, and after Aston left, his father did not come in to see him. He could hear him talking to Jack outside, voices light, uncaring, before they tailed off and Jamie pressed his head against a cold stone wall and started to cry.

***

Aston was fuming still as he walked around the fair with Willy. He had not really expected Loser to be a champion mount at first go, but he strongly suspected that his former friend had deliberately been holding back. He had clearly wanted to embarrass Willy and his owner, Aston, and that was not on. Loser had to learn his place and learn it fast.

"You didn't use enough crop," he told Willy for the umpteenth time, but the smaller boy just shook his head.

"It wasn't that – he just didn't have the legs." "Maybe if we trained him harder…"

"We trained him plenty hard, but he is just not built like Scout and Sniper… or Caliban."

Aston hissed and Willy shrugged.

"Shut up about Caliban. Who is this Jack guy anyway?"

"Haven't you seen him hanging around? he was always fawning over Jamie. Looks like his dad got a replacement Jockey."

"Fawning over who?" Aston asked, his voice low, a hint of danger in it. "Jamie…"

"Is gone. There is no Jamie. He is Loser now."

"Certainly is that," Willy agreed.

"Because you did not use enough crop!"

Willy sighed and looked at his cousin, his face wrinkled with exasperation. Aston looked back at the younger boy, and finally he cracked a smile, but the kind of smile to send a chill down your back.

"We can punish Loser later. Let's go see if Caliban throws Jack Sprat and breaks his neck."

The two boys ran over to where the heats were running. Jamie did not know the day's racing order who would bother tell an animal such things? but there were a number of heats being run, and Jamie's failure had been an early heat. Caliban was running now, and after that Aston would be taking Scout out for his own heat, which he expected to win comfortably. He wanted to see Caliban run though, because he needed to know whether Caliban remained a champion mount without his prize Jockey.

The boys were mounted up, and there was Caliban, his stiff cock leaking precum obviously. Aston was always amused at how excited the mounts could get. He would tease Sniper mercilessly before a race, whereas Scout was always locked into his welded on chastity cage, and Aston suspected that was what really gave him an edge: when Scout was led out among the other naked boy stallions with their raging boners, he would try to get stiff, and the terrible pain from his cage would act like a spur, pushing him harder and faster than the others.

All except Caliban, that is.

Caliban – always Caliban pushing him into second place. Well not this time, Aston thought. This time Scout was going to cross that line first and there would be no smug Jamie going on and on about his win, showing off his trophy, and telling Aston what he had done wrong. No, this time there would only be Loser in the trailer with his nice new tattoo for everyone to see.

The starting pistol sounded, the flag went down and the boys were off on their mounts. Aston watched with a practiced eye as one of the geldings got a good start with Caliban close behind. The gelding was lighter and Aston knew he would tire more quickly. Jack was doing a competent job of driving Caliban, and Caliban was doing what he always did, and what he was trained to do. There did not seem much point racing a gelding along with the boy stallions. There were special gelding races, but amongst the stallions, and over this distance they had little chance.

Sure enough Caliban doggedly chased down the leader and then cruised past him, opening up a commanding lead. Aston saw Jamie's dad waving and bellowing "ease off, ease off," and perhaps Jack did ease off a little, but he still crossed the line well ahead of the rest of the field.

Inexperience. That would play into Aston's hands. Caliban was a fine racing stallion but he did not have Scout's raw power, and with his new jockey overtaxing him in the heats there was every chance that this would again be Scout's day.

***

Callum fretted nervously on the line as the last preparations were made for the final. His rider, Milo, had mounted up already into his customary high position, and Callum had to shift his weight from leg to leg to remain stable. Riders had some discretion as to how hight they rode on their mounts, but Milo preferred the high position. Of course he would not explain his choice to a stallion who could not hear his words, but Callum knew from his reading, still allowed by JD, that the high mount was preferred by some riders as it reduced sway and better allowed a jockey to use his weight to balance, or indeed overbalance, a mount. The overbalance was deliberate, as a stallion in danger of falling flat on his face could only compensate by running faster and harder.

There were risks to the strategy too of course, and the greatest risk was balance, but Callum had been in training for a full year now and Milo was an experienced jockey who knew what he was doing. The strategy had every chance of giving Callum an edge over some of the bigger mounts. He looked at Caliban on the line, the young teen's eyes fixed only on the line as muscles seemed to ripple just below his skin. Callum knew about Caliban, and doubted he could beat the winner of so many races. Scout, too, looked strong, fast and likely to succeed. He stamped nervously and Milo placed a gentle hand on his head, patting him in reassurance.

This would be a hard race to win. Callum was probably the smallest mount in the line up, and although his rider, Milo, was small too, the relative weight was a problem. He wished the lighter JD were riding him, but he understood that girls did not ride in these races. There were risks, not least the occasional special elimination race. Although those were rare, there was simply no way that anyone could risk a girl losing and being made a slave. Girls were too valuable for that, so JD only rode Callum recreationally, and she left the racing in the hands of an experienced boy jockey.

Not everything was against him though. In the past year Callum had become far stronger and fitter than he had ever been before he had been made a slave. He had trained endlessly, and had shown some aptitude too. He was fast, and more than that, no one really knew how fast. He had comfortably won his heat, but he had not been running flat out. Indeed Milo had held him back in the heat, and he had thought that Loser would pass him at one point before the other stallion had stumbled and fallen. After that Milo had virtually trotted him over the line, and most spectators thought he was slower than Blizzard.

Callum knew better though. He lacked size still but he could still give Scout and Caliban a run for their money over this distance.

Yes, he was fast and Milo knew what he was doing, and so he might not be confident, but Callum thought he would vindicate his place in the final at least. He would make JD proud of him, and then, even if he did not actually win, she might still remove his cock cage.

Callum felt his penis try to stiffen at the very thought of the cage coming off, and at once he winced as the metal cage exerted its special pressure, until his body gave up on the thought. He had worn that cage for a year now, and his body was growing enough that it was tight all the time now, and especially so when he was being paraded in front of people, or made to service JD in the ways she increasingly demanded.

Oh yes he hoped he would do well enough today to have the cage removed. He stamped again, impatient for the race to start, impatient to show what a good stallion he had become. Everyone would know his name one day, like they knew Caliban's, and that thought excited him too, made his stomach tighten with tension, made his heart pump harder in his chest.

The stallions lined up, and then the starting gun went off. Even with his punctured eardrums, Callum could hear, or perhaps feel, that gun. He was moving even before Milo's first kick, and by the time the crop cracked across his bare rump, he was already running full speed, leaned forward, overbalanced but at the front of the field. He could hear the roar of the crowd as though through water, but still a loud wall of sound from all around as he raced forwards.

Callum felt a rush of exhilaration as he ran. His eyes were forward and he could not tell if he was in the lead but no one was ahead of him so he must at least be close. Milo's crop cracked on his butt cheek, and the pain burned into him, but even though that hurt it somehow made him feel more alive and he ran to the rhythm of the crop, striding onward as Milo leaned forward, forcing him onwards, faster, faster.

There had been a shower of rain just before this race, and the track was slick with water, but Callum paid it no attention as the line beckoned. The roar of the crowd had grown stronger, louder, and although he still could not see any other stallions he could sense one close by. Callum dug in for one last desperate effort for the line, the crop cracking again and again at his reddened and painful butt.

That was when his foot slipped in the mud. With that burst of speed, the extra last ditch effort was too much and he lost traction just for a moment. Callum staggered to right himself, but as he did so his balance was skewed. Milo desperately tried to lean back, correct for the movement, but with the high mount position it was not possible and stallion and rider went crashing forward, landing hard on the ground.

Callum felt his head bang against the ground, and then he was slithering to a stop in the mud. For a moment he was too dazed to know what had happened, but an instant later he realised. He had fallen. He had lost.

Callum closed his eyes and waited for Milo to unleash his frustration on him. Only that did not happen, and when Callum looked again there were medics clustering around his rider. Milo was unconscious, and his leg was sticking out at an odd angle.

With sick dread Callum realised that Milo was badly hurt. He had fallen and injured his rider. That was not good.

***

Jamie heard people approaching, and looked around to see Aston and Willy. Aston was holding a winner's trophy, and they were leading Scout, who was looking sweaty but pleased with himself. So Scout had won for Aston? He supposed Jack had been racing Caliban, but he did not know if he cared that the stallion that used to be his had not won under Jack's inexpert hands. He was somewhat gratified that this at least proved he had been a great jockey, and it had not all been down to Caliban.

Any thoughts of smugness, however, were quickly pushed away, when Aston untied his tether and dragged him out into the courtyard. Aston's look was dark and he was saying something, but Jamie could not make out what it was. Aston poked his newly tattooed chest, and Jamie realised he was being berated again for his failure earlier. He knew it had been his own fault. No stallion should look anywhere but in front. It was jockeys who were to be aware of what was going on around them, but he had acted like a jockey and not like a stallion. He had ignored his training and allowed a simple trick to overbalance him, and so now he was being berated by Aston and Willy too was joining in.

Aston took his cock out and Jamie knew what his duty was. He sank to his knees and opened his mouth, and his former friend put his cock into the mouth and started to pee. Jamie gasped and swallowed, drinking the hot brackish stream, his ears burning with the shame of it, but Aston was not done yet. He pulled his cock out and wiped it on Jamie's hair, before pulling a key from around his neck and undoing the chastity belt that Jamie wore.

The metal belt fell away, and Jamie felt his penis move freely for the first time in a month.

He was now completely naked but for the collar that he wore about his neck. He supposed that he would be fucked in his bum. Willy had already done that to him, but always before they had removed only the back part of the belt. Today the whole thing had been removed, and he was not certain why.

A few moments later, however, he found out why. Aston suddenly kicked him hard in the balls and Jamie doubled over, clutching his aching crotch, tears of pain in his eyes.

"Take that, you useless piece of shit," Aston growled, and tugged Jamie's hands away, to expose his crotch again. "Kick him where it hurts,Willy. Doesn't matter if we damage his balls, its not like he is ever going to get to use them for anything."

Willy kicked Jamie too, and the pony boy let out a hissing groan of pain.

"I like the way he moans now," Aston said and let go of Jamie's hands now to grab the balls, which he squeezed tight. Jamie made a voiceless half squeal sound that would have been a scream if he still had working vocal chords. He writhed in agony as Aston tortured his balls. "He has such a tiny useless little prick too. I bet yours is bigger, eh Willy?"

"Yep," Willy confirmed and poked his penis out of his leggings to prove the fact, and it was true enough. Willy was 8, going on 9, but already he had more to show than 12 year old Jamie's hairless cock.

Aston twisted again and Jamie writhed and thrashed about.

"Whatcha doin?" came a voice and Aston looked up to see a couple of other jockeys coming closer.

"Teaching this slave boy a lesson in obedience," Aston replied. "Want to help?"

"Is that…" asked one of the jockeys, recognition flickering in his face.

"Sure is," Aston confirmed, "and he is the world's biggest loser as a stallion. Not sure how long we are gonna keep him as a stallion, so don't worry about damaging him."

The jockeys laughed and swapped stories about how Jamie had always been too full of himself and how he deserved all he got, and for the next half an hour they took it in turns to see who could make Jamie silently howl, twist and writhe the most, only giving it up when it was time for the award ceremonies, and Aston called over one of the stable hands.

"Get him cleaned up and put in my trailer," he said and then dashed off with his friends.

Callum's arms and legs ached. Not because of the racing or even the fall he had taken, but because almost as soon as the medics had taken Milo away to the first aid room a trainer had come for the hapless pony boy and led him to a forbidding looking pair of poles placed close to the race track. The poles had chains fastened to them, and the trainer had wasted no time in stripping Callum of his riding tack and fastening him to the chains, shackling him by his hands and feet so that he was left half standing and half dangling by the chains in a star jump pose.

He had been left there while all around him the announcements boomed around the stadium. Callum was unable ti understand the words but he could still hear the muffled sounds, and the roar of the crowds seemed to go right through him as the winner of the Fremont Cup was announced. Again he could not understand the words, but he saw Scout's blond haired rider walking proudly up to the rostrum to hoist a trophy, so he knew that scout had won the race.

Callum felt bitter tears of frustration run down his cheeks as he thought about how he had been close to winning that race. There was Scout, nearby and basking in the praise of his owner, a smile on his face, and Callum wished more than anything that he had been the one to cross that line first. It had been an outside chance, but he had been so close to achieving it. He imagined what people would have thought if they saw him, the wildcard entry, winning his first race. People would know his name as surely as they knew Caliban's, and even though it would be Milo accepting the prize, the eyes would be on him – the stallion who would be a future champion.

Not now though. Now his race had ended in ignominy. He had fallen, which was bad enough, but would have been forgivable had he not thrown Milo. He could not help think that this was as much Milo's fault as his own though: it had been Milo who had gone for the high saddle mount, and Milo's decision to drive him so hard. It had been a risk but he had almost pulled it off. Almost.

But he had fallen, and Milo's leg was broken. No one would care that Milo took the risks, the fact was that Callum should have done everything in his power to keep his rider safe, and in that split second when everything had gone wrong he knew that he had failed to do this. He knew that he should have adjusted his fall to give Milo a gentle landing at his own expense, but instead he had thrown his body around, trying to avoid the pain of the fall, and without a thought for his rider, who he had thrown so badly that his leg had snapped.

Stallions did not come back from errors like that. Not without serious consequences, so he knew why he was here. He knew what would follow the presentation, and so it was no surprise to see a man walking over with a viciously long bullwhip. Callum flinched to see it, but he knew there was no escaping this punishment.

The stadium grew quieter as the man measured up his whip. How quiet, Callum could not gauge, but the muffled roar in his ears quietened enough that he could no longer make out the background sound. He steeled himself, but as the whip cracked, he heard that sound, and a split second later he felt it too. A sudden burning fire ignited in his back as the cruel whip bit deep into his flesh, raising an angry red/purple welt that he did not need to see to know it must be clearly visible.

Callum opened his mouth and tried to howl out his agony. His cut vocal chords protested and produced just a thready whisper of air, but his face was contorted into a silent howl of agony. His body writhed against the restraints, but there was no escaping the cruel lash as it landed again, and then a third time.

Each stroke of the lash felt worse than the one before. Instinctively Callum was begging for mercy, his mouth and tongue making the shape of the words he wanted to say, but no sound coming from his lips. The lash landed a fourth time and now a fine mist of hot blood splashed across his cheek, lifted by the whip where it had cut right through his flesh and bathing him in dappled red. Again the whip landed and Callum pissed himself as he felt his skin tearing under the terrible onslaught of the whip. Blood was running down his back, a glistening red trickle that disappeared into his butt crack.

The next crack of the whip and it was his butt cheek itself that exploded into pain as the lash landed lower.

Lash followed lash and Callum quickly lost count of the strokes now as slowly but surely the trainer turned his back and bum into a bloody mess of pain.

By the time they took him down, Callum was barely conscious and he was half led and half dragged back to the stables where he was tied up and left alone to his misery.

Callum the stallion who threw his rider.

Jamie lay on the ground writhing, his mouth was full of blood where he had bitten his tongue and he had multiple bruises, but the most sickening pain was in his cock and balls which felt like they were on fire. He was vaguely aware of a stable hand washing him down, almost gently, and then he was being helped up, and the voice was gentle, reassuring.

Jamie looked up at the stable hand, recognising him, but not sure of his name. He had seen the same boy helping in the pony club in the past, and even riding in some races, and had spoken to him sometimes about Caliban. The boy must have recognised him too, but unlike the other jockeys who had been his competitors in the past, this boy seemed to bear him no grudges, and as Jamie gingerly got to his feet, he allowed himself to be led away.

Jamie did not know that the orders were to lead him to Aston's trailer, so he also did not know that the boy had disobeyed those orders, but he certainly was surprised to be led into one of the offices. That was out of order, he knew. Slaves were not allowed in the offices. They were animals, stabled outside and kept away from living areas and working areas. He might as well as have been taken into school as into one of the offices. It was most definitely against the rules.

The boy was speaking more reassuring words to him. He did not go as far as to allow him to sit down on a chair, but he did hand him his own water bottle and indicated that Jamie should drink from it. Jamie did so, grateful for the water, washing his mouth and quenching his thirst. When he swallowed it all down, the boy took the bottle and used hand signals to indicate that he was going outside to refill it.

He left Jamie alone in the office and Jamie felt a moment of panic. What if Aston returned and found him in here? would there be more punishment for disobedience, for entering an area that slaves could not enter? But he knew that he had a while yet. He had been at enough owner's whim. He had never realised how tedious it could be waiting around all the time.

He was thinking these thoughts when his eyes came to rest on a file on the desk in front of him. There was a paper poking out of the top of the file, and on that paper was a name. His name. Not Loser, but Jamie Taylor.

Jamie looked around furtively, but the stable boy was still gone, so he quickly flipped open the file and started to read, and what he read made his heart pound in his chest. He flipped the page and felt anger rising.

What he was reading was a letter, and the letter was all about the race he had lost – the special elimination race. The letter was thanking someone for a successful arrangement that had worked so much better than expected. Jamie read on.

"The stumble and collision were so perfectly timed that no one could ever realise that they were intentional, but who could have realised that Jamie Taylor, the supposed so experienced jockey would react so poorly that he would cause his mount to come to a complete halt. The plan proceeded without a hitch, and our cash was returned at excellent odds. Your cut of the profit is already in your bank account, and I have added on a small bonus as a token of my appreciation."

The letter was simply signed "Culpepper."

Jamie felt outrage at what he was reading. He saw the door opening and hastily closed the file. The stable boy came in, looked at him and then at the desk. Without a word he crossed to the desk, and rearranged the file, and Jamie realised he was laying it out exactly as it had been before – except now he tucked away the paper that had been sticking out with his name on it. Once he had done this, he led Jamie out to Aston's father's trailer, and with a nod, turned and left.

Jamie watched the boy walk away. He might have felt grateful to him, had he not been feeling so insanely angry. He had been set up. He was a slave because Aston's father had set him up! They had bet on him losing because who would think he would come in last with Caliban? and in so doing they had made themselves rich and made him a slave.

If Jamie had seen Aston in front of him at that moment, or his father, and had he the weapons or the wherewithal to do it, he would gladly have committed murder.

Jimmy Blaine tugged at the carbon fibre bar that his hands were attached to and he felt the chariot behind him give slightly in response, before an answering movement to his right steadied it. He snorted and tilted his head to get a better view of the boy he had been paired with. He had to turn his head a good deal to see past the blinders, and the other boy noticed the movement and glared back.

Smaller than him, but not too small, Jimmy realised that the boy must be 11 or 12, although calling him a boy at all was perhaps a touch generous. Naked but for his tack and harness, and the butt plug tail that all the pony boys were forced to wear, there was no hiding the fact that the other boy was not just a gelding, but a nullo, with nothing but scarring where he once would have had a cock and balls.

Jimmy thought that this was one thing that he had still been left at least and he looked down his own body at his flaccid hairless penis pointing straight down at the ground. Yes, he had a penis, but his balls were gone. He, like all the pony boys lining up for this race, was a gelding.

The boy thought back to the day that he had watched, screaming in agony, as his bloodied testicles had been thrown into a bucket on the Y-S ranch by the woman who had just castrated him. He had nightmares about that day most nights, waking up bathed in sweat and more often than not having wet his bed – or the simple plastic mattress in the stables that had passed for a bed.

He thought often about the small things that had brought him to that moment, and wished that he could have changed them. If he had not gone out to the cinema then he would not have been abducted. Had his dad not moved him to the city there would have been no cinema to go to. Had he been a little better at hiding, he might have evaded capture in the round up.

So many small choices, but as he had recovered from his castration, and the hot iron branding that had seared the letters YS into his butt, he had been put to work on the ranch, where it had turned out that things were not quite as he had thought.

The first time he had started to suspect that was when a large 4x4 vehicle had pulled up at the ranch, whilst he and the other boys who had been castrated that day went about various chores on the farm. They were not allowed clothes when they were working, because even though they were carrying out chores, the women who ran the ranch were quite clearly that they were no longer boys but part of the farm stock, and "you would not put shorts on a cow, would you?"

The occupants of the 4x4 had not been women though, they had been men. That was both strange and not so. In a world were 90%+ of the population was male, Jimmy had long become used to the fact that most strangers he would see would be male. Not on this ranch though, which the women had explained was there for the enjoyment of dominant women untroubled by men and male expectations. These were the first men Jimmy had seen since his capture, and he immediately dropped the shovel of shit that he was mucking out from the stables, and stepped out onto the yard.

The men looked at him, seeing him dirty, naked, castrated, but they did not seem surprised. "Please! I was kidnapped," Jimmy had called but they had walked into the ranch house as though they had not heard. Meanwhile one of the women supervising the yard work had come over and soundly thrashed Jimmy with a riding crop where he stood, without so much as making him cross to the punishment block.

"You never speak unless spoken to," she had hissed and hit him again and again until he was sobbing in foetal position on the ground, trying to protect himself from the cruel whip.

The fact that the men did not seem to care about the boys on the ranch was reinforced a few days later when they returned, and this time Jamie had learned who they were, and why there would be no help from them.

This time Jimmy had not been close by when they arrived, but instead he was fetched in, along with a few of the other boys. Aaron, Finn and Josh. All four of them were told to stand in the yard with their hands on their heads and the men came over to inspect them. Jimmy remembered the way they looked in their mouths to check their teeth and then felt their skin, their ribs, the curvature of their spine. He remembered the acute embarrassment that he had felt when one of the men felt under his penis, inspecting the long scar that ran from the base of his shaft to his perineum – all that remained of his scrotum.

"That is neat work. Did you lose many?"

"None at all, although we had to treat several with antibiotics," one of the women answered the question, and Jimmy realised with a jolt that this was the woman who had captured him. She was the one who had ridden him down as he tried to escape through thick underbrush, and then had caught him in a lasso, dropping him to the floor.

"Are they broken to the harness?"

"Not yet. We train real horses here, not pony boys."

"You are lucky to have them. There are few enough horses left these days."

That was true, Jimmy realised. The oestrovirus that had devastated the female population had been even more virulent in horses, and the animals were considered functionally extinct now. Breeding them was all but impossible because of the huge losses of foals, and the fact that the Y-S ranch had 12 horses that had survived the virus made it far and away the largest owner of equines in the country.

"Not lucky, they are our due. Will you purchase all four of these?"

Purchase? Jimmy's heart raced. These men were looking to buy slaves? Well of course, they looked like slaves, but Jimmy had been kidnapped. He was not a slave, and if he was going to make that clear he had to do so soon. On the Y-S ranch the boys had lost their balls but kept their voices, but he knew that was not the case elsewhere. Slave boys were mute and had their eardrums punctured to show their status as animals, and also because such a slave could not overhear private conversations of their masters, nor spread gossip, nor plan rebellions. He did not want that happening to him.

"Please sir, I am not a slave, I was kidnapped. My name is Jimmy Blaine. I… arghhh!" his words were cut off when there was a loud pop and his whole body involuntarily arced and Jimmy collapsed to the floor, writhing in agony as a tazer discharged through his body.

For a while Jimmy knew nothing but the terrible pain of the tazer, but as the effect wore off, and he sobbing on the ground, damp with his own piss, he was aware of the man squatting down beside him.

"Jimmy Blaine! Ah yes, Jimmy Blaine. Here we are," he said, pulling up a record on his tablet and showing it to the boy. "Jimmy Blaine, orphan. Your father died in a car crash on the day you were brought here. Such a coincidence. It also seems he had large debts from his recent move, and you were declared state property. It is all quite legal, my boy, you are indeed a slave."

Jimmy read the information in front of him and he felt a terrible sick despair wash over him. Dad was dead? His vision became clouded again and another a hot tear ran down his cheek. He read the report several times, and at lease the man remained silent long enough to do so, but eventually he sniffed and looked up at him.

"In fact you are all legally slaves here. Most of you are orphans now. So many unfortunate accidents! And such coincidences too! But there is no going back. You are slaves, and I will buy all four, yes."

That was how he had been sold to the private collection of pony boys that he now belonged to, and over the weeks that had followed he had been to the vets where his eardrums had been expertly destroyed, and his vocal cords cut so that he could no longer speak, before he had been broken to the bit and taught to pull a chariot. There had been hours of practice, but this morning he had been taken alone to the Upper Fremont Pony Club, where he had been fastened to this chariot with a pony boy, a nullo, he had never met.

Jimmy had never run a race before, but he knew that was about to change, and he stamped his foot with the excitement of it. It had taken time but he had slowly come to enjoy the running, and the praise he was given for a good performance. He did not hear the words, but he understood the tone of voice being used and the tactile sensations as he was patted, rubbed down or even hugged in praise. He hoped that he would be earning his master's praise now. He was a gelding, and he understood all that had been taken from him. He knew he was a slave for life now, but still the life could have been worse, and if he could win this race then perhaps at least he might have a glittering career in racing.

***

Jimmy tugged on the cuffs and pulled his chariot towards the starting line. Around him he saw familiar sights on the city streets. There were people watching the geldings take their positions, and then he saw a row of shops that he recalled entering once before. Never again would he go in a shop: animals and slaves were not permitted in them, but he could recall the smell of cookies and coffee that wafted down from the coffee shop located there. Then he saw the cinema he had visited on the day he had been captured, and the whole event had come flooding back to him.

Once again he recalled the terror of his kidnapping, and the terror of the round up that had followed. He recalled the hot pain of the branding iron on his butt and of the knife that had cut away his manhood.

Jimmy locked eyes for a moment with a boy of about his age, and at once recognised Robert Martin, a friend from school. Robert's eyes widened suddenly in shocked recognition, and then a nasty grin seemed to spread across his face. Jimmy felt his cheeks redden, especially as Robert tugged on the arm of an older girl beside him. His sister. Not many boys had sisters, but Robert did. Jimmy recognised her too, and as Robert pointed him out, Jimmy saw her look pointedly at his crotch and then laugh.

They were not quite at the start line yet and the moment passed, and Jimmy was glad when the Martins were no longer in sight. He felt his nudity more keenly now. He had become used to being kept naked all the time, and even pulling the chariot on a public street had not seemed so terrible until that moment Robert had seen him. Now he felt like everyone was looking at him. Not just felt it – he knew it. He had been in the crowd once too. Last year he had watched the geldings race, not knowing then that he would one day join them. It had been before their move, but dad had brought him into the city to go shopping on race day, and he had watched happily enough, laughing at the naked slave boys as they pulled their chariots around.

Because he had watched the race, he also knew how it worked. The geldings ran in teams of two, each pulling a racing chariot with one rider. The riders were usually younger boys of seven or eight, as this kept the weight down. The geldings did not run on the stadium track, because the ground on that track was soft and the chariots would cause rutting. Instead, the geldings traditionally ran a circuit around certain city blocks that were closed for race day.

Today there were three teams of geldings, and Jimmy looked at the opposition. He did not recognise any of them, so he supposed that of the four slaves sold by the YS ranch, he was the only one that had made the qualifying grade for the race. That gave him a certain sense of pride.

One of the other teams also had a nullo racing, but for a moment he thought in shock that the gelding was a girl. Between his legs he had what looked like female genitalia, but on closer inspection he could see some surgical scars, and Jimmy realised he was looking at a mare. Not a true girl, but a pony boy who had not just been castrated but undergone vaginoplasty to give him a rudimentary hole. Jimmy shivered and looked down at his own small and permanently flaccid cock. He had tried to get it hard since his castration, but it refused to play along. He knew what he had lost, but at least he was still a boy – kind of.

The other racing team had two castrated boys, one with the name Thunderclap emblazoned on his chest, and the other named Lightning. They seemed these least agitated pair here and lined up. Jimmy lined up too, and waited… waited… .

There was a bang, which Jimmy heard more as a dull thud. His punctured eardrums did not take in the sound properly but even so he was aware of the sound and at once he pushed and ran, and the nullo teamed with him did the same. They ran hard, but it looked like the team with the mare did better. They already were edging ahead.

Jimmy tried harder, and broke into a full run until their driver pulled them into a turn. He skidded on slick streets, wet from earlier rain, but he did not lose his footing, and the chariot swung around a tight corner, gaining on the others.

Corner followed corner, and now they were in second place, Lightning and Thunderclap behind them, and the other team ahead again. Jimmy pushed himself hard even as his driver's whip bit deep into his back. Again they were gaining and now the front team were looking in alarm as the geldings tired. Desperately their driver whipped them as they entered a corner.

That was when disaster struck for them. Their driver had turned to hard and the chariot went up on one wheel. He tried to right the vehicle by shifting his weight, but the one wheel was aquaplaning now on surface water on the road, and in a terrifying instant it toppled sideways, throwing the rider, pulling one of the geldings in the air and causing the other to skid painfully into the ground.

The rider went flying right into Jimmy's path and he pulled hard to the left to avoid a collision, despite the lash that fell on his back as his driver tried to force him to ride the boy down.

Jimmy missed the poor boy who was writhing in pain on the ground now and found a path between the wreck of the other chariot and the fallen rider, but his detour cost them the lead as Lightning and Thunderclap effortlessly ran past them now. The pair seemed to find an extra gear as they hurtled away and nothing that Jimmy or the nullo could do would close the gap that had opened up.

As Jimmy crossed the line he felt the lash fall across his back again and again as his rider raged at him, and Jimmy knew he had every right to. They had to be content with second place, because he had swerved when his driver had not allowed it. Jimmy wondered sadly if that would be the end of his racing career.

Part II
The Fremont Loser

Chapter 1

This story is based on an original by Istari. I wrote to him to ask if he would continue his story and then asked whether I could do so and he generously allowed me to do so, and we developed the general storyline together. My thanks to Istari for allowing me to play in his story world. – Calvinus.

The Culpepper trailer came to a halt and Jamie allowed himself to be led out by Aston. He looked at his former friend and seethed inwardly at what he now knew.

Aston's father had set him up, and surely Aston must have known about it. Since reading the letter Jamie's mind had gone over and over the events of that fateful race. He thought about the moment that Sniper, under Willy's command, ran so close as to trip Caliban, pushing him off his stride. He remembered how that had led to the contact with Blizzard that had finally caused him to stumble and fall to his knees. He knew now that Willy had deliberately driven Sniper close. He had already discovered from being ridden by Willy that the eight year old was quite proficient, and he wondered how much of the look of being out of control on the sex crazed stallion had been an act.

Willy had clearly had enough control to get through to the final, and so now Jamie realised that this first contact had been deliberate.

Had it just been that contact, however, Caliban would not have won the race, but he certainly would not have come last, and Aston had told him that his father had bet on him coming last. He had bet a lot of money and won a much larger sum on the long odds. How had he known that Jamie would lose the race?

There was only one answer, and Jamie knew it but he did not want to admit it. The letter had not been to Willy's dad, but to the nervous looking 10 year old who had been riding Blizzard. Blizzard – Jamie's one time friend, Kyle Wilkerson – who had run close to the off stride Caliban until the boy-stallion had fallen to his knees. That was the moment Jamie had lost the race. Sure he had sealed it by beating Caliban and screaming so hard that Caliban had stopped and waited, but even without Jamie's panicked over reaction, he almost certainly had lost the race from that clash. Did Blizzard know? He had just been the mount, not the rider, so perhaps he didn't. Jamie supposed he must have been the unwilling pawn in the Culpepper's game.

And the terrible thing was that Jamie knew that however it happened, what had happened could not be undone. When a slave was branded and sold, ear drums punctured and vocal chords cut, they were no longer considered human. There were no rights of appeal, they could bring no cases in court. There was no facility for making a pony back into a boy. Jamie knew that he was a slave for life now, and however unfair it was, that could not be undone.

It could not be undone, but perhaps, he thought to himself, he could get even.

Fixing the outcome of a race was a crime. He was fairly sure of that. There had been a case in the past of match fixing in other sports, as well as race fixing in pony racing.

Making money off a fixed race was fraud or something, and although Jamie was not sure about the exact laws, he knew that the police or the press would be very interested in this. If he could find a way to let the authorities know, then Aston's father would end up losing all the money he had made and perhaps be sent to prison.

Perhaps, Jamie thought with a feeling of cold malice settling agreeably in his gut, perhaps Aston and Willy and Blizzard's rider would also be sentenced to slavery. Perhaps it was too much to hope, but such things had happened before. Boys who got themselves in too much trouble could easily lose their freedom if they ended up before the courts on a serious charge.

Jamie looked again at Aston as he was led to his stall, and now he imagined his former friend naked, collared, branded, tethered… and Jamie felt his sore and bruised penis suddenly stand to attention. Oh yes, he liked that idea. What if he ended up being allowed to fuck Aston? That created a mental image that ensured his stuffy was not going to go down any time soon.

His mind drifted off into a whole fantasy of how he might be friends once again with Aston, were Aston himself made a pony stallion. The grim future of life as an animal suddenly felt less grim as Jamie imagined the two of them sharing a stall, and their bodies.

They would snuggle together for warmth, and of course they would play with each other.

Jamie was angry with Aston, but he was also very attracted to the boy's body, and he could no longer deny it. The pain he had experienced when unable to get hard when sucking Aston's cock was as sure a sign as his stiffy right now at the thought of the boy naked and sharing this life of slavery with him. Not only would it be justice, but it would be something more… Jamie could not explain the feeling he felt, even to himself, at the thought, but it gave him a thrill inside. Oh yes, he had to work for that outcome, but he could do it.

He would do it. He would make sure Aston ended up as a pony slave too.

Aston was tethering him up but he did not miss Jamie's stiffy. He barked a laugh and swatted the bruised penis making Jamie shudder. He was saying something, but Jamie could only understand the tone of derision, not the words, before Aston turned and called over the stable hand who did smith work in the Culpepper stables.

The man came over, looked at Jamie's small hairless penis and marble sized balls and shook his head before saying something to Aston, his tone mocking too. Then he went away to a storeroom and returned a few minutes later with a cock cage.

Jamie felt his heart hammer in his chest as he saw the cock cage and he took a step back in fear. He knew exactly what it was, and why it was used. Scout had one such cage and many other stallions had them too, and Jamie knew that once on the cage would not come off without some serious effort. Scout had been kept flaccid for as long as Jamie had known him, an enforced impotence that he had laughed at often. Now Aston clearly intended the same for him.

He did not feel surprise. Hadn't Aston made it quite clear he would never be allowed to orgasm ever again? And yet when the cruel chastity belt had been removed earlier that day Jamie had hoped the boy had relented, especially after the punishment they had inflicted on his cock and balls. And for just a few minutes he had felt again the wonderful joyous feeling of stiffness as he had imagined playing with Aston's naked body. He had known again the sexual excitement that comes from the memory of orgasm, the anticipation of having one again. All that was coming to an end now, as the smith roughly pushed his still stiff and very sore cock into the cage, forcing it to bend, making Jamie squeal voicelessly as his flesh was forced into the shape it would keep for as long as his master wished – perhaps forever.

His master, he thought, looking at Ashton. Why did that thought make his cock fight against the cage it was being forced into? Why, when he was so angry with Ashton, did he have to feel that shiver run through him? That tightness in his stomach? That feeling that if Ashton's hands were on his butt…

Jamie screwed up his eyes in pain as his stiffy was cruelly bent and squashed into the restraint and tears filled his eyes. Man, that hurt!

The metal was cold and tight, and the smith used tools to bend it down further, further until Jamie felt like his cock would be pulled right off. Then the wires were looped around his balls, wrapped taught, pinching his sac so that his small testicles were forced painfully downwards. The whole restraint was agonising, particularly after the punishment he had received, and all Jamie could thing about was the metal loops that held his boyhood down and flaccid. At last the smith sealed it off with a clasp piece, locked into place. He handed Aston the key and stood up to inspect his work.

Aston looked on and laughed. He said something, and Jamie did not pick up the words, although he was beginning to understand the sound of his own name. The last word Aston said before shutting his stall for the night was "Loser."

***

Aston watched from the top of the quarry road as a small figure struggled to pull a cart laden with rock and ore up the narrow track to the quarry floor. His father had explained that he did not think that Loser would ever be useful as a racing stallion, and that drayage may be a better use for him, but seeing how the slave was struggling with his load, Aston wondered whether he would ever earn his keep.

Pony boys were not used for long distance transit much, except in tourist areas, because motorised vehicles were just more efficient and faster, but a small quarry such as this one did not merit the cost of creating a proper road or train track down to its base, and in such situations the pony boys were well adapted. Small enough to squeeze into shafts to collect the ore, and with the narrow wagons they pulled they could bring what they collected up the treacherous pony tracks. There was a real danger of falling, and it was not unusual to lose a pony now and again, or for a fall to cause serious injury, but pony boys were just animals and there were plenty more where these ones came from, so no effort was made to make the steep paths safer.

It was strenuous and dirty work, and Loser was covered in dust that was plastered to his sweaty body. Aston looked at his former friend and found himself getting stiff in his shorts at the sight. Loser still had a small hairless penis and balls, locked firmly away in his cock cage, but his body had become more wiry, his muscles developing from the work. He had been set to this work for some months now, and he had put on muscle from this and his previous race training. Aston could not help but feel some attraction to him as he was now. There was something about a well muscled boy's body that he felt particularly attracted to.

Being gay was no big issue these days. With the imbalance of boys to girls, gay men were positively celebrated, but Aston was not quite ready to admit he was gay, and he was definitely not going to tell Loser that. He thought he liked girls too, and definitely wanted the status of one day being married and having kids of his own and continuing the Culpepper business. Nevertheless he enjoyed having his former friend kneel at his feet and suck his cock, and made Loser do it every day. Every day he held Loser's head in his hands and fucked his slave's face, enjoying the gagging and choking sounds Loser made as his manhood stretched to it's impressive near adult length.

Aston looked again at Loser's small penis and smiled. They were the same age, but Loser had still no hair, and precious little growth down there, whereas Aston had been an early starter, and he sported a small patch of pubic hair and had been spitting real juice for over a year now. Loser had always felt inferior about that, he knew, even when he had still been Jamie.

His dad had suggested removing Loser's balls on their first visit to the vet, but Aston had felt some compassion for his former friend, and let him keep them, thinking Loser might one day get some growth down there. Not much compassion though, because Jamie the jockey had always been insufferable with the way he rubbed Aston's nose in it every time he won on that damned Caliban. He had relished the thought of having Jamie as his own pony slave, and so he had willingly gone along with his dad's special plan to ensure that the celebrated Jamie Tyler became the defeated Loser.

Today having Loser suck his cock was not going to be enough, and as Loser reached the top of the slope,Aston led him aside and untethered him from the wagon. Loser looked at him with his pathetic hazel brown eyes, an expression that might have been relief, and hope for a rest. Well he would have a rest from pulling the cart at least.

Aston unhitched the slave and pulled him around to the back of the cart, and then pushed him over the wooden boards. Loser let out a small groan as he realised what was intended, but Aston did not care. Instead he ran his hands down the boy's sweaty back, felt his bum cheeks, and then dropped his shorts before thrusting his cock deep into the boy's bum.

Loser went rigid, his knuckles white as he gripped the rock in the back of the wagon. Aston knew that his cock would hurt the boy. His cock was his pride and joy, biggest in the year group at school, bigger than many older boys, and the cock was unlubricated. He did not care. It felt good to sink his manhood into Loser's tight warm bum. The sensation was wonderful as his hands wrapped around the pony boy's sweaty muscled body. God, what a body this slave had! He held Loser tight. His pony boy. His slave. Jamie fucking-annoying- little-git Tyler was gone, dead, but in his place was Loser and Aston loved the feel of the hot sweaty body as he thrust hard and mercilessly into the tight little boy hole in the cute little butt.

He did not speak much. What was the point? Loser could not hear and he was just an animal. A cute animal, but nothing more. Instead he just enjoyed the sensation of thrusting firmly again and again into the oh so wonderfully tight hole. Loser's body rocked under his ministrations, but the pony boy did not complain. Why would he? How could he?

Aston smiled as he reached around and found the boy's caged cock and began to play with the tip, teased the balls and was gratified by a hiss of discomfort from Loser as he suffered the pain, surely familiar to him by now, as his member tried to get stiff inside the restraining cage. That made him squeeze even tighter and Aston liked that. He knew Loser was attracted to him too, and would do anything just to have one of his pathetic dry orgasms with Aston holding him.

Maybe he would allow that one day. He had thought to reward Loser if he had ever won a race by allowing him to orgasm. Such rewards definitely could inspire stallions, but Loser had been a pathetic stallion, so that had never happened. Now he could not let Loser have an orgasm or the slave would think he had gone soft and that could turn nasty. Still, maybe one day it would be fun to take the cage off and let Loser spit his first virgin seed.

Maybe when he got his first pubic hairs he would allow it.

Aston felt the slaves pubic area as he fucked him. Definitely no hair yet. Surely Loser could not be far off it though?

It did not take long for him to reach his orgasm, and with a shout of pleasure Aston shot his load into Loser's bum. He lay on the slaves back for a while, enjoying that post coital feeling of ease, holding tight to the sweaty body, hearing his slave's distressed breathing. He would never speak the words but he loved his pony slave. Loved every bit of the submissive boy that was now is property. He squeezed the body, the only sign of affection he would give the slave, but he thought it was enough

At last he withdrew and turned Loser around, pushed him to his knees. Loser knew what to do, although it was clear he hated it. He wrinkled up his face but opened his mouth and started to lick Aston's cock clean. Aston laughed in pleasure as he watched Loser's humiliation, and when he was done he lifted the pony to a standing position and gave him a hard slap on his bum, right on the place he had branded him a little over three months ago, and pointed at the stables.

"Get cleaned up!" he said, miming washing as Loser would not hear the words. The pony boy walked away unsteadily. Aston knew he should go with him, see to him himself, but then Loser had owned Caliban, and knew what needed doing. He could see to himself, or Aston could punish him later for not doing it. Either way, he had better things to do right now than spend time washing Loser down.

***

Jamie's heart hammered in his chest as he walked back towards the stables. This was his chance! Aston had left him alone and untethered for the first time since he had discovered the truth about the race. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew the risks. Aston apparently wanted him to wash and water himself and then wait in his stall to be tethered up, and failing to do that alone would earn him a beating. As for what he intended instead – well the punishment for that did not bear thinking about.

Jamie returned to the stables but out of view of Aston, he slipped behind some trees and worked his way around to the office. Jamie had an advantage here: he had visited these stables before on a number of occasions when he had been free. He knew the layout, not just of the stables themselves but of the office too. That was where he went now. He did not know the exact time but it was late in the day, and as he expected the office was empty, the staff having gone to their homes for an evening meal or to go out to the cinema or whatever. Jamie pushed away the sudden pang as he knew he would never watch another movie again. What would be the point when he could not hear?

No, don't think about that. Jamie peered into the gloom and found the computer. He left the light off but switched the computer on. He hoped the glow of the display would not give him away, but switching a light on would definitely raise suspicions.

The computer came on and displayed a password prompt, but he had expected that.

It had only been four or five months ago that he had crept in here with Aston one day when he had been visiting the Culpeppers with his dad. Aston had wanted to show him a horror movie that was rated 18 and was blocked on his own computer, but he had proudly boasted he knew the password of one of the farm hands. The boys had sneaked into here and Aston had logged on. He had not told Jamie what the password was, but Jamie had followed the keystrokes and was pretty sure he knew it too now.

He tried, but the login failed. Jamie tried to swear, his mouth forming the word even though his cut vocal chords produced no sound. What if the password had been changed? What if he had just remembered it wrong? Then his plan would be ruined.

He tried again, thinking perhaps, just maybe that last letter had been not an n but an m. The computer logged in and Jamie shouted voicelessly with glee. He was in!

Now he lost no time. He would have liked to search all the files looking for evidence of Aston's father's race fixing, but that would take too long, and in any case he was in a farm hand's account on the office computer – he doubted there would be anything to find.

No he had limited time and there was only one thing to do. Jamie opened a web browser and logged in to his webmail account. He was pleased to find it was still active – he had wondered whether all his accounts would be automatically deleted when he had been enslaved, but as he had hoped, that would have taken too much trouble tracking things down. The accounts were just left dormant on the assumption slaves had no computer access anyway. There was no new mail, but he had never had much, and all his friends had known he would never send them replies so none of them had bothered emailing him.

Again he spent no time worrying about that. Instead Jamie hit the button to compose a message, and pulled up the address of the Fremont Gazette.

He could not gather evidence but he could tell the Gazette what he knew and let them do the rest. There had been another case a few years ago when one of the Gazette's reporters had uncovered a conspiracy to fix a race and won an award for it. Yes, they were the people who could get to the bottom of this. They would ask the questions, follow the evidence and then it would be Aston's father who was disgraced and under police investigation. He would be ruined! People would know that he, Jamie Taylor, had not lost the race for which he had been named. They would know that he had unjustly been enslaved, and even if they could not undo what had been done, at least they would know he was not a loser after all.

Jamie wrote everything he knew and everything he suspected into an email to the Gazette, and fired it off. Then he switched off the computer and crept out of the office, getting back to the yard as quickly as possible to get himself washed and clean. Just in time. Aston came to check up on him, and although he was still dirty, he had started to wash. Aston laid into him with a crop as punishment for his tardiness, caning his butt and back until he squirmed and tried to shriek, but he did not suspect what Jamie had done, and despite the pain from the fresh welts on his body, Jamie still felt satisfied when he was tethered for the night in his stall. He had done it.

He had finally done it. He just had to wait now.

Chapter 2

The next day Jamie was in a heightened sense of expectation, but the day passed much as any other day. He was taken out, fastened to a cart and set to work once again. The morning passed uneventfully, although the work was back breaking and under the hot sun he soon found himself approaching exhaustion.

At lunch time Jamie was led back to the stables, given the rough tasteless but salty meal that all the slaves were given, and water to drink, but he had barely finished when Aston came over with Willy. The two were laughing and joking, and when they led Jamie away he knew what they planned, and so did all the other slaves who watched on. One of them grinned and grabbed his bum in a mocking acknowledgement of what was about to happen.

They took him around the back to a grassy spot under a tree and then both boys started to take their clothes off. That was uncommon. Usually they were happy to rape him still clothed, but now they were down to their underwear, and smiling and laughing together. Jamie looked on at Aston and felt his penis stiffen as he saw his friend's bigger bulge. He had never admitted it to anyone, but for a while now Aston's body had this effect on him. Jamie had been captivated by Aston, which is why he had been all too ready to make that stupid bet about sucking his friend's cock. He may be humiliated by being forced to do it, but that did not alter the fact that he had wanted to do it too. He wanted to touch his friend's body and be noticed and touched by him. His friendship with Aston had gone beyond mere enjoyment of his company and had been joined by a growing physical attraction as puberty had been revealing the fact that Jamie was really attracted to men. He had supposed no one knew, but he realised now that Dad had probably known. He remembered how Dad had always reacted whenever he had jacked himself off around Caliban.

There was a problem, and Jamie winced in pain.

Growing stiff, was not an option for him, encased as he was in a tight cock cage.

Almost as soon as his body began to react, he flinched in pain and grabbed himself, causing much mirth from the two boys. Now Aston was teasing him by rubbing his own bulge, which did little to hide his stiff cock behind it, and then pointing out Jamie's small caged cock. The implication was clear: Jamie had long been embarrassed by his hairless and still young boy sized penis. Even Willy seemed to have a bigger one and he was not even ten yet.

The teasing did not stop there though. Now Aston did something he had not done before: he stepped closer to Jamie and put his arms around him, his hands finding his bum as he pulled him close into a warm embrace. The fingers explored his bare skin and his lips teased close, closer, and then Jamie's own lips.

Jamie's eyes went wide and his body went wild. His heart beat faster and his breathing became ragged. At the same time his penis fought against the cage, and although it lost the battle, it did not stop the agonising pain as Jamie felt his desire for Aston at war with his desire to avoid this pain.

There was no doubt that this was exactly the reaction Aston was trying to provoke.

Any doubts were removed when the boy's fingers played over his balls and then touched the flesh of his cock as it tried to escape its prison. Jamie flinched and gasped. He would give anything right now to be free of the cage and to be allowed to put his cock into Aston's mouth, and once again the thought that maybe, just maybe,Aston might one day be forced to do – that one day perhaps their positions could be reversed – drove him wild with frenzy, a frenzy cruelly denied by the cage.

Jamie clutched himself and Willy was almost rolling on the floor with laughter, pointing at the terrible look of agony on his face. Jamie's distress was a considerable source of mirth and both Willy and Aston were laughing and pointing, before they finally stripped from their underwear and forced him to his knees.

Moments later he was sucking Willy's cock as Aston mounted him from behind, and although he hated himself for it, the feelings for Aston refused to wane now. The boy was holding him, that cock was in him, and oh man, he had found that spot that was driving him crazy as the boy thrust and thrust again, rocking his body, giving him no relief to the torture in the cage that ensured he could know no erection.

Jamie felt submissive, ready to please, and he sucked on Willy's cock in a way that seemed to delight the boy so that his head was patted and Willy's words seemed to sound warm and soothing, and even that hand on his head made him want Aston more.

When Aston came inside him, Jamie felt a torture of desire and pain, and the sure and certain knowledge that he was still, despite everything, strongly attracted… no, more than that… infatuated with Aston.

***

Kyle logged into the computer in the school library. He didn't get computer access at home, of course. That was one of the many things he had given up, but he had to use a computer for his school work, and that had to be done here in the library. Time to get on with his science project, and no time to waste. He did not have the luxury of doing homework at home, because as soon as he arrived home he had to strip and go to the stables, so he had to squeeze the work into lunch and break times.

No time to waste… but he had an email waiting. That was odd. Who would email him? Most adults knew there was no point, and the only friend who ever used to bother was…

No! it couldn't be. An email from Jamie?

Kyle read it quickly and then forgot all about his science homework.

***

Life went on for several days without any interruption to the arduous routine of hard work, poor food and continued humiliation at the hands of Aston and Willy. Willy on his own could be even worse than Aston, as the younger boy, unafflicted by the effects of puberty, was as happy causing pain with a riding crop as he was having his cock sucked.

And then one evening Willy had not been around. Jamie noticed his absence quickly and realised that Willy had been over at the Culpepper farm so often that he had almost forgotten that he did not live here!

He returned from a hard day in the quarry and allowed Aston to hose him down with cold water. Jamie had grown to love the hose, as he felt the water wash away the grime and sticky sweat of the day, and his body cooled down and he could enjoy the gentler warmth of the evening sun rather than the punishing midday heat he had worked through.

Aston seemed to know that he liked this routine, and spent a little longer washing him than was strictly necessary, and he was speaking words in a calm reassuring tone. Jamie could not know what he said, but he understood that Aston was speaking gently.

When the hose went off Jamie almost unconsciously went to his knees, expecting Aston to fuck him, but as he did so, Aston lifted his head, looked in his eyes. Jamie met the gaze and saw something unexpected there. The look that Aston was giving him seemed almost sad.

Now Aston lifted him up, led him to a spot in the stable that was drier and sat down by a wooden post. He beckoned, and Jamie sat down next to him.

Jamie could not understand what was going on, as Aston gently put an arm around his shoulder and squeezed him.

He looked into Aston's face in surprise, and Aston gave him an almost rueful smile and then leaned forward and kissed Jamie, just once, on the forehead.

Jamie's thoughts were suddenly thrown into turmoil. Aston had never showed him any affection before. Why now?

As soon as he thought of the question, Jamie knew the answer. Willy. Willy was not here. No one was here. It was just the two of them in this corner of the stable. No one could see, and Jamie could not tell. And in this moment of privacy, Aston chose to hold him, to kiss him!

Jamie winced as his penis tried to stiffen in the cock cage, and Aston looked at it, smiled and shook his head, before slowly pulling off his shirt. Jamie gasped and winced again, but now Aston was undressing and there was that gorgeous body again.

Jamie tried to reprimand himself and tell himself that one kiss and a squeeze of the shoulders does not absolve Aston of his guilt in getting him enslaved. He must not fall in love with Aston.

But did Aston really know what his father had done? Maybe he didn't. He certainly never admitted that. Yes there had been a set-up, but the pony who had collided with his had been Sniper, ridden by Willy. Willy was in on it, but maybe – just maybe – Aston wasn't.

As the now naked Aston embraced him again, his hands exploring Jamie's naked flesh, tracing the curve of his back, finger brushing his thigh, and those lips… those lips so close, brushing his lips… Jamie knew that Aston could not have known. He was not in on it. Jamie was sure of it. Aston was his friend, had always been his friend. He would never have done this to him.

That evening Aston took Jamie as he had done so often before, but it had never been like this before. All was new, all was perfect, and even the pain from his caged cock, aching to escape its prison, only added to the moment of perfection when Jamie lay on his front and Aston's body went rigid as he pumped hot boy seed into him.

That night Jamie slept fitfully as he dreamed repeatedly of Aston, over and over and repeatedly was woken by the pain from his cock cage. Not since he had first been given it had he felt so horny. Aston, he thought. Oh,Aston.

***

The next day a somewhat tired pony boy waited to be tacked up for his morning chores, his thoughts fixed on the email he had sent a week before. Surely there should be some sign of an investigation by now? He had resigned himself to the need to find a new plan, and after the previous night he was not, in any case, so sure he wanted the plan to come to fruition.

It was as he thought this that a car he did not know arrived at the stables and someone climbed out, looked towards the stables and then strode towards the Culpepper's home.

Jamie could not know who that was, but he sensed that this, at last, was someone from the Gazette, come to speak to the Culpeppers about the race fixing allegations. He felt a new hope, tinged with a sudden sense of regret as he was harnessed up and sent off for a morning's work of back breaking drayage. Just when he had found something to look forward to, and just when he hoped to spend time alone with Aston again, here were the reporters. When the story broke, would they set him free? could they? would they send him away to another stable, far from Aston?

What had he done?

***

"Peter, so good to see you again," Aston's father greeted his cousin.

"I wish I could say the same," Peter said, getting straight to the point with little more than a rub of his head and a deep breath. "There has been an allegation of race fixing sent in to the gazette. Did you know anything about it?" Peter asked.

"No, by whom? where did it come from?" Mr Culpepper's face was stony, and he waved Peter to a seat.

"You are not going to like the answer to that. The IP address suggests your farm office, and the email was from the account of one Jamie Taylor."

Aston's father's eyes grew wide and then his face clouded. "You are sure?"

"Checked it twice," Peter confirmed. "No doubt about it. We had the the account closed down though when we realised it was from a legal slave. No need to worry about that – all evidence is gone."

"Do you think he knew about how you framed the Galton's in the previous case?"

Peter shook his head. "No, I don't think so. The boy probably just remembered that case and thought we could be good at investigating. Lucky for you he came to us and not the police. Now we can close this down quickly and quietly."

Aston's father pursed his lips. It had indeed been very fortunate that Jamie had gone to the Gazette, and not to the police. The boy was naive, but perhaps unsurprisingly so. He was just 12 after all. Well he would learn to be less naive, but also he had to be prevented from doing anything like this again. How had he managed to log in to a computer? All the passwords would have to be changed, but that was not the end of it.

Jamie Taylor should not exist anymore. There was only Loser now, a legal animal. He would never use a computer again, nor write again. That had to be dealt with.

For a while he considered having the boy put down. Technically he could do that. slaves had no rights, and if a slave was beyond economic use there were many owners who would consider doing so to save on the expenses.

He could do it but eyebrows would still be raised if he had an apparently fit and healthy 12 year old put down for no apparent reason. That would be an economic loss, and might seem unnecessarily cruel or vengeful. People might ask questions then – questions he had no wish to answer.

No, Loser would live, but still he had to be taught his place. For a slave to even consider entering an office would have earned him harsh enough punishment, but to have him attempt to have his master investigated for fraud, hacking his way onto a computer system to do so: those were crimes that demanded some special punishment Loser would never forget.

"Okay Peter, thank you for bringing this to me. I will have Loser taken to the vets right away. We need to deal with this quickly and finally."

"Finally?" Peter asked, a look of consternation on his face that made Aston's father smile. Even for a meddlesome slave, Peter could not completely subdue his feelings of a duty of care to his sources.

"He will live, don't worry," Aston's father said and Peter relaxed. "I would say he would live to tell the tale, but telling tales is one thing he will never do again."

And both men chuckled at that.

Chapter 3

"You said it was my choice!" Aston yelled, banging the table hard, anger written all over his face. His father looked equally angry, but he replied softly.

"That was then,Aston. Things have changed."

"No they haven't! Not like that they haven't. You just want to do it. You just want to break my pony."

"Your pony, yes. Yours," his father said, and his expression was darker again, and his anger turned on his son now. "Your pony, under your control. Your pony who is locked up in the stables all day when he is not working, so tell me, Aston, explain to me if you can, how in the name of fuck did your pony get into the farm office and use a computer?"

"You don't know it was him," Aston countered, arms crossed as he stared down his father.

"Don't be a total goofball, boy. Of course it was him."

Aston glared at his father, arms still crossed, saying nothing. He knew, of course.

He knew how Loser had managed to do it, and he knew it was his own stupid fault. He had left Loser to clean himself up, because he had wanted to get online with some of his friends. He had checked on him later, and locked him into the stables, but that must have been when he sneaked into the office. He, Aston, had foolishly, stupidly expected his slave to take care of himself and do nothing wrong. He knew Loser should know what to do, but he did not make sure he did it.

So yes, it was his fault, but that did not make it fair. Loser was his slave. He should be the one choosing the punishment.

"I am waiting,Aston. Tell me, whose fault it is that your pony thought it could still act like a human?"

Aston just glared.

"So we will take him to the vets, and make sure it never happens again. We will make sure that he will never again think of himself as human."

"You still don't need to…"

Mr Culpepper raised a hand and Aston stopped talking and glowered.

"It is happening as I say it is. Loser is going into the general herd. I have plans for him."

Plans, Aston thought. Plans for his pony boy. His pony no longer. He knew that he was being punished too. For letting Loser run loose, and for allowing this to happen, he was to give up his pony slave. He ought to be mad at Loser for that, but knowing what his dad's plans were, there was another feeling tugging at Aston's conscience, and he could not feel the anger he knew that Loser deserved.

"Do you understand me Aston?"

Aston glared, but gave a small nod. Yes, he understood.

"Dad…" his voice quivered a little, and Aston swallowed. He knew what his dad would think of his next suggestion, but he did not care. There was something he was going to do for Loser.

"Dad, I want the key to his cock cage."

Was that a sneer on his father's face? Aston set his own face. He was going to do this for Loser if nothing else. The two glared angrily at each other for seconds that felt like minutes, before finally Mr Culpepper removed a key from the bureau drawer.

"Half an hour, and then I want him locked back up and ready to go to the vets.

Half an hour, do you understand me?"

Aston grabbed the key and ran out towards the stables.

***

When Aston reached Loser's stall he stopped, and felt a lump form in his throat. There he was: Loser the stupid pony boy who was too useless to race. Loser who had lived up to his name in the Fremont cup, and then had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

Loser who was definitely going to lose a lot more than he bargained for now, but as he lifted his head and looked at Aston with those gorgeous eyes of his,Aston could not help but remember his one time friend that loser had once been.

He nearly lost his nerve, but Loser was looking at him, so Aston crossed the small stall and knelt down on the straw beside his former friend, and very gently he took the key and unlocked the slave's cock cage.

Loser looked at him with a mix of confusion and perhaps something else. Was that hope? Whatever it was, as the cage came free, Loser's small hairless penis lost no time whatsoever in standing to attention.

Aston smiled and stroked it and Loser made a kind of breathy whimper – not voiced because he had no working vocal chords, but still a definite sound. Aston pulled off his shirt and then wrapped his arms around the slave. Loser's confusion gave way to something else and his embrace was returned and in a moment the two boys were lying together, mouths pressed together as they kissed.

Aston only had half an hour, but in that half hour he was more alive than he had ever felt. He buried his regrets and instead concentrated on his pony boy, exploring his body, feeling the soft smooth skin under his fingers, discovering the curve of his thigh, his buttock, his scrotum.

Loser returned the ministrations, went to suck Aston's cock but the boy lifted the slave's head and shook his own head, and guided his hand to Aston's very hard cock instead. The two boys wrestled and danced together in an embrace that was shared and just for once, just this one time, had Loser loving him as an equal, or as near an equal as was possible.

Aston had never felt anything like the moment when Loser's passion spilled into spasms of pleasure and at the very same instant his body erupted into the most powerful orgasm he had ever felt as his speed spilled out into loser's hand and the boy's writhed together in that one moment of perfect pleasure that both would wish could last forever.

And then it was done, and gently Aston kissed his pony boy, ruffled his hair, stroked his cheek, and with his eyes moist and his vision blurring, he walked away, leaving Loser alone in his stall once more, the cage lying forgotten beside him.

***

They came for Jamie less than ten minutes later. A stablehand and Aston's father, looking furiously angry. Jamie suspected at once that they knew

about the allegations and he felt a cold chill of fear run through his hot and sweating body.

They unfastened him and led him away to their trailer, and the whole time Jamie was wondering what they knew. Yes he had sent the email to the reporter, but the reporter would not need to name his sources. He had specifically asked not to be named, so surely Aston and his father could not know the leak had come from him. They could not even suspect that he knew about the race fixing.

In any case it was not like they could ask him! Not like he could answer.

No, he told himself, if they were taking him away it was more likely it was to hand him over to the custody of someone else: the Upper Fremont Pony Club perhaps. Maybe that explained Aston's visit. Maybe Aston knew he was going to be set free, and so he was saying goodbye in his own way.

He told himself that this was good news. If Aston's father was this angry, then it must be because they had been found out. It must be because they knew that this would ruin them, and he would be vindicated. This was what he had hoped for.

He kept telling himself that until the vehicle stopped and he was unloaded, only to find himself at the vets. That was when he knew for certain that he was not about to be vindicated. He did not have good memories of the vet.

Jamie looked at the stable hand in alarm, but The man seemed barely able to look at him, and instead tugged at his harness, and pulled him forwards into the vets office.

Jamie felt sick with dread now. His last visit to the vet had been the terrible painful event that had taken away his hearing and his voice. The memory of that event would be etched into his memory forever, and he did not want to be here again. The place smelled badly of blood and pee, no doubt because so many of the pony boys brought here ending up peeing themselves in terror. Jamie might have done the same had he not been dehydrated from his work earlier.

When the vet came in there was a discussion, but Jamie was not privy to it.

Aston's father was specifying some work to be done, and the vet was querying it. The talk became quite animated before the vet shrugged, smiled and nodded in agreement. Only then did they strap Jamie down in the chair.

Why were they doing work on him? The answer came soon enough. Aston's father held up a piece of paper in front of his face, where he could read it.

‘No more computers,' it read.

Jamie looked at the words, and sick dread reached deep inside him. He tried to struggle now, but too late. His arms were strapped down at the wrists, and the vet was picking up a long instrument connected by a cord to his machinery, and on its end was a small circular saw.

Oh God, he thought. Oh God help me! How did they know about the computer?

Jamie knew at once. There was only one way. The reporter had told them. He did not know why, but he had been betrayed by the reporter, and now he thought about it he realised how stupid he had been. Of course the reporter would owe him nothing. Why would he care if Jamie ended up hurt, just so long as he got his story. Well Jamie hoped at least the story would still come out, but that was not going to save him now.

There was a sudden stab of pain and Jamie opened his mouth to shriek as the saw bit deep into his wrist and he felt it vibrate and grind against bone. Without vocal chords a shriek might sound like no more than a breathy whisper, but there was no doubt in the minds of anyone there about his agony as he writhed and struggled against his restraints.

As Jamie watched in horror the vet cut deep into his wrists, suctioning away blood, and carefully cauterising blood vessels as he went. A flap of skin was lifted and as he watched, a cruel pincer like device was pushed under the skin, and then with a grunt of effort, he tugged and there was a loud crack and Jamie's hand was pulled free.

He was not done though, because now he was screwing some kind of hook into the exposed bone. Each twist sent shards of pain needling up Jamie's arm and he cried out wordlessly, pissing himself as he lost all control of his pain wracked body, apparently not totally dehydrated after all.

Jamie's eyes had filled with tears, blurring his vision. He was struggling so hard that the restraints were cutting and bruising his skin, but there was no relief from the terrible excruciating pain as the vet turned to his other hand, repeating the procedure. When he had done this, he fetched something from a drawer, and Jamie recognised what he saw.

Hooves.

The hooves were pushed over the mounting brackets forced into Jamie's bones, and then fastened with bolts before the skin was formed to create a stump around their base, and then finally the whole join was wrapped in a white gauze dressing.

Jamie wished he could lose consciousness, but the vet seemed to be practiced in keeping him alert. He sobbed and tried to beg for mercy, his lips forming the words voicelessly. He writhed and cried, and Aston's father looked on, his anger plain in his face.

Jamie looked at his new hooves and tears ran freely down his face. The pain was still excruciating, and he had a far away feeling, like this must be happening to someone else. He was shivering all over, his skin clammy.

He expected to be whisked away to a recovery room now, but the vet was not done. He was picking up more instruments, and as Jamie looked on in horror, he turned to Jamie's genitals, still free from the cage that had imprisoned them for so long.

No! Please not that, he thought, but as he watched, the vet taped his penis up and away from his balls. Jamie felt sick, and he felt the dread again.

Please don't make me a gelding, he thought, and tried to convey his please in his eyes. Aston's father must have noticed because he opened his mouth and laughed.

When Aston had let him keep his balls at the last visit he thought that had been that. He had thought that Aston wanted him as a stallion, was happy to let him keep his jewels and go through puberty. He had imagined that even the cock cage might come off one day, as it had today, and that he might one day be allowed to orgasm again. It was one thought that had made his slavery bearable: that he might be able to enjoy sex – and especially sex with Aston.

If they were going to take his balls though, then all that would end here wouldn't it?

He was not quite sure, in fact. He had heard that some geldings could still orgasm, but had never really explored the issue. It did not matter though: who would let him orgasm if he had no balls?

Jamie looked at his bloodied hooves, put beyond use by the surgery, and then he looked down his body at his penis, and his small marble like balls underneath. Finally he looked into The vet's face, his eyes wide and pleading, his mouth forming words he could not speak. Please don't do this. Please.

The vet shook his head in disgust and moved closer with his scalpel. The knife bit into his scrotum and once again Jamie shrieked silently in agony as fresh debilitating pain filled his mind, and with it the certain knowledge of what was about to be taken from him. Jamie writhed again as the knife sliced away scrotal tissue and then he saw the vet holding a greyish purple orb, attached by a chord to his body. He applied a clamp and then deftly cut the orb away, dropping it in a dish beside him. Jamie looked in horror, knowing that he was looking at one of his testicles. It was tiny, and covered in only a little blood.

Jamie saw another clamp being fastened and the vet was seizing his other testicle. He felt sick as he saw the scalpel cut it away, and just like that, with the deft flick of a wrist, he was a gelding.

The testicle joined the other one in the dish, but the vet had not finished yet. He slipped the scalpel into Jamie's crotch once again and this hurt even more than the cutting into his scrotum. Jamie closed his eyes, unable to look any more, but feeling the knife cut deep around the base of his penis. The vet was taking that too, and the pain was unbearable. Jamie rocked, banged his head as hard as he could against the chair, struggled and writhed.

There was no let up to the pain though, not even when he felt a tug, a last cut and his penis was being lifted away to drop next to his testicles in the dish.

Only after that had happened, and as the vet started applying what looked lie a soldering iron to cauterise blood vessels, did Jamie finally and mercifully fall into unconsciousness.

***

Jamie was given several days off to rehabilitate. He did not know how many, as he spent some of the time in a state of semi delirium. The vet had given him antibiotics and padded and dressed his wound, so that when he came out of his delirium he was only aware of the dressings, and a plastic catheter through which he peed. He was back in the stables now, but the vet made occasional visits to check up on him, nodding, satisfied. Jamie did not get to see what was left under the bandages, but he did not need to know. It had all been cut off. There was nothing left there. He was a gelding, and even if geldings with cocks could get orgasms, he certainly could not. Aston's father had truly taken that from him. He would never feel that feeling ever again.

He fell into something of a depression at that point. What was the point of going on? Everyone thought he was a loser, he could not even race well as he had proven now.

He could not speak or hear, and he had hooves for hands. He could know no sexual pleasure, and his life was to be drudgery and humiliation from this point onwards. What was the point of going on?

He became listless, refused to eat, and the vet on his next visit prodded and poked and shook his head in dismay.

Aston visited him and hugged him and petted him. Jamie could see that he had not wanted this for Jamie, but that did not make it any easier. Jamie did not respond, so then the boy tried to bully him into responding, but Jamie ignored it all. What was the point? All was lost now.

They did at last remove his dressings however, and as it came off, Jamie looked down in fear at what the space between his legs would look like now. Fear turned to horror as he saw it for the first time, the last dressing peeled carefully away from the puffy pink and blue bruised flesh.

He had known, of course, that his cock and balls were gone, but what he had not expected was what the vet had done with his scrotum. Now, as he looked between his legs he saw two pink and puffy lips, and between that a hole cut into the muscle and tissue of his groin. The hole had been packed and dressed, so that it would not close up but would be large enough to take an erect cock.

The vet had made him into a mare!

Chapter 4

Aston's father watched his son tack up Scout and Sniper in the Upper Fremont Pony Club stables where they had been unloaded from the trailer, and then he went to see to Loser. Loser seemed to be surprised to be receiving his tack, and doubly so from Aston's father and not Aston. The truth was that Aston had asked him to try Loser out in the geldings race, now that he qualified for that. That had kept Aston happy, but his father had something else in mind.

"Mr Culpepper, may we have a word?"

Aston's father looked at the speaker, a race official holding a clipboard flanked by a police officer. His eyes narrowed and he looked towards the trailer where Aston was even now unloading Loser and leading him towards the Fremont stable block, naked and with his new cunt-boy slit on display to the world for the first time.

He had a bad feeling about this, and he narrowed his eyes, and considered how he had let Loser off too lightly. The stupid slave had messed everything up.

"Of course," he said, keeping his voice pleasant, businesslike. "Come on through to the office, I am dying for a coffee. What about you?"

"No, sir, this won't take long," the official said. "I just need to inform you that there is an inquiry panel meeting today to discuss a matter that concerns you. Your presence will be required at 1. 00 PM."

"That is a bit tricky. As you know, I have a pony racing in the midday race."

"Yes, yes. We have scheduled around that, but Mr Culpepper, I have to tell you that your presence is not optional."

The men walked away and Aston's father watched them go inwardly seething. That fucking stupid slave of his, he thought. He had messed everything up.

He did not know that was the problem of course. Peter was supposed to be covering things up, and all the loose ends should have been tidied up by now, but he could not shake the feeling that this inquiry must be about the allegations of match fixing. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched in a number.

"Peter," he said as the phone was answered, but it was not Peter who spoke now.

"I am sorry, Peter is not available today. May I take a message?"

Mr Culpepper rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand and looked around at the hubbub of race day.

"Can you tell me where Peter is please?" "I am afraid not. Who is calling please?"

Culpepper hung up, and pocketed his phone. That was damned odd. Why was someone else answering Peter's mobile phone? Where was he?

There were races to see to, but as Aston's father strode towards the stables, he felt unsettled, distracted. Something was not right here. He looked at his vehicle, trailer attached, and wondered whether he should just get in it and drive home. That was when he saw the police officer sitting on a seat across from the parking lot. He was not obviously watching the parking lot, but it was clear that he would be able to stop anyone trying to leave if he wished, and Mr Culpepper wondered whether that was deliberate or not.

God, he hated Loser.

***

"Hey Jack, how is Caliban?" Willy asked a boy outside the stables. Aston watched curiously as Jack looked up warily.

"What's it to you?"

"Don't be touchy. Look, I know you like to reward Caliban by letting him cum after a race, yes?"

Jack nodded. After the racing was over, if he had performed well, he and Jamie before him would let Caliban cum as a reward as incentive for future performance.

"Well today, how about you let him cum in one of Mr Culpepper's mares? No charge, no tricks. Just if Caliban deserves to cum, he can. Oh and I and a couple of mates might watch, but that would be okay right?"

"Which mare?"

"Loser," Will replied and Jack looked shocked, which was also how Aston felt, hearing Willy make the offer. He had no right! Loser was his mare!

Jack was thoughtful for a while and then nodded his ascent. "Fair enough," he said.

"Wait up," Aston shouted, striding over to the two boys, "you can't go offering Loser out like that, he is mine."

"Not any more," Willy said and his mouth was split in a wide grin. "Your dad suggested it and he said that he had taken Loser back from you. Something about not keeping a tight rein on him."

"I keep a tight rein on him," Aston growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Then you are not going soft on him?"

"I am not soft on him!"

"Your dad said you have fallen in luuuurve," Willy said, his face splitting in a goofy grin as he drew out the word and then giggled. Jack snorted and Aston glared at them both.

"I am not in love with him, dick head."

"Yeah you are, and that is why you want to marry him… oh I mean her. I forgot she is a mare now."

Aston kicked out at Willy, but Willy dodged and ran off, laughing. "Come on Jack, let's go to the fair and leave Aston with his girlfriend."

Aston flipped Willy the finger, and then went to find his dad, who was unhitching the trailer from their truck.

"Dad, why the fuck is Willy offering Loser out for Caliban?"

Mr Culpepper looked up from his work, annoyance at the interruption plain on his face. He wiped his greasy hands on a rag and stood up, facing his son.

"Watch your language Aston, you haven't forgotten how to be civilised, I hope.

Loser is giving Caliban a free ride because he, or she, is a mare now and that is all it is good for. Also, because if Caliban cums in it, then we can extract some of that cum, and freeze it, and who knows whether that could be worth something one day."

"You want to keep his cum?"

"There is talk of a stud breeding programme. Nothing definite yet but… imagine if they get a cure for the oestrovirus, and there are suddenly more girls growing up again?

Nothing would happen overnight of course, but the laws could all change again, and there might be fewer slaves coming on the market. What then? If you can't enslave free boys, the thinking is you could breed your own slaves. Getting hold of the seed of all the best stallions in the country could make a lucrative business."

"But it would take years!" Aston objected. His father laughed and placed a hand on his son's shoulder.

"Yes, it would. That is why no one is doing it yet, and that is why getting in first will set us up for the future. It is an investment,Aston. It is all an investment."

"But why didn't you tell me? Why did you get Aston to offer Loser. Loser is

mine."

"Was yours. Now it is just part of the Culpepper general stock. " "You should have told me."

"Aston, listen to yourself. Loser is not yours. You had him and you messed up

and the stupid animal went and messed all kinds of things up. You have no idea what he did, and all because you were too lazy to clean up your own animal."

Aston smarted, but he struck a defiant pose, placed his hands on his hips and glared at his father. Mr Culpepper looked at his son and sighed, shaking his head.

"Aston, you have to understand something. Everything I did, I did for you. You are my only son, my only child. The farm, the stock, the business, everything will be yours one day.

"We were in financial trouble. Did you know that? We were overstretched, and you kept losing to Caliban and Jamie Tyler. There was not enough prize money coming in, and there had been the drought that messed up the farming income. The quarry was barely profitable, and we had all this stock to feed.

"I nearly sold up. Did you know that? We could have sold the farm and all the stock, and I could have got some stupid job as a nine to five wage slave, but what we had, what we have… that was nearly finished. We needed a win."

"And I got you a win. I beat Jamie and you won a huge bet," Aston said, although now he thought about it, if money was that tight, what would have happened if his dad had lost that bet?

"Yes,Aston. I won, but there is something you should know. I didn't tell you at the time, because I didn't want you to be involved, but I think you need to know."

Aston looked at his father, his brow furrowing, and he waited.

"You see, Jamie was never going to win that race. It was all arranged. That mishap he had with Willy? well that was not an accident."

Aston looked at his father, his eyes widening. He felt a sudden rush of feelings at this revelation. His father was saying they had cheated? He had not won the race fair and square? Jamie had been shafted? Willy was in on it?

Race fixing. He had heard of that. There had been that huge scandal a year or two back. His dad had fixed the race?

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked at last.

"The fewer who know, the better," his father replied. "But Willy knows?"

"Obviously."

"Willy knew and I didn't?"

"Willy is more astute than you think. He and his dad are sneaky bastards. " "What does that make you?"

Mr Culpepper held up his hands, accepting the rebuke, and Aston seethed quietly in front of him.

"But don't you see,Aston, it is all for you. Tyler and his son had to be out of the way if we were going to make serious money out of this business.

"So you let me have him and then… then you had him nutted? And his hands? what is that all about?"

"Don't you see,Aston? He found out! He found out what had been done and he tried to go public. That is why I had to take his hands. We have to make sure he can never do anything like that ever again."

Aston wanted to place hands over his ears and not listen any more. Sure he had always had a love hate relationship with Jamie, when he had still been human. Sure he hated the way Jamie kept beating him, and how cocky he was, but still they had been two boys growing up with the same passion. Hearing now what had been done to him in his name, he wanted to unhear everything. He wanted to go back in time to before he knew any of this.

"Why did you have to nut him though? I never wanted him nutted."

"I told you. I need a mare so we can start collecting cum from the stallions. " "And that is all?"

"No," his father admitted, looking at his son with a softer expression now, like he regretted what he was about to say. "No, there was another reason. You,Aston. You were getting too close to it. You were starting to think of it as a boy. I could tell what you were thinking. I know you had feelings for it."

"What is wrong with that?" Jamie hissed, his anger plain in his stare.

"What is wrong with it, is you are not going to grow up gay," Mr Culpepper said, his voice also now brimming over with barely repressed anger. "You are my only son, so you are damned well going to marry some girl and make her happy and have kids of your own. I had a nice match in mind, if only you would spare her a glance. JD even owns her own stallion so you would have made a great couple, and her dad would make a great business partner."

Aston's draw dropped open and then closed again. Of all the things he had expected his father to say, that had not been it. Aston knew what he liked, and what he liked was boys – he had known that for a long time. Having Loser suck him off was a long held fantasy realised. He had long wanted Jamie, and had been happy to have him as a slave. He had emptied his load in him so often now he had stopped even thinking about it being gay. It was just him – how he was.

And that should not be a problem. Not in this day and age when there were not enough girls to go around. Being gay was positively encouraged, and gay couples could adopt kids – so to hear his father spouting an archaic view like this, just blew his mind. He did not know what to say, or how to answer.

His dad said it was all about him, that it was all done for him, but that was not true really. He saw that now. Dad had done this for himself. He wanted to secure his own legacy – the propagation of his own genes. Aston was just a tool to make that happen, and so was Loser.

At last Aston turned and walked away, not uttering another word.

***

Despite the argument, this was a race day and Aston slowly succumbed to the excitement of the day. The fair was here of course, and there were races to run. The enjoyment may have been tarnished by the morning's revelations, but it could not be chased away entirely.

He had a qualifier to run on Scout, and he went through the motions of preparing his mount, but when he climbed into the saddle he felt a familiar thrill chasing the morose, unsettled feeling away. Sitting in the saddle of his muscular mount, holding his racing crop, having people staring at him, pointing and waving, he knew that this was where he was meant to be.

Dad would come round on the gay thing. He had to. As for Loser? Well he had never wanted him nutted. He had started to fantasise about Loser and him having sex together more and more, and in his fantasies he would always allow Loser to cum after he had served his master well. He had liked those fantasies, and even though they were now gone, Loser could still serve him.

So by the time the qualifier started, Aston was back in his groove, and he won the race easily, but took care not to overtax his mount. He knew what he was doing, and today he was going to be the undisputed champion of the cup tie.

"Nice run," Jack said grudgingly as Aston climbed off Scout. Aston looked at him and then smiled.

"Yeah, and I am going to beat you on Caliban in the final. " "Like hell. Caliban is the best."

"Was the best, and anyhow, not with you riding him."

"You will see," was all Jack could come up with, but Aston just smiled and they carried on talking about the races and other mounts and animal care and TV and stuff as Aston rubbed Scout down and tethered him up.

With that done, they set off to the fair together and Willy joined them there.

The three boys spent an enjoyable day amongst the stalls and on the rides.

Aston was finishing off some cotton candy, and licking his sticky fingers when he saw his father. He looked distracted and when Aston called to him he seemed to look past his son as he answered.

"Did you see me, dad? I qualified in first place on Scout. I'm gonna win the cup again for sure this time round, what do you think?" Aston's enthusiasm bubbled over, his earlier altercation all but forgotten in his excitement.

"Yeah, sure thing," Aston's father replied, but although the words were right, there was no enthusiasm in them, and he was still not looking at his son. Aston followed his gaze towards the stables and frowned.

"Dad, is something up?"

That seemed to snap his father's attention back for a second, and he smiled and ruffled Aston's hair. Aston frowned again, because he did not much like having his hair ruffled like a little kid. He was too old for that now. Still, he was glad his dad was actually looking at him now.

"No, no. Everything is fine. Hey it really is great about the race. You show them that you are the best rider out there."

"And there are no surprises like special elimination races today and huge bets?" Aston asked, and it was like his dad winced.

"Not today. Just a straight cup tie. You go out and bring it home. Make your dad proud again."

"Sure will," Aston said and then his dad was walking off towards the stable block and Willy was coming over.

"What was that all about?"

Aston shrugged and looked at Willy.

"No idea, but come on, let's have a go on that new ride, Speed… unless you are too much of a wuss."

And the boys ran off back to the fair to spend the rest of their money on rides and candy along with Jack and another boy, Shane, who was going to be riding that frisky new mount, Callum, in the final. Callum who Aston had seen waiting in the stables earlier. Callum who bore the scars of his whipping from when he had thrown his mount in the last races. Aston did not envy whoever would be rinding him.

***

Aston sized up the competition as he waited on the start line. There was Jack on Caliban, looking nervous. Caliban was stamping a foot and looking straight ahead, his cock hard and pointing forward like a sign post. Beside him was Shane on Callum. Callum was not as frisky as Aston had been expecting. Now his head was down, his cock encased in cold steel to prevent it getting hard, and Shane, his rider, was having a hard time keeping his head up and ready. Looking at him, Aston was surprised he had made the final at all.

Willy was on Sniper, twin brother of Aston's own mount, Scout. Sniper was definitely more than capable of winning this race, but Willy, for all his dad's confidence in him, lacked experience in handling, and Aston could see that in the way he carried himself, and his weight distribution on his mount. Other than these there were no mounts that Aston thought stood a chance of winning.

The stallions were all set, and then the flags dropped and the race started. Aston kicked Scout hard and laid in with his crop, hearing a satisfying thwack as it landed on his mount's rump. Scout shot forward with a burst of speed that showed why he was such a fine animal, and Aston felt a burst of pride as he immediately took the lead.

Willy was close by, Sniper responding as well as Scout, and already Jack had fallen back on Caliban, running close to Shane on Callum. Aston was not fooled though, knowing that Caliban was a good finisher. He did not have the raw early acceleration but Jamie had always seemed to eke out a strong finish that would have him marching up the field to victory.

Not today though, and Aston laid in extra hard on the crop. "Come on Scout, come on. Faster. You can go faster."

Scout responded to the crop and the tone, even though he could not understand the words, and Aston's lead over Willy grew. They passed the first furlong and then the second, and Scout's skin was slick with sweat and his breathing ragged as he drooled around his bit. Aston hit him again, not caring how raw and red the pony boy's butt was now.

"Come on! Keep it up! Go faster!" he roared and looked back to see that Willy had already dropped behind Caliban. Sure enough Caliban was in second place on the fourth furlong marker, and there was a furlong to go. Aston kicked and whipped Scout. He was not going to lose to Caliban ever again.

"Come on. Come on…" and as he looked behind he saw Willy drawing too close to Shane and Callum was spooked. There was a flailing of legs and arms in the dust as they collided and went sprawling. See, his dad knew nothing. Willy was just too green to be riding the big mounts. As for Callum: he was clearly too flighty to race.

Aston thought all that but only for a second, because here was Caliban coming up on him, and the final line was still away off. There was a roar from the crowd, and Aston beat Scout hard with the whip, kicking and screaming into the mount's punctured eardrums.

"Go on, go on, GO ON!"

He thought he had lost it. There was Caliban on his shoulder as the line beckoned, ready to slingshot past, but somehow Scout found a last reserve of energy and at the final moment he threw himself forward, crossing the line before dropping to his knees. Jamie jumped clear and threw a fist in the air. He had done it. He was the champion!

Jack came over, offered him a hand.

"Not bad, loser," Aston said to Jack with a grin. Jack shrugged.

"I came second, that's good enough. Loser is the one who is gonna get Caliban's cock in him now."

Aston's smile faltered only for a moment before he slapped Jack's back. "Sure he is."

***

Willy got together some of Jamie's former friends and they gathered as a grinning Caliban, with a very hard looking cock was led to the stables, where Loser was being brought out. Jack was crooning to Caliban, teasing the stallion's cock, which was dripping with precum, before pointing at Jamie and miming what the stallion was to be allowed to do.

Caliban looked surprised. Never before had he been given a mare to play with, and when he saw the mare he recognised who it was too. He looked again at Jack uncertainly but the boy nodded and nudged him on.

Caliban needed no second bidding. He went over to his former master and held his body. He might have thought to explore it a little, but Caliban was inexperienced in such things and sex crazed at this moment. Loser looked like he was ready to resist, but Caliban picked him up and dropped him on a hay bale and then to raucous calls of amusement, he pushed Jamie's legs open and pushed his cock into the mare's virgin hole.

Loser winced, his back arching as the stallion thrust, again and again. It did not take long, however, before Caliban ejaculated, his face contorted with pleasure as he pumped his load into Loser's constructed cunt, and only slowly and reluctantly withdrew from the dripping hole to be led away and washed down. He knew Caliban had recognised him. He could see it in his former pony's eyes, and the humiliation was so much greater knowing that Caliban had enjoyed fucking his former owner this way.

Chapter 5

MAN CHARGED WITH RACE-FIXING

By Michael Godfrey

A MAN has been charged with offences relating to race-fixing following a contest at the Upper Fremont Pony Club this Spring.

Following an investigation by the Fremont State Police Gaming Enforcement Division, Martin Culpepper was arrested as he attempted to leave the same pony club after Saturday's races. The arrest followed an earlier arrest of well known racing journalist, Peter Evangeline. Culpepper was charged yesterday and Evangeline is said to be co-operating with the police inquiry.

The main charge is that a jockey, acting under the orders of Culpepper and riding one of his mounts, used an electronic 'buzzer' – a hand held shock device – to unsettle his mount before deliberately mis steering so as to cause his mount to collide with the race favourite, Jamie Taylor on his champion steed, Caliban.

Documents have come to light that show the loss by Taylor was a deliberate act in what was to be a total elimination race. Financial records show Culpepper made heavy wagers at multiple locations on the outcome of this race, and also placed a pre-bid on the loser who he acquired as a slave.

First place was taken in this contest by his son, Aston Culpepper, riding his father's own mount, Scout. Riders of other Culpepper mounts in the same race appear to have been in on the scheme, including the rider of Sniper, who cannot be named for legal reasons, and is believed to be under age for criminal prosecution.

A court order has frozen all Culpepper assets pending the resolution of this case. An application for compensation has already been launched by Quinn Taylor, owner of Caliban and formerly father of Jamie Taylor.

The Upper Fremont Pony Club have also levied a substantial fine, and it is not thought that the Culpepper assets will be sufficient to cover their liabilities should Culpepper be found guilty.

Administrators have been appointed for the estate, and Culpepper stock is being transferred by them to the Upper Fremont Pony Club, where it can be cared for appropriately. The club has already expressed its desire to permanently acquire the stock in lieu of fine payment.

Asked how the alleged offences came to light, police confirmed they were acting on a tip off but did not say where this had come from. Evidence of wrongdoing has been discovered from financial records and from documents recovered at the Culpepper farm and at the Upper Fremont Pony Club.

A spokesman for the club said, "The Upper Fremont Pony Club takes all allegations of match fixing extremely seriously, and we will do everything in our power to ensure such malpractice is stamped out."

***

CULPEPPER TRIAL: SENSTATIONAL NEW REVELATIONS

By Michael Godfrey

THE trial of Martin Culpepper in the race-fixing scandal saw sensational new revelations today when former racing journalist Peter Evangeline took the stand. Under a plea bargain agreement, Evangeline has already pleaded guilty to a string of misdemeanours regarding the taking of payments to lodge false or derogatory news stories. In return he was granted immunity form prosecution on the fraud and corruption charges, provided he gave evidence against Culpepper.

Making good on that promise, Evangeline provided full details of a string of frauds going back ten years, and blew the lid off the murky dealings of Culpepper's shady business empire. He also implicated the Culpepper jockeys in his evidence, claiming that "they were all in on it," and that they frequently conspired to throw races in support of other riders on their own team.

He even claimed that this was continuing right up until his arrest, with the last race that his son won being fixed by the deliberate failure of the youngest Culpepper jockey, who cannot be named for legal reasons.

At this point Culpepper interrupted the proceedings by standing up and shouting that his son had nothing to do with the fixing. His lawyer quickly requested an adjournment but the damage was done, and the judge ruled that Culpepper's outburst could be regarded as an admission of guilt as to his own part in the allegations.

After this the lawyers moved to closing arguments and the jury is expected to retire tomorrow, after the conclusion of the arguments, to consider their verdict.

Culpepper's son, Aston, was in court and witnessed the proceedings but declined to comment after the day's session concluded.

Chapter 6

The Fremont Herald

GUILTY: VERDICT OF CULPEPPER TRIAL. SENTENCING DRAMA

By Michael Godfrey

AFTER just three hours of deliberation the jury in the Martin Culpepper race-fixing case has returned their verdict. Guilty of all charges.

In sentencing, the judge stated: "Your actions have brought very grave dishonour on the world of racing, and you have brought ruin on yourself and all you loved. You will have to live with the shame of what you have done forever. Moreover the consequences cannot be fully undone.

Jamie Taylor was a victim of your fraud, malice and greed, but a slavery order cannot be undone. It is thus with a heavy heart that I sentence you to 10 years in jail."

The judge then went on to order that Culpepper's assets all be seized and liquidated to meet the payments on his debts and to create a compensation fund for Quinn Taylor and other victims of the fraud.

In a surprise move, the judge ordered his son, Aston Culpepper, be sold with the other assets, saying, "Your actions took Quinn Taylor's only son from him and made him a slave, so now your own son will meet the same fate. In making this order I keep it in mind that Aston Culpepper was also implicated in the race-fixing allegations, and unlike his cousin, is old enough to be held criminally responsible for his actions."

Aston Culpepper, who was again in the public gallery watching proceedings was then seen to make a dash for the door. He managed to slip past one of the guards but was apprehended by police moments later as he ran through the lobby. He was then detained in a cell until his father's sentencing was complete before being ordered before the court.

As he was shouting and showing contempt for the court, Aston Culpepper was gagged and then the slavery order was formally ratified by the judge. Watchers in the court were then able to see him being stripped of his clothes and led away.

***

The Fremont Herald

UPPER FREMONT PONY CLUB ACQUIRES CULPEPPER ESTATE

By Michael Godfrey

THE Upper Fremont Pony Club today reached a settlement with the administrators of disgraced trainer and businessman, Martin Culpepper. All stock, as well as the land of the Culpepper ranch has been purchased for an undisclosed sum, along with Culpepper's ex son. The agreement releases capital that will be disbursed to Culpepper's creditors or retained in the compensation fund to reimburse his victims.

Chapter 7

Aston shivered as a key rattled in his cell door and it opened. He blinked in the sudden light that filled the blackness that had become his home for the last couple of days. He was not sure exactly how many days because there was no way to record the passage of time but he had fallen into an uneasy sleep at what he supposed must be night time at least twice.

There had been plenty of time to think, and Aston had decided that he was not going to be like Loser had been when he had been in this situation. He had recalled the way Loser begged and pleaded, and how he so desperately didn't want to be a slave. Loser had been pathetic, and

Aston thought then that he had deserved to be a slave, and even now, knowing how he had been shafted, he thought Loser was probably better off that way.

He was not going to be like Loser. Aston knew he had been made a slave now.

The judge had signed the orders and that was that. There was no appeal, and even if there had been, what possible appeal could he make? His father had been sent to prison, and the money was all gone. Who would take him on? his uncle, who was lucky to be escaping with his own son, Willy? He would want nothing to do with Aston now for fear of what it would do to his business.

No, Aston was resigned to his fate. He had thought it all through in the time he had been held, and he had come to accept that there was no escaping his slavery, so he was not going to beg for freedom like a pitiful scared copy of Jamie Taylor. He was better than that.

He looked into the face of the person in front of him and recognised Cedric Bolard, the administrator of the Upper Fremont Pony Club. Bolard wore a tight smile as he looked down at him.

"God, this place stinks," he said by way of greeting. Aston was aware of it, but that was what happened when you were locked away for two days with nowhere to do your business but the floor. Still the words had the effect of punctuating Aston's new status. He did not speak at once. He was not going to beg.

"So Aston, it seems another champion jockey is to be added to our pony stock. I am sure you appreciate what this means."

Aston nodded, "Yes sir," he replied and avoided direct eye contact, lowering his head. It hurt him to act submissively. Aston had never felt remotely submissive in his life, and this was the first time he had not made eye contact with Bolard.

"We will get you fitted up for a collar and then have you branded. The vet will be here in an hour to deal with the other alterations," Bolard said, and Aston's heart raced, because he knew well enough what those alterations would mean. To be made legally an animal he had to lose the power to make human speech or to understand it. Just like his own mount… former mount…

Scout. He would have his eardrums punctured and his vocal chords severed. This was the last hour he could say something, and so he knew he had to do it quickly and make it good, before Bolard decided to gag him.

"Sir, if you make me a racing stallion, I will promise to win more races than Caliban or Scout ever did."

Bolard looked at him, and Aston swallowed. He knew that what he had said could sound like an attempt to bargain – of course that was what it was – and slaves had no right to make bargains, but he hoped that Bolard would see the business sense in what he offered. He hoped so, because the alternative to being a stallion put his balls at risk, and he sure as hell did not want to end up as a gelding.

"And you know this how?"

"I know how to run and I understand the races sir, and if… if I had enough incentive you know I could push myself harder than any of those other animals."

"Animals like you," Bolard said and Aston winced, but the administrator stroked his chin thoughtfully before adding, "what incentives did you have in mind?"

Aston knew the importance of what he said now. If he over-reached himself he would get nothing. He knew Bolard was a no nonsense administrator who could strike a hard bargain and would not give favours for free. If he asked for freedom he could pretty much guaranty that he would be doing drayage for the rest of his life, but if he asked for something that Bolard might give, and that really would be an incentive to him…

Aston nearly choked up at what he was going to suggest. He hated the idea and could not totally shake the though that Bolard would not have been so cruel, but the rational part of his mind told him that yes, Bolard would be, and this was his best and only chance of entering his life of slavery on his own terms.

"You should lock me in a cock cage," Aston said, closing his eyes as he said this. "You should make sure I can never cum except… except if I win a race… just then, you would take the cage off for an hour, and let me have the mare. Let me have Loser for one hour whenever I win and I will win every race I can. Every race ever."

Bolard looked at him thoughtfully, and then very slowly started to nod. "So, you like Loser do you?"

There was no point denying it, although Aston knew the information could be used against him. If he was ever going to get to play with Loser ever again, then this was the way it had to be. He nodded, and then added, "I love him," admitting it out loud for the first time in his life.

When had he started to love him? he did not know, but something had changed and Aston could not contemplate life without Loser. Bolard might as well have him put down if they were to be separated. He did not say that though, as anything that sounded like a threat would surely just lead to punishment. Luckily he knew Bolard well and Bolard knew him. It did not need saying, because they both knew a slave with incentive to perform would make a far better stallion than one forced to do so.

"Okay, I think we can do that, as a trial. Aston, you will be trained as a Stallion and you will not cum again until you win you first race. Then you will get your hour with Loser like you ask. Other times you will be allowed to sleep in the same stall as him when you perform well in training, but always with your cock cage on, which we will make extra tight.

"Oh, and Aston, no stallion wins all the time, so to concentrate your mind, if you lose a race I am going to have the race winner's name tattooed on your other butt cheek – the one we don't brand. Every stallion named on your butt is going to be allowed to take you, not just after the race, but whenever their owner allows it. The owners too will have free access to your butt.

"I know you, Aston. I know you are not a submissive type, but if you don't win races for me you will end up being the boy whore of every pony boy slave you ever rode on or against.

"And let's just up the stakes a touch more. When I run out of room on your butt to tattoo names, if you are still not a champion then you can say good bye to Loser. You will never see him again. Either you or he will be sold to a different stable, and you will spend the rest of your life on drayage… if you are lucky."

Aston swallowed and nodded. This was not a negotiation, he knew. He could not protest the terms. Bolard was right, no champion won every time, and he knew full well he would not become a champion overnight. He had to get fitter and stronger first, and he just hoped he really could do it. He would not have bet on himself beating Scout or Caliban.

Bolard was undoing his belt now.

"One more thing. We need to give you a wash before the vet comes, and then… then I am going to be the first person to rape your pretty butt. Never been raped before, have you?"

Aston swallowed and shook his head. "No sir," he confirmed. He had dished it out many a time but he had never been forced to take it.

***

When the vet arrived, Aston nearly lost his resolve not to beg for mercy. He was led into a room that was familiar enough because he had seen Scout and other animals in here in the past. He had never once considered that he would be the animal being made to lie back on the operating bench though. He closed his eyes and swallowed and then climbed up where he was ordered, wincing because his butt hole was extremely sore from where Bolard had just raped him.

The rape had been more humiliating for being done right out in the open. A stable hand had hosed him down, and then they had spread him over a stool and Bolard had raped him in front of all the laughing stable hands. Plenty of the pony boys had seen too, looking curiously at the new addition to the stables who was gasping from the pain. Still he had not cried out, even though it hurt like hell. He had not cried out but taken it like a man and when it was done, and Bolard pulled out, his seed dripping from Aston's hole, he had slapped his butt, and pushed him towards the vets office.

"God I wanted to do that to you for so long," Bolard said with a laugh as he pulled on his jeans. "Not bad though, you took it bravely. I am going to enjoy doing that to you some more."

Once dressed, Bolard had followed Aston into the veterinary room.

"So Aston, we can't keep calling you Aston, can we. We need a clean break with the past I think. We need a good pony name for you, and I am going to tell it to you while you can still hear me. I have decided from now on you will be Flash."

Aston took the name in, his face colouring. He was Aston. He would always think of himself as Aston, and nothing anyone did to him was going to take that away from him, but at the same time he knew his choices were gone now. He knew that soon enough he would be just another part of the Upper Fremont Pony Club's substantial stock holding.

Dad, what did you do to me, he thought.

"Do you have any last words?"

Did he? He had a whole bunch that he wanted to say, 'fuck you' being top of the list, although he also had a sudden urge to confess his feelings for Loser, to tell this man that he loved him and wanted to be with him, sappy as that sounded. Still he held his tongue. He had an agreement. It was not a good agreement but it was something, a small comfort, and he did not want to blow it now.

"No? well then, all I can say is good bye Aston," Bolard said, and then he leaned closer to the boy and whispered in his ear. "I did so like fucking you. I think I will do it again often. Such a pretty boy."

Bolard leaned even closer and kissed Aston, taking his time over it. "Aston Culpepper dies here now. Goodbye Aston, and hello Flash."

The surgery hurt worse than he expected, but even worse than the pain was the noise when the probes entered his ears. He could hear a buzz and a whir and the metal probe slipping down his ear canal like it was being magnified through a PA system. He felt a sudden terror and then there was a loud bang, like a gun shot, and then a strange and sickening disorientation as he felt as if his ear had been stuffed full of clay, so that the sound was dulled to nothing.

Again the roar from the other ear now, and with a sickeningly loud bang, Aston's hearing was destroyed forever, It was as though he was plunged underwater and all he could hear was a muffled echoing like he was swimming in a public pool. He looked in terror at the vet who was withdrawing the bloody probe and wiping it on a piece of gauze before replacing it in his tray and selecting another. Aston knew this one – he had helped this very same vet use this very same implement on Loser's voice. What he did not realise was how much it hurt when the tube was pushed down his throat, carefully manoeuvred to the right location and then engaged to render his vocal chords useless for making sound. It hurt and he felt his throat bubble with blood that was suctioned away until the wound was cauterised with the keyhole electrical nodes. For a while it felt like he was drowning, and Aston could hardly contain his terror.

After that he was given some recovery time before he was taken out to be branded. The vet could have branded him inside, but as Aston was taken out to the whipping post of the Upper Fremont Pony Club, he saw now why it was being done out here. There, watching, were various people he knew. Former school friends, other jockeys, even Mister Taylor, all come to see the fall of the son of of Martin Culpepper, the fraudster.

He was strapped to the posts and shivered in terror. He could not hear what was being said now but he could tell that Bolard was speaking and people were nodding and looking at him, naked and tacked up. He had to wait a long while before the electric branding iron was brought and then quickly pushed against the bare flesh of his bum.

Aston shrieked with pain, but without working vocal chords, the sound was just that breathy wordless hiss that all the pony boys made when distressed. He tried to twist away and tugged so violently on his restraints that his wrists bled, but nothing would diminish the terrible pain in his bum as he permanently took the brand of the Upper Fremont Pony Club in his flesh.

He pissed himself then, and was at once ashamed. He had been convinced he would take this like a man, but when it came down to it the pain was too much and he

could not stop himself. He saw people laughing, he saw JD pointing and holding her nose. He wanted to shout, to rage, and most of all he wanted something to take the pain away from his bum, but there was no relief, and he was left there to hang for an hour before someone dressed and packed the brand so as to ensure it had the best possible shape.

When evening came they finally let him down, and then one of the mares was brought out. Aston saw Loser for the first time since his dad had been arrested, and Loser looked at him uncertainly. For a moment Aston thought loser would run, but as he hobbled over to his former property, and put his arms around him, Loser responded with those damned hooves dad had given him. Aston held him and wept into his shoulder and Loser held him back for the longest time, and he cried too.

Loser's tears made Aston weep more, but it was a release still, because it told Aston all he needed to know. He loved Loser, and Loser loved him too. The two boys held each other, both grieving for what had happened to them both, but now they shared it.

Nothing would tear them apart, Aston told himself. They may just be animals now, but love was stronger than that. He would win those races, he would be the greatest stallion ever to have entered the Upper Fremont Pony Club. He would not fail, because to fail would be to lose Loser, and nothing would ever take him from Loser ever again.

Aston squeezed Loser and started to weep all over again into his shoulder.

Chapter 8

Aston stood on the starting line, stamping a foot nervously. On his back was Willy, enjoying the twist of fate that allowed him to ride and to fuck his ex cousin at will. Willy had been riding Aston from almost his first race, and Aston already bore two tattoos from his first two cup ties. He was painfully aware of the words permanently marked into his butt.

'These Stallions have beaten me and made me their bitch:' and underneath that, ‘Caliban – XII Fremont' and ‘Scout – V North Acre' neatly inscribed across his butt cheek on two lines.

Bolard had not said how much he would write on Aston's butt each time he lost a race, and when Aston had seen it after that first loss he had felt a terrible sense of despair.

There was only room for one more name now. One more loss and that was that – he would not be a champion stallion, he would just be another Loser. He had to win this race, and he had to hope that Willy finally knew what he was doing.

Caliban looked at him, Jack mounted on him already, and Aston could see the Stallion smile behind his bit. Of course he smiled. Caliban had fucked him right after that first failure, right out in the open, and Aston was reminded of Loser being given to his former mount. Caliban had had both him and Loser now, and Aston was angry. It should not be allowed. It was not going to happen again.

Soon enough they were lining up and although he could not hear the starter's orders, Aston knew the race was started when Willy kicked and his crop came down hard on Aston's butt, and with a grunt of effort, Aston flew forward and ran flat out, determined to win the most important race of his life.

He ran hard and furious, head down, trusting Willy's guidance to keep him on the best path. He responded to Willy's kicks, his demand for more speed, the crop landing again and again over his butt and thigh. He dug deep into every reserve of strength he could muster, and when that was exhausted and he thought his heart would give out, he thought of Loser and ran harder again, not sure how he remained upright, not sure what was driving him other than sheer bloody mindedness. He had to win. He had to, he had to.

And he did win. He staggered across the line and collapsed, Willy rolling off him, but his cousin was too jubilant to whip him more. He had won. He had done it.

When Loser was brought to him and his cock cage finally came off, Aston was in tears and Loser was too and the two of them did not care that they were being watched by stable hands and pony boys alike, because all that mattered was that at last they could share the most perfect moment possible, as Aston finally joined his body with Loser's and the two of them hugged, caressed, kissed and embraced until at last but all too soon, Aston's hot seed rushed from his body and into Loser's in the most perfect moment of ecstasy that any boy or pony boy slave could possibly know.

If time could be stopped, Aston would have stopped it in this moment and let the moment last forever, as he held Loser… Jamie, in his arms and Jamie hugged him back and held him.

***

Jamie could not enjoy sex – all that had been taken from him – and there was little enough else to care about in life these days, but the one thing he did care about was Aston. He watched Aston being raped by the free boys and his heart went out to him, because he knew how it felt. So too when first Caliban and then Scout had been given free rein. Jamie did not blame Aston for anything – he was convinced that his friend had not known what was going on with the race fixing.

That made Aston a victim too, and he was a victim that Jamie had come to love. He missed being dominated by Aston, so when he finally won his race, for Jamie it was the most perfect dream come true – to have Aston fuck him like he was a girl.

Jamie never thought of himself as a girl, despite the modification he had been given. He was still a boy, and a boy who had wanted Aston for a long time -

since long before that elimination race. Even when they cut his balls off, he still wanted Aston, he was just unable to enjoy sex with him. He still wanted Aston to hold him, to dominate him, to wrap his hot and sweaty and perfect body around him, and that is what happened now.

Aston's fingers explored his flesh, closed on the second brand Jamie had been given, when he had been transferred into the ownership of the Upper Fremont Pony Club. For a moment his fingers remained there, hovering on their shared mark of ownership, but then they disappeared inside his boy hole and Jamie gasped from an unexpected flicker of pleasure, a kind of tension he did not know he had. And then the boy had thrust inside him, and Jamie felt a shame that, because it was Aston, was somehow pleasing too. He knew people were watching, and could feel their disdain, and could see their mocking glances.

None of that mattered because it was Aston: Aston was the one thrusting inside him, fucking him like he was a girl.

Aston's orgasm was a perfect shared moment even though Jamie could have no orgasm of his own. It was like he could mentally share Aston's pleasure, and feel the memory of the passion that had once burned through him too, as he was held in that tight embrace, wishing that Aston would never let him go.

Jamie was always very conscious of what had been taken from him, in that moment and forever after, but now that Aston was a winner he was allowed to share more time with Jamie, and the two were able to kiss, to embrace, to know each other perfectly.

Jamie would never regain what he had lost but one thing that could not be taken away was this: Aston loved him, and he loved Aston, and that, when the races were over and the pony boys were stabled together for the night, at last, was enough.

The End