Draft Animal For Sale Ch 04

This is a continuation of the previous chapter.

I did not shower Sunday night, nor dress. I woke up Monday morning in a bed that smelled like my stall, and did not want to leave it. Showering and putting on clothes and pretending to be human made me very sad that morning.

I stopped wearing clothes at home. As soon as I was in the door, everything came off and I was comfortably naked again. I did not change my bedding. I woke up each morning smelling of sweat and cum and barn, a warm cozy scent that I just wanted to roll in like a dog. I showered in the morning now. I kept a plug in my ass, a small one for day, a big one for night. Evan liked fucking me and I wanted to be ready for him.

Tuesday night, I was in the building laundry room waiting for the dryer when Louie came in. He looked over my nude body hungrily.

"Shouldn't you be wearing a collar?" he asked, moving in and trying to dominate me.

I shook my head. "I wear a bridle and a harness," I told him.

He backed away. "Okay, this is getting too weird for me," he said, and left.

Wednesday night, I went from work to the bar, and to the back room. Three men fucked me, but none of them could make me cum. I woke up the next morning sticky and smelling of them, though, and that was good.

Thursday evening, I got as far as the stairs, going to the bodega on the corner for a few things, before I realized I needed to put something on. I did without rather than getting dressed again before morning.

Friday. I am naked as soon as I get home, but I am always naked when I am home. I put my things together, phone and note and such on the table in the kitchenette, and leave with just my keys. My owner has not texted me yet but I am impatient.

I pace up and down the sidewalk for a few minutes. Someone whistles at me. They do not whistle for me and I ignore them. Someone shouts "pervert!" at me from across the street. In this neighborhood, that could be a compliment.

The truck arrives.

I give my owner the keys I am holding. I walk up the ramp and stand quiet in the trailer.

My owner puts my bridle on. The bit is familiar between my teeth. I know the shape and taste of it now.

He puts my harness on me, adjusts my straps. The weight of them, and their grip on my body, is comforting.

My owner walks out and puts up the ramp. The truck engine starts. We are moving.

I sit down in the straw at the front of the trailer. The straw at the back is fouled. Other livestock have ridden in this trailer today. I am only one of many animals being transported. The feeling of being part of the herd grows stronger.

I wonder if I will be worked alongside any of the other animals this time.

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We arrive. The ramp drops down. The farmer snaps his fingers. He orders, "Heel." I hurry down the ramp and fall in behind him.

We go to the round ring. He clips my bridle to the hot walker. The machine starts, and I am pulled along in a wide circle. I fall into step and take the tension off the lead.

The walker starts slow. I plod. The pace slowly picks up. I walk, then faster. The machine stops. I am blowing to get enough air past my bit. Sweat streaks down me.

My driver checks my legs. His grip is hard and impersonal. He is not preparing to fuck me. He runs his thumb up my shins and makes a noise. I do not know what it means.

He starts the hot walker. I lunge forward at the fast start. The machine keeps going fast. I jog to keep up.

I look at my owner as I go past. I hope to see him aroused as he watches me running, naked and sweating. He frowns. This makes me sad. I have displeased him. I do not know how but I am a bad horse.

I put my head down. The hot walker is everything now. I think about breathing. I am thinking too much. I relax and let my body take over. It knows how to breathe.

The walker stops. I come back to myself. The farmer is checking my legs again. He makes the same noise, sort of. This time it sounds more angry. I am a bad horse. I do not know why. Maybe my driver will tell me. Then I can be a good horse again. I have to work harder until then.

The walker starts fast. It slows very soon, before I start blowing again. I walk, more slowly. The sweat on my skin turns cold. It dries. The walker slows to a plod.

It stops. My owner comes over. He looks me over and I am not aroused because I am a bad horse and he is looking at me like I am not pleasing to him.

"You're just not gettin' enough exercise durin' the week," he finally says. "Your muscle tone ain't gonna maintain without harder work daily." He looks away and frowns at something that is not me.

I have to work harder and then I will be a good horse. I know I can do this.

My owner looks back at me.

"You perked up a bit there," he says. He cocks his head and looks at me like he is puzzled by this. I cannot tell him that I will be a good horse soon, but he will know.

He takes me to my stall. I stand quietly while he takes off my bridle and harness and hangs it up. The bit leaves my mouth and I feel empty without it. He puts on my hackamore.

"Down," he says.

I kneel. He takes out his cock and brushes my lips with the head of it. My mouth opens. My lips wrap around the head of his cock. I lick the underside, once, quickly.

He shakes his head. "First, swallow," he tells me.

An acrid stream of piss trickles into my mouth. I swallow, worried that he is not drinking enough water. His piss is strong tasting and there is not much of it. He finishes very soon.

I run my tongue round the head of his cock again. This time, he sighs, and takes hold of my hackamore. Slowly, as his cock stiffens, he fucks my mouth. I relax, let my tongue fall. His cock slides over my tongue and into my throat. I have been sucking cock for a long time and do not gag.

He grips my hackamore with both hands, and controls me. My mouth is fucked. I take his cock as he wills. My mouth is filled again and it feels comforting. My cock is hard, straining at the metal ring through it, holding it up.

He does not hurry. His rhythm stays slow, even as he groans and grits his teeth. When he comes, he pulls hard on my hackamore, and his cock goes further down my throat than it has before. This excites me but I am sad I cannot taste his cum.

I get only a few drops as he relaxes, and allows his cock to slip from my mouth. I press my tongue to the underside of his shaft, milking his cock for the semen still within. His cum is salty, and thick, and tastes like it always has. This is reassuring.

He says nothing to me. When he lets go of my hackamore, one hand falls on my shoulder. It squeezes, then drops away. He walks out and closes my stall door without looking at me again.

I am sad. I have been a bad horse and my owner is not happy with me. But I can work harder. I have been too much human this past week. I will be more animal than human from now on. I am determined. I will be a good horse.

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I wake at dawn because the sun is shining into the barn. The other animals are also waking up. The burro kicks his stall door. He does that every morning. The burro knows the farmer is not in the barn. Maybe that makes him sad.

I am tired of everyone being sad. I want everyone to be happy. Today I will work hard and be a good horse. That will help.

The farmer arrives. He puts my feed in my stall, and goes to turn the other animals out into the paddock. I drop down on all fours, and make sure my ass is pointing at the stall door. He likes to watch my ass while I eat.

But he comes back and walks past my stall. He does not look at my ass. I finish eating. I lick the tin. I stand by my stall door and wait.

The farmer comes back carrying tools. He sees me. He frowns. He smacks me on the ass and tells me, "Go get your business done, clean up, and get to the tack room."

I am to see to myself today. He is busy. Maybe what is keeping him busy is what is making him sad and angry.

I go out to the paddock, find a spot, relieve myself. I wash off in the stream and walk back to the barn dripping wet. I stand by the tack room and I wait.

My skin dries. I shift from foot to foot. The farmer comes back. He is putting a bandage on his hand and swearing. I look down and wait quietly.

The farmer stops. He looks at me. He sighs.

"It ain't you, boy," he says, roughly but not unkindly. He pats my shoulder with the unbandaged hand. "You're a good boy. Now come get your tack on."

I straighten up, put my shoulders back. I am a good boy. I go into the tack room, and wait, fidgeting, eager once more.

The farmer brings my bridle and harness from my stall. He takes my hackamore off, puts on my bridle. The bit fills my mouth in a way that not even a cock can.

He works quickly, roughly, pulling harder on the straps than usual. Maybe he is also impatient to get me into motion. My legs are tired from last night on the hot walker. I know they will loosen up and feel warm again soon.

He clips the lead to my cock ring and starts out of the tack room quickly. My cock is tugged hard before I can follow and take the tension off. My owner walks fast, and I hurry to stay with him. I like being led by my dick, but the good pain turns bad easily.

We go to the round ring. I expect to be put on the hot walker again. Its arms are folded and the machine has been pushed out of the way. I am told to stand over on the far side. My owner takes off the lead rope. He brings a coil of line from a fence post. He clips one end to my bridle. He walks away to the center of the ring and lets the line uncoil. It is just long enough for him to wrap around his hand and reach out to where I stand.

I am on a lunge line. I am about to be worked in a new way. My cock stirs, trying to lift its ring. I shift foot to foot as my cock is sore from the lead rope.

"Steady," my driver says, giving the lunge line a shake to get my attention. I feel the jerk it gives my bridle, and try not to toss my head back the other way. I stand ready, and pay attention to my driver.

He looks me over, checks the ring, then clucks his tongue. "Walk on," he says. I walk. The lunge line directs me in a circle around the round ring.

"Whoa." I stop. I am maybe a little slow to respond. My driver has me walk and stop, walk and stop, until I react without hesitation.

We work through my gaits. I have not learned them all correctly. A trot and a canter have different steps, like a dance. I learn to dance for my owner. I trot, and learn to stop quickly without overbalancing.

I am sweating hard but not blowing when my driver tells me "whoa," then walks to me, coiling the lunge line. He unclips it and puts the lead rope on my bridle. He walks me slowly around the ring, cooling me down. I have to walk around twice before I am allowed to drop to all fours and put my head in the water trough.

Once I am watered, my driver leads me back to the barn. He unclips the lead rope. I stand and wait.

He nods to the wheelbarrow. "Get th' muckin' out done," he says, and walks away.

I tend to the stalls. Mine is relatively clean. The Haflingers have kicked their straw around and made a mess. It takes me some time scraping with the rake and shovel to get the stall clean enough I can use the hose.

I bring the barn hose in. When I start to spray down the stall floor, the water kicks back up a lot. I am sprayed with the bits of straw and manure I am trying to clean up. I turn the hose on myself to get the worst off.

I stand back in the doorway and try again. This time I am able to rinse the stall and send the dirty water down the floor drain in the corner instead of all over me.

I leave the horse stall to dry. The burro has nearly kicked the door off the track. I push it back into place easily. I find a bit of brightly colored twine and tie it to the door as a marker, so the farmer will look at it.

The stall is not as bad as the door. The burro is smaller than the other animals, except me. I shovel up the manure and fouled straw quickly.

The oxen stall is not bad either. I shovel up the manure and fouled straw, and some of the old bedding straw as well. It is good to turn over your bedding frequently.

I take the wheelbarrow to the compost bin. There is plenty of space in the first bin even with the new barn waste added. It will be some time before the bins need to be turned again.

When I return to the barn, the horse stall is dry. I put down fresh straw in all the stalls, including my own. I put the tools away, then lie down in the fresh straw. It feels good against my bare skin. It smells good. I am tired from the lunge line.

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"Just like a horse," my owner says. "I leave you five minutes and you're asleep."

I scramble up, get to my feet, make my eyes focus. The farmer is standing at the door of my stall. Thinking about him watching me sleep, curled up naked in the straw in just a hackamore, makes me feel warm. My cock stirs.

"Heel," he says, and we go to the tack room.

He slaps my ass twice while harnessing me because I am fidgeting. It is hard to stand quiet when I am being harnessed for the second time in a day. This is new and exciting.

He clips the lead to my nose ring. He says nothing, but he knows this will keep my attention on him. I am led out to the oval ring. I see what waits for me and my cock gets hard. The ring through my dick swings freely from the end of my shaft, exciting me more.

Standing at the gate is a racing cart, a roadster class sulky. It is made mostly of metal pipe, like a farm gate. A driver's seat is bolted to the frame at the midpoint of its single axle. Where a footboard would go are stirrups, allowing the driver to put their feet forward instead of splayed out to the shafts.

The ends of the shafts are in the dirt when we arrive. My driver walks me up to the sulky, turns me, backs me into place between the shafts.

"Stand quiet," he orders, and drops the lead rope so that it tugs on my nose ring before coming to rest.

He picks up one of the shafts. The cart rocks up on its single axle and the other shaft rises up on the other side of me. He connects the shaft to my girth belt, tugs on the connection. I brace and do not step sideways when he pulls. He pats my flank and moves to my other side. He connects the shaft there to my girth belt also, and tests the connection.

I can feel the weight of the cart traveling down the straps to my thigh cuffs. I stand, back straight, head up, waiting quietly.

My driver takes the lead rope off my nose ring. He clips a rein to each side of my bridle. When he tugs at each one, I can feel it in my mouth as the rein pulls on my bit. He lays the reins back to the driver's seat.

He walks back around in front of me, bends over, takes my leg in his hand and squeezes. He works his way up my leg from ankle to hip, checking for lumps, hot spots, any problems. I am not sexually aroused but this feels good in a way that I do not have a name for. He checks my other leg, and pats my flank when he is done.

My driver takes hold of the cart, bounces once on one foot, then kicks off and swings up and into the seat. I am braced, but the cart does not move much. The wheels do not turn. The impact is not backward, making me stagger, but downward, making me grunt. His weight pulls hard at the shafts as he leans forward to take up the reins. Then he leans back, and puts his feet up in the stirrups, and the cart balances. I am not carrying his weight. I will only be pulling it.

"Brakes off," he says. There are two grinding sounds, each followed by the cart lurching a little. I am firmly planted and hold it in position.

Then my driver flaps the reins against my back and commands, "Walk on."

I take my first steps as a cart horse. The sulky moves more easily than I expect, and I ease my pull so that it does not overrun me. I draw the cart around the oval track. My back is straight, my head high.

I feel the gentle tugs on the reins as my driver guides me around the turns. I feel the dirt under my feet, powdery on top, hard packed underneath where I can dig my toes in for grip and keep the cart moving. The sun on my bare skn, lowering toward the horizon, is warm and gentle.

I pull the cart around the fourth turn and pass the gate. My driver slaps the reins and orders a trot.

I pick up the pace. My cock can no longer hold up the ring. The trot breaks my hardness, and the ring pulls my dick down, bouncing against my thighs. I break a sweat. The track goes by fast, and I lean into the turn. I imagine other horses crowding around me. I keep to a trot, as Standardbreds must do, but I push hard.

We pass the gate. Sweat pours off me. I am blowing hard. I exult in my effort. I am racing in front of a cheering crowd.

And then I cum. My cock spurts with each step, spattering my thighs and leaving drops and strands in the dirt as I trot. The pleasure shakes me, and my legs want to tremble, to shake. I do not let them. I am being driven like I am meant to be.

"Whoa," and the reins flap against me. I slow quickly, stop. The cart stops abruptly as my driver puts the brakes on.

My driver swings down from the seat. He looks at the cum dripping down my legs.

"Got ahead of me, there, boy," he says.

I hang my head.

He laughs. Then he ducks under the shaft, and stands behind me. I hear his jeans zipper.

His cock slips between my ass cheeks, sliding easily in the pool of sweat that has gathered at the base of my spine. He probes at my asshole, pushes. I am stretched properly and he slips into me with ease.

He moves his hands up to my girth strap, taking hold of my harness just behind where I am hitched to the cart. I am held by my harness, by his hands, by the cart, and can only stand while he fucks me.

His hips rock forward to meet my ass. His cock pushes up into me. I am pulled back against him by my girth belt. I am possessed and used for his pleasure.

My driver groans, thrusts into me harder. I am lifted up onto the balls of my feet with each stroke. My cock stirs. My prostate shrinks from the hammering it is receiving, empty, unable to cum again so soon.

He rams into me harder, holding me up on my toes, and I feel his cock pulse inside me. He presses into me again, and again. Finally, his softening cock slips out of me, and he steps back. letting go of the girth strap.

"Can't clean me while you're hitched up," he says, "so we'll just have to air dry."

He climbs backward up into the driver's seat. I feel his weight settle onto the cart. My girth strap pulls down hard at my waist.

He flaps the reins against my back. "Walk on."

I start forward. A drop of cum squeezes out of my ass and drips down between my butt cheeks. I keep walking.

I am driven one more lap. I am dripping, but not with sweat. His cum is forced out of my ass with every step. Streaks of cum glaze both my thighs when I am halted at the end of the lap.

As the sun goes down, my driver unhitches me, and takes me back to the barn. I am tired. I think he is tired too.

In the tack room, he takes my bridle and harness off and puts my hackamore on in silence. He runs his hands over me a good deal more than usual. I stretch and flex, happy to be petted.

At last, he takes me to my stall. As I walk past him, he smacks my ass, hard. I jump, and turn to see what I have done. He pats my face.

"Good boy," he says. He looks into my eyes for a long moment. He does not seem to find what he is looking for, and goes away sad again.

Something is very wrong. I am a good boy and a good horse, and I have worked hard, but my owner is still sad.

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I am awake before dawn. I listen to the other animals shifting about in their stalls. The burro snores. A faint haze of insect sounds drifts in from the paddock.

I lie in the straw and watch the sun come up. I breathe in the scent of the barn and pull out the dusty aroma of the horses, the heavy, muddy scent of the oxen, and the peppery musk of the burro. I listen to the insects singing.