This is the fourth chapter of 'Pony Boy' and, if you haven't read the rest, then please do so first. Quite a bit of the story refers back to events in the earlier parts and it won't make much sense if you read them out of order.
And, of course, there are the usual disclaimers; anyone involved in sexual acts is over eighteen and we're all fictional.
There's no pony play in this chapter but, if that's what you're after, then keep reading because there will be more in later chapters
Enjoy
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Still reeling from Mr. Jarman's sudden brutality I staggered to the sofa, sat down and tried to get my breath back. In a daze I picked up the money he had thrown on the table and counted it. Five twenties. One hundred quid. Was that the price for letting him violate me like that? I'd just received a stark lesson that, Mr. Mason's protection or not, these were violent vicious men I was dealing with. This walk on the wild side was not without its dangers. Mind you, that was what had lured me in to this in the first place. Up until this point my life had been safe, wrapped in cotton wool, and, ultimately, boring, boring to the point of stultifying. Whilst my mother would have been horrified to know what her little boy was doing and, to put it bluntly, I was hurting and more than a little scared, I couldn't deny the intensity of the experience.
"Are you all right, love?"
I looked up and there was one of the waitresses, looking down on me with concern written all over her face.
"Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."
"If you say so, honey." She gave me a look of total disbelief. "The rest of the lads are in the kitchen getting dressed; why don't you join them?"
"Thanks, I think I will."
She gave me another long, long look and then turned back to stacking a tray with empty glasses.
As I waddled, rather gingerly, towards the kitchen I looked about me. The party was all but over. Most of the guests had gone. Here and there I would see the odd few sitting, chatting, but the champagne had been drunk, the coke had been snorted, and all that was left was the clearing up.
When I got to the kitchen I found six of the other ponies and, as the waitress had said, they were all dressed and ready to go.
"Hello, Ben's been well and truly rogered!" one of the lads called out. I just smiled, nodded, and went to look for my clothes. It didn't take long to put on my boxers, track suit and trainers. I slipped the hundred quid into my pocket and I was just checking that I did indeed have my house keys when Carl, whose pony name was Black Coffee, came over.
"Coming out for a fag? We're not allowed to smoke in the kitchen," he asked. I don't smoke but I followed him out anyway and stood with the mixture of waitresses and ponies as they puffed away on their cigarettes. Not surprisingly, the chat was all about the punters, their kinks and peccadillos. It would seem that most of the attendees at the party were regulars and, while both attendees and ponies had their favourites, it was pretty much pot luck which punter you ended up with. Of course, those punters who had made arrangements with Mr. Mason got to pick and choose. Otherwise it was first come first served.
It was also considered best to be one of the ponies that was taken on, after the party, the way I had been by Herr Schlitz. "That's when the real kinks come out," Carl explained. "And one thing's for sure, the kinkier the sex, the better the payment."
"What sort of kinks?" I asked but, right then, the back door opened and Mr. H popped his head out.
"Time to go lads. Come along now or you'll be walking home."
We trooped inside and, as we lined up for the minibus, Mr. H paid us off. I had picked up a little over three hundred for the races and two fifty from Mr. Jarman and his lads. My arse might be sore but my wallet was fat, even after Mr H had taken his twenty five percent.
When I finally got home it wasn't worth going to bed as I was due down at the gym for my Friday morning session. I was completely exhausted and wished I could go straight to bed, but Mr. H had told me that Mr. Mason would see me down there so it was obviously expected. I grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a shower before getting in my car and driving down to the East End. Albert took one look at me and grinned.
"Tough night, last night? Come on son, let's work on some upper body strength. Strip off down to your shorts and get up on the multi-gym."
I did as I was told and Albert adjusted the weights and left me to it. Whether by accident or design the multi-gym I was working on was facing a mirror. This all but forced me to take a long hard look at myself.
Part of me knew I ought to be horrified at what I had got myself into. The very fact that I had to keep this a secret from my mates, let alone my parents, spoke volumes. What's more, part of me knew that I was being abused. I could still feel where Mr Jarman had been and the callous, almost off hand way he had tipped me over the arm of the sofa and fucked me up the arse was testament to how little he thought of me. But it wasn't just physical abuse. There were the roles I had to play. The more I camped it up the more they punters loved it. All night I had been playing the trollop, the simpering tart. They wanted a pony boy with the morals of an alley cat and that is what they got.
And that's where it all got complicated. I was playing a role, I was surely playing a role, but it was a role that I was increasingly comfortable with. The 'real' Ben, the Ben my friends and family knew, was quiet, withdrawn, a 'good' boy. Under the guise of playing the tart I could find another Ben, one that loved the spotlight, one that loved the attention, one that loved breaking all the rules. There was a buzz, an excitement, an exhilaration that thrilled me to the core. And it wasn't just being the centre of attention. I loved the feel of another man's prick, be it in my hand, in my mouth or in my arse; I loved knowing that it was me that was making them hard, it was me that was turning them on, it was me that was making them come. Mr Jarman's lads had been fighting for my favours and everyone wants to be wanted.
And, of course, the ever growing stack of cash behind the loose skirting board was yet another reason.
"Hello, Ben, how are you getting on?" I looked up from my ruminations to see Mr. Mason standing watching me.
"I'm fine, Mr. Mason. A little bit exhausted after last night."
"So you should be, from what I hear. Nice little dance routine you and Jed worked out. I've had quite a few asking about that. Now, I've got a job for you. Saturday, seven thirty, I'll send a car around to pick you up. Best bib and tucker, understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Mason, I'll be ready and waiting."
"See that you are," and, with that, he was off.
I actually managed to get to a few lectures that morning although I was so tired that I could barely concentrate. Come lunchtime I was piling into the canteen along with all the other students.
"Ben! Ben! Over here!"
I looked over and saw Andy calling me over to where he and the rest of the crowd were sitting together. I picked up my tray, went over and sat down with them.
