Ponyboy vignettes with a mixture of straight and bi situations.
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Jack hadn't meant to become a ponyboy; not exactly. Yet here he was, dripping with sweat under the blazing sun, teamed up with another huge stallion to pull one of the old-fashioned ploughs that churned the rich earth on this traditional farm. His diagnosis of Slavery Denial Disorder had come at a point in his life where he was already seriously considering taking the slave oath and becoming a stallion anyway, but he knew that would've been on his own terms.
Now here he was, fresh out of training, sold to a farming family who so far had treated him with kindness, if not as a person. He was not a person, not legally. A ponyboy had to be looked after, cared for, health and happiness monitored and kept within legal limits, but beyond that, a ponyboy was a slave like any other. Just like the hulking naked human man who his owner addressed as 'husband' and occasionally as 'slaveboy'.
That same human man patrolled the fields now, and had just finished directing the work of Bounty and Bubbly, the two gorgeous dark-skinned fillies who pulled the other plough. Jack saw him stomping over to the pair of stallions, who weren't making as much headway. The farm slaveboy, husband to the farm's actual owner, trailed a whip in his hand and swished it with a businesslike manner as he approached.
"Buster, you're doing well as always, my friend, keep it up and our mistress is sure to reward you with a taste of Bounty's divine bottom when you retire to the stables tonight. Bumble, you need to work harder, boy. Halt, both of you."
Jack hadn't accepted being renamed yet, but he knew that this man would only ever address him as Bumble. Jack's options were few. His hands were locked into mitts that made them as useless as hooves, then bound behind his back in a thick leather sheath to force maximum exposure on him. His powerful body could barely move, for it was harnessed to a plough. He couldn't run, and the suite of control nanites that flowed through every muscle and sinew in his body would detect any attempt at violence and block it. This was what being a ponyboy meant.
The new ponyboy blushed as his enormous bare stallion cock got hard at the thought and thrust itself forward into the sunlight that bathed them all in its glow. Jack watched the slaveboy approach - such a strange way of talking about a man who must be at least fifty - and not for the first time that day Jack was pleased to see the handsome man's nude body in all its glory. The slaveboy had a gorgeous head of long brown hair, washboard abs and a cock to die for. He was just as attractive to Jack as their short and slender owner, whom he had only seen clothed.
"Stick first, Bumble, then carrot," said the slaveboy as he drew close then disappeared behind the new ponyboy, out of view thanks to the blinders that the big human-animal wore.
Jack/Bumble brayed in agony as the whip sliced into his upper back and left its line of pain across his tender skin. He tried to pull away but the plough was heavy, and Buster had dug his hoof-boots into the ground to anchor the pair in place. The best he could do was use all his strength to pull it a few inches at a time, and that meant straining every muscle to its limit. There was no purpose to it.
"Good pony, stay still now. Punishment first, reward after. Take it well for me, ponyboy, and remember our owner does this to me every day. This is really her whipping you, mark my words, not me."
Jack didn't believe that. He'd seen the farm slave's own erection leering out from his body and knew the man was enjoying giving him this attention. All Jack really wanted was to get through the two years of his non-consensual contract and be declared free of Slavery Denial Disorder. All Jack really wanted...
The sharp assault of the whip continued and grounded Jack in his body. His beautiful new stallion body. Jack had to admit that he was beautiful, as beautiful as the farm-slaveboy, his mistress, the other ponies, as beautiful as anyone else in their right place. The pain of the whipping continued. Each stroke drove him deeper into his body, down past the layers of resistance towards that feeling of being right in himself that he'd had glimpses of since being converted.
"That's enough, now boy, time for a little reward."
The farm-slave returned the whip to the belt that hung around his waist, the only thing he wore except a permanent relaxed smile. He came round to Jack's side and used his rough, warm hands to coax Jack's stallion cock back up to its maximum hardness. Jack sighed at each deft stroke the farm-slave used to masturbate him, and he stamped his hoof-booted feet on the ground and shook his mane about to distribute the pleasure around his whole body.
The ponyboy felt the health nanites starting to knit his wounded back, erasing the red lines that the whip would have traced out there, to leave perfect tender skin in their place. He whinnied as the farm-slave's coarse fingers caressed the great length of Jack's cock with more and more speed. The farm-slave was deft, well-practised, and clearly enjoying himself too if the smile on his face was any indication.
"Cum for me now, stallion," said the farm-slave.
The single word sent Jack - or Bumble - over the edge and he snorted as the orgasm overtook him. His body fizzed with the energy that it released and his head swam, blurring his vision and making him dizzy. The farm-slave kept coaxing Jack's cock through a long, blissful orgasm and made sure that Jack got maximum enjoyment from it. They held each other's gaze, two slaves together, part of a single family that had to pull together. Jack nodded. Lesson learned.
The farm-slave slapped Jack on his bare rump and ordered the ploughing to be started again, then he wandered out of the field to the other parts of the farm, to oversee the work that went on there. As long as the blinders allowed, Jack watched him go, his eyes tracing the lines of the man's fine buttocks and firm thick legs. He tried to beam his gratitude to the farm-slave, and for a time that day he forgot the way his new situation in life had been put upon him.
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Meredith rode her new ponyboy-husband across the rolling hills of the great national park that surrounded the small town they lived in. As was her preference, she wore no underwear to ride him, so that their skin could touch and the spark of their love could flow freely between them. She balanced expertly on his shoulders, her feet in the stirrups that hung at either side of his torso, her weight shifting to and fro, just so, to keep her right where she needed to be.
They had been married a week before, after a brief courtship that had started before Slimline Tonic had even become a ponyboy or been given his name. They were the same age, almost to the day, and had met in one of the mixer parties that were held for those coming of age to help them move out of the family areas and take their place in the real no-holds-barred life of their advanced society.
Meredith had seduced the boy easily, then fallen in love with him for real even more easily than that. Their interests, it transpired, aligned so closely that the match was almost heaven-sent. Meredith had convinced the boy to sign up to a five-year contract as her ponyboy, then proposed to him a month later. The week-long isolation the authorities had to place him in when he accepted - to make sure there were no undue influences dictating his eager 'yes' - had been the longest seven days of Meredith's young life.
"Gee up, Slim, faster boy," she said.