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Greetings, readers!

I'm pleased to post another (very long) story. That said, allow me to provide my usual warning that Blackstone stories can be intense and uncompromising. This one is no exception to that general rule.

( Also, this one is extra intense. For real. So read the tags and be forewarned! )

If themes of hardcore, uncompromising sexual slavery involving pony-play aren't for you, you might want to give this one a pass. But you're all adults (I hope!) and so I trust you to make the choice that's right for you in terms of what entertainment you choose to engage with.

For those who bravely continue on, I hope you enjoy! If you finish the story, please consider leaving a note at the end with your thoughts or a mention of your favorite parts of the story.

As always, thanks for reading.

PS: This really is an extra long story. If put in terms of an e-book, this would be about 250 pages which is basically a full length book. Just a heads-up so that you can budget your time.

Also, shout out to Volatus for creating multiple pieces of fan art for the story! Super cool of you, sir! The art is embedded in the story at appropriate locations and direct links to the art will also be provided in the comments section beneath the story.

==============

For once, Samuel was optimistic about the future. He'd just graduated high school, bought his first (used) car, and had recently received the letter informing him that he'd earned a coveted near full-ride scholarship to study electrical engineering at his second choice college.

Despite being born into a poorer than average family, for once things were falling into place for the eighteen year old mouse. The important thing was that things were on an upward trajectory and that the mouse was increasingly confident that he would be able to land a well paying job post college.

This upbeat attitude probably explained why Sam's head was in the clouds when he walked into the gas station's detached restroom. He was so checked out that the teenager didn't notice the nondescript looking pig who entered the public bathroom moments after him until the man was already pressing the thin needle into his neck right as Sam was finishing emptying his bladder at the urinal.

"Urk!" was all the boy managed to gasp out as the unseen man wrapped a strong arm around his chest at the same time as he used his other hand to maneuver the needle. In one smooth motion of the stranger's thumb, he'd deposited its fast-acting contents into Sam's bloodstream.

Instinctively the teen tried to squirm out of the man's hold but between the sturdy urinal in front and the sure-footed man's body behind him, the mouse lacked leverage and could only squirm ineffectually as his mind and heart raced in panic.

Everything was moving so fast that he hadn't yet realized that the man had injected him with something. All he knew for sure was that he was suddenly being manhandled, his hips and chest forced against the less than perfectly clean urinal.

"Don't fight it, boy," the pig murmured into the frantic student's large, rounded ear. "Lucky slut, you're just what my client is looking for. You're gonna have so much wonderful sex to look forward to."

If the man said anything else Sam didn't hear it as he rapidly slipped into drug induced unconsciousness. His last coherent thought was that he felt something that might have been his attacker's pants bulge pressing into his back as the man grunted and whispered into his ear.

The college boy's next memories were fuzzy, half-remembered moments that took place inside somewhere that looked like a hospital. He recalled a bright light. A doctor and a nurse standing over him, talking softly to one another. He remembered gloved hands touching him, except the exploration of his body had been far from professional given the way the hands had rubbed over his chest, stomach, and even his privates.

Sam thought he might have tried to say something to the doctor but the only response had been the nurse making a shushing sound before saying, "The patient will remain quiet or they will be punished."

He thought he might have felt the nurse pinching his nipple upon saying this but he couldn't be sure because he soon slipped back into unconsciousness.

When Sam next woke, everything was different.

His first groggy thought upon waking up in the windowless hospital room was that he couldn't feel his fingers. They didn't feel numb or even sore. Just absent.

Looking down at his body with half-closed eyes, he discovered the impossible: That he had no arms. They were simply gone. Both of his shoulders simply rounded off in lightly furred barely-there bulges where his arms used to attach.

It took the mouse several long seconds to process what he was looking at before he started screaming. Or at least, before he tried to scream.

The second nasty surprise upon Sam's return to the waking world was that his throat was incapable of making any sort of sound louder than the softest huff of expelled air. He couldn't even grunt or couch and yelling or shouting was entirely impossible.

After another couple minutes of panicking he realized that his voice had been taken away in addition to his arms. He couldn't understand what was going on. It felt equal parts surreal and horrifying, like he was trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. Not to mention he was entirely naked without even a thin bed sheet to cover up with.

His legs kicked and flailed against the mattress as he continued to stare down at his armless torso, as if things might change or be different the tenth or twentieth time he looked himself over.

Sam couldn't have been more confused or distraught. How had this happened? And just as importantly, why?! Had there been some sort of terrible car accident? Or maybe a fire? Some kind of incident involving chemical exposure?

His stomach lurched in dread as the logical part of his mind callously informed him about the massive disruption and hardship this would create for his life. No more typing on his laptop with his fingers. No more cooking or playing video games using the controller. No more dressing himself or even brushing and flossing his own teeth. Not easily, anyway.

No more masturbating, using one paw to sensuously stroke himself off while the other hand worked a well lubed dildo back and forth into his tight, sensitive hole. He'd have to buy some kind of mounted sex toy to get off, or the like.

And then what? Have someone come in after and clean up when he was through? He'd just pay someone to wipe up his cum? With what money?! Every fresh realization sounded more difficult to deal with than the one before.

That and, he couldn't talk either? How was he supposed to communicate with people if he couldn't talk, type, or write things down? How would he participate in a conversation if he couldn't even use sign language?

Sam's mental doom-spiral was interrupted as the half-remembered nurse from earlier walked in. Any thought that there might be a comprehensible explanation for what was going on fled the moment the scantily dressed possum stepped through the door.

The mouse thought it was a woman at first only to be confused because despite the possum's feminine features and girlish nursing uniform, her outfit had a cut-away section at the crotch where a chastised and very male member was both prominently on display and locked inside a bright pink cage.

When the nurse caught Sam blatantly staring at what was between her hips, she pursed her lips in displeasure.

"The patient will allow me to feed him without resisting or they will be punished," the gender-ambiguous possum said in a no-nonsense tone as she produced a long rubber tube. A tube that she immediately put to use on the mouse by pushing one end of the rubber past the shocked patient's lips and, without warning or kindness, directly down his throat with a firm, practiced hand.

Samuel immediately set to thrashing, trying to pull away from the uncomfortable tube being literally shoved down his throat.

"The patient will stop moving or I will have no choice but to paddle their balls for interfering with my duties!" the possum berated, sounding much too eager about the possibility of inflicting harm in the boy's opinion.

But Sam, who didn't know what was happening or why this crazy person was shoving a tube down his throat, continued to resist. Though he quickly found he was at a severe disadvantage, for multiple reasons.

Then, without further warning, something cracked down sharply on his exposed sack. The pain was sharp and immediate but it took another two blows before Sam understood what was happening. The half-naked nurse was slapping his balls!

"The patient will be calm and obedient or I will be forced to call the doctor in!" the feminized possum continued to yell while slapping Sam's sack no less than five more times.

The teenager thought he might vomit, though whether from pain or the tube down his throat, he couldn't be sure.

Sam wanted to tell the woman that he was sorry. That she could do whatever she wanted as long as she'd stop hitting his aching, defenseless balls.

The mouse stopped moving and eventually the possum stopped her assault and got herself back under control. Though what scared him the most was that, despite her anger, the nurse seemed to be dripping precum from the end of her chastity cage. She was getting off on yelling at him, not to mention hurting him.

"The patient will behave and follow all instructions. The patient will allow me to finish feeding them without protest or complaint."

Not wanting to get slapped in his tender balls any more, Sam nodded emphatically while trying to ignore the tube that was between his lips and already a good ways down his throat.

Except, instead of simply getting on with things, the heavily breathing nurse grabbed the tube and pushed it further in... only to then pull it several inches back out. And then back in. And out. And in again, all while breathing hard and staring intently at Sam's lips.

That's when he realized that the horrible bitch was literally fucking his throat with the tube.

He was about to start protesting again when he remembered how relentless she'd been about targeting his balls. Under no circumstances did he want this crazy person to sexually assault him with a rubber feeding tube of all things. But neither did he want to be brutally ball slapped over and over.

Eventually he settled on laying there as the nurse worked the tube back and forth down his throat. The erotically dressed (and apparently collared?) woman moaned as she worked the tube, even going so far as to whimper as her hips bucked against the empty air.

Without arms or a way to defend himself, Sam could only lay there as he tried not to gag on the unnecessarily thick rubber. The teen blinked back tears of discomfort as he ignored the way the possum's pink chastity cage jumped and twitched as she worked.

Finally he got around to reading the text on the front of her collar, which while small, was easy enough to read now that the nurse was standing over him.

It read:

---

Designation: Nurse Toy

Full Service Slave Nurse

Oral and anal service are gratis. No reasonable request refused. Corrective spankings are encouraged. Orgasms strictly prohibited. Thank you for your business!

---

The words were shocking, to say the least. And though the picture the words painted explained some things, they likewise raised a great many more questions.

Like, was this possum really a slave? If so, what kind of business was this exactly? Because obviously it wasn't a typical hospital, despite the generic looking recovery room Sam found himself lying in.

And if "Nurse Toy" wasn't here by choice, why was she being so cruel to him? Because the nurse was undeniably enjoying fucking Sam's throat with the feeding tube.

Finally the slave got to the actual act of feeding the mouse as she fetched a bag that contained some variety of liquid meal which she attached to the hose before lifting it up in the air, dumping its contents into the teenager's stomach in a hurry without the boy even needing to swallow.

As the last of it poured down the tube the possum said, "Yeah, swallow it all, you slut. You stupid animal."

As the nurse put the feeding tube away, he found himself really getting fed up with her terrible attitude. But that attitude abruptly changed as a severe looking lynx in a doctor's uniform stepped into the room.

"Why are you being so chatty with the patient, Slut?" the older gentleman asked the half-naked slave, his voice as unforgiving as iron.

Despite the man not appearing overtly threatening, the possum actually began trembling as she stammered out, "I'm sorry, doctor! The patient was being fussy and I had to talk him into accepting his dinner."

The lynx spared a brief glance at the mouse before turning his laser focus back to the nurse.

"He looks fairly docile to me, nurse. Are you certain you're not just making excuses?"

Something in the way the lynx asked the question must have signaled the possum to change tactics because she winced and adopted a submissive pose, standing up straight with her hands cupped behind her head. At the same time she spread her legs and pushed out her hips, as if offering up her chastised privates to the man for punishment.

"This slave slut is sorry for making excuses, doctor. This useless hospital property begs for correction!"

While the uncompromising lynx didn't actually smile, he somehow managed to look pleased as he reached down and took the nurse's exposed balls in his hand.

"Is this where I should correct you, pretty thing? And yet, I wonder why such a correction is still necessary. Haven't you been under my direct supervision for three years now? Surely you're not intentionally causing trouble in the hopes of getting attention for this silly thing between your legs?"

To Sam's amazed eyes, Nurse Toy looked equal parts terrified and eager as the doctor continued to cup and play with her caged member.

"D-doctor, please! I... I need..."

"Shush, slave. I know what you need. And it's not to have this disappointing thing played with. Turn around, palms against the cabinet. I'll give you what you're clearly so hungry for."

The possum moved as though desperate for whatever the older lynx had in mind. In less than a couple seconds the nurse was standing against the white cabinet, arms and legs spread.

From there the doctor wasted time getting himself in position, not sparing the disbelieving patient another glance as he settled his member between her cheeks and pushed in, hard.

Given how effortlessly the doctor speared her with his cock, the mouse assumed her hole must have been pre-lubed. Because from one moment to the next the lynx had gone from having just the tip of his large shaft inside and then he'd slammed her against the cabinet, fully embedding himself. The motion hardly seemed comfortable for the slave but the nurse didn't protest or close her legs.

What followed next was the most intense fucking the sexually inexperienced mouse had ever witnessed (including in porn). The well hung doctor was clearly more interested in teaching the feminine possum a lesson than giving her pleasure and yet despite the brutality of his thrusts she still moaned like it was the best sex of her life.

As he had his way with her, the lynx continued to address the possum, condescension dripping from every word.

"Is this what you needed, Toy? Is this why you've been acting out? To get my attention?"

Sam, still feeling very much unbalanced from everything he'd learned and witnessed in such a short time, wasn't expecting the slave's whimpered, easy compliance.

"Yes, doctor! Thank you, doctor! Please punish this slave with your huge cock, doctor!"

Which made the mouse wonder just what the possum had been through that being rough-fucked while caged was considered a good thing.

"Oh I'll fuck you alright. I'll fuck you so hard that your useless balls slap against the cabinet."

The possum cried out even louder with need and desire. Sam, who was unaware that this particular hospital's recovery rooms were thoroughly soundproofed, wondered why security or other personnel hadn't come to investigate the noise.

Instead, the man continued aggressively fucking the nurse as she made no attempt to defend herself. If anything the slutty noises she was making seemed intended to drive the lynx on. Like the slave was encouraging her own abuse.

"Are you going to be a good girl and squirt for me?" the doctor asked as he kept up this punishing rhythm, not giving her a moment's reprieve. "Are you going to make a cummy mess because you love being treated like the property you are?"

Rather than answer verbally, the possum's moaning increased in pitch and volume as, sure enough, her caged penis began releasing squirt after squirt of pent up cum on the door of the tall cabinet.

And while Sam couldn't see the chastity cage because of his back-and-to-the-side viewing angle, there was no mistaking the copious streams of cum that made their down before pooling between her spread legs on the floor. There was rather a lot of cum he couldn't help but notice. That alone told the story that perhaps Nurse Toy's chastity wasn't just for show.

In response the doctor snorted, the noise full of derision. The sound made it clear that the man didn't consider the hands-free, caged orgasm some impressive feat but rather an embarrassing admission on the part of the slave.

While she was mid-climax the man leaned forward and whispered into Nurse Toy's ear (softly enough that Sam could barely make out the words), "I told you that you'd come to love your new life. It's time to give in and admit that you're a slave. Accept that that's all you are and all you'll ever be."

Aside from a barely visible shudder the possum didn't respond and shortly after he grunted out a long orgasm of his own as he continued to fuck her hard through his own climax. The lynx's final thrusts were so unnecessarily strong the mouse thought it likely they had to be genuinely painful for the nurse. Especially considering that from Samuel's vantage he could see that her balls were indeed slapping repeatedly the cabinet door. The act was probably all the more uncomfortable now that the slave had spent their load.

On the one hand, the mouse felt bad for her (how awful she'd been treating him just a few minutes ago and his own dire circumstances). On the other hand, despite the discomfort and the intensity of the fuck, Nurse Toy had seemed to enjoy the attention and treatment. At least in part. Which made Sam wonder just what life was like to be a "Full Service Slave Nurse" at this hospital.

Pulling out, the doctor slapped the nurse on the ass and then used the possum's well fucked rear cheeks to wipe the freshly spent cum from his still hard shaft. Then he pulled out a napkin from his pocket which he used to finish the job.

Afterwards he tucked his spent pole away and said, "Don't move an inch. And keep that tail raised."

The nurse, apparently unwilling to risk additional punishment, stayed perfectly still as she leaned against the cabinet. Only the possum's tail moved ever so slightly as cum continued to drip onto the floor.

Turning to face the stunned eighteen year old who had witnessed the entire debauched act the man said, "Thank you for your patience. My name is Dr. Hasting and as you were likely unaware, I'm the doctor who had the pleasure of operating on you. The procedure went well and I'm not anticipating any complications. I hear your owner is very pleased with the results and is looking forward to meeting you."

There was so much to unpack from that short introduction that Sam didn't even know where to begin.

The procedure went well? He'd lost both his arms! As in, permanently! Not to mention his voice. And this crazy lynx had enjoyed removing two perfectly healthy arms from a teenager? Outrageous. Completely depraved.

And the doctor thought (or knew) that Sam had an owner? Someone who had been getting status updates or maybe pictures? The mouse didn't know what to say so instead he just stared up at Dr. Hasting, mouth agape in shock.

"Yes, I'm sure this wasn't what you were expecting when you woke up. The good news is, you'll have a few days to recover your mental equilibrium before you're discharged from the hospital. I recommend using this time to make your peace with the situation and to warm up to the idea of embracing your new life. Or don't. I won't pretend that your mental wellbeing falls under the scope of my responsibilities as a surgeon."

As if the lynx's callous words weren't evidence enough of his lack of empathy, the way his eyes moved over Sam's prone, naked body like he was inspecting his own work made the mouse feel more exposed than ever.

"That said, I do have one final bit of advice on the topic. As Nurse Toy here so aptly demonstrated, there are advantages to accepting your new life. Know that only you can make your slavery an unhappy experience. Similarly, if you learn to embrace what you are, you might just find it to be a uniquely rewarding experience."

To Sam's shock the lynx took that opportunity to reach down and take the incredulous mouse's member in hand whereupon he began to stroke it like the act of touching his patient was the most natural thing in the world.

And to the boy's dismay, the touch actually felt good. It also felt invasive, rude, and obscene but there was no denying that the doctor's slowly pumping hand was pleasant on a purely biological level.

"You see? Slavery isn't only about drudgery and toil. Open your mind to new possibilities and, who knows? You might just find that going under my scalpel was the best thing that ever happened to you. Who needs arms when they have their master's demanding cock pressing into them?"

The man's touch was gentle but his words were sharp and cruel. But the boy couldn't do little other than lay there and watch as the doctor enjoyed manipulating his pole, alternating between stroking it fast or slow as the mood took him.

Then, just as suddenly as the unsolicited handjob started, the lynx dropped Sam's involuntary erection and adopted a more professional demeanor.

"Now, onto the purpose of my visit. I'm here to administer the first dose of your medication. Be a good mouse and spread your legs for me. And because it always seems necessary to mention this, note that failing to follow staff instructions is grounds for immediate punishment."

At the word 'punishment' the nearby possum shuddered, her face still pressed up against the cabinet. That having been where the doctor left her after he'd fucked an orgasm out of her.

The teen couldn't help but notice how deferential the nurse was to the lynx, which made him think that ignoring or refusing the man would be a bad idea.

"Well? I'm not known for my patience. Spread your legs, slave. And keep them that way until I leave or tell you otherwise."

Sam didn't know why he needed to spread his legs for the doctor to give him his "medicine" but the young mouse was terrified that he was about to find out.

Reluctantly the armless boy spread his legs so that his feet were on either side of the plastic wrapped mattress. He hated exposing himself more than he already had been, but the boy didn't feel like he had much of a choice. But his feelings of vulnerability and helplessness ratcheted up several notches as his thighs spread like he was offering himself to the man.

"Very good, hold that position. If you move or close your legs, I'm going to call in a nurse to squirt chili oil down your slave cock. Trust me when I say, you don't want that to happen."

Now Sam and the nurse were both holding their position, all because Dr. Hasting told them to. And the teenager was smart enough to understand that if the possum was scared of the lynx, then he should be scared too.

Having said that, the doctor turned around and busied himself with the preparation steps even as he continued to address Sam in an almost bored tone. A tone that implied that while this was by far the most insane day of the eighteen year old's life, for the man this was just another day at work.

"Fair warning, these injections might be a touch uncomfortable," -- Sam's heart began to beat harder at the word "injections" -- "But it shouldn't be more than a pinch and temporary feeling of pressure. I'm aware that receiving testicular injections," -- At this point the mouse's worry and stress compounded upon itself -- "poses something of a challenge for many slaves, but it might help to remind yourself that you don't actually have a choice here. Keep in mind that this is going to happen and that there is nothing you can do about it."

When the doctor turned around he was holding a plastic syringe in each hand, the caps already removed which meant the stainless-steel needles were on full display.

Sam immediately started shaking his head 'no' but to his later amazement, was able to keep his legs spread. Probably only because Nurse Toy was standing there (facing away, muzzle inches from the cabinet) was a constant visual reminder that he needed to obey.

"There's no reason to fret. I've given thousands of injections during my career and, at the risk of bragging, am a deft hand at it. A moment of brief discomfort and it'll be done. Don't move and it'll be over before you know it."

The teenager looked on in horror as the lynx pulled a previously unseen stool by the bed and took a seat directly to Sam's left.

But rather than immediately getting to it, Dr. Hasting took Sam's sack in hand and began to gently massage it.

"Calm yourself, boy. You're beginning to hyperventilate. It's only a bit of medicine. Nothing worth getting so worked up over. And while I won't be telling you the name of the compound or what it does, I'll confirm that these injections won't harm your cute slave balls."

The man sounded sincere enough but the boy had already seen plenty of evidence that the doctor was some combination of evil and insane. The fact that he was calmly telling Samuel that he needed to accept injections of a mysterious drug into his testicles or face severe punishment was additional evidence of that, like he needed it.

"Alright, let's begin. They say the waiting is the worst part, after all. Last warning: Don't fight me, slave. Keep those thighs nice and spread."

Sam stared down in disbelief as Dr. Hasting carefully lined up the first needle and pressed it a good ways into his left ball. The needle was thin enough that the mouse didn't feel all that much but the psychological impact of watching a shining silver needle slide into his testicle was immense.

"I'm being stabbed," the teenager thought to himself. "This complete stranger is stabbing me right in the ball. And now... And now he's..."

Wasting no time, the man used his thumb to gradually depress the device's plunger which in turn slowly filled up the staring, borderline panicked mouse's testicle with an unknown combination of chemicals. Information that, as a slave, he apparently wasn't entitled to know.

The pressure ended up being much worse than the initial insertion. While it was unlikely to have been more than a single milliliter of liquid, from Sam's perspective it felt like a shot glass' worth of clear liquid had just been forced into his ball.

And while the experience wasn't agonizing, it was a step beyond merely "uncomfortable'. Samuel almost reflexively closed his legs at the sensation but oddly the lynx actually "helped" him out by momentarily placing his hands on the boy's inner thighs after he withdrew and put down the needle.

"Yes, yes, I know. The first one is always the worst. Settle, slave. The discomfort will pass."

For several long seconds the doctor continued to hold and rub the mouse's thighs as if enjoying the sensation of the smooth fur under his hands.

"Can you be a good boy for me and take the second injection? Let's see a nod."

Sam hated how the man was trying to sound reasonable. But as awful as this was, the boy knew that the only way past this was to get through it and so he nodded while trying to keep the fear and anger off his face.

"Excellent. Last one, for today," the lynx said.

The process repeated itself except this time Sam could swear that Dr. Hasting was purposefully going far slower than he had with the first testicular injection. Like the lynx was trying to draw out the process of getting to "play" with the teenager's balls.

But eventually both doses were administered and Sam was given permission to close his legs, which he immediately did.

"That's all for today," the man said as he began to clean up after himself and pack up. "Since you were delightfully obedient, I'll provide you some information that most patients in your situation don't receive."

Sam didn't like being praised for acting like a good slave but he bottled up his resentment knowing it wouldn't serve him in that moment.

"First, expect to stay in this room for approximately three more days. Meals, sponge baths, and medicine will be provided at appropriate times. As touched on before, don't make a fuss or give the hospital staff any trouble or you will be disciplined, harshly."

Again the mouse caught the possum twitch out of the corner of his eye.

"Second, while most slaves know this, you may not so I'll go ahead and mention it. Unless told otherwise, assume that you are under an orgasm prohibition. And while masturbation is unlikely in your case, you are not to hump the mattress or attempt to bypass the prohibition in any way. Those balls belong to your owner and they will decide if and when you get to cum. If you are found to have broken this rule, you can expect an especially severe punishment."

The mouse outright blushed at this. That statement was eerily close to some of the kink stories he'd read online. And now he had this experienced looking doctor tell him with a completely straight face that his balls were property and that cumming without permission was against the rules.

Against his own wishes and better judgement, his cock began to perk up at the statement. His balls still hurt but having a handsome man in a doctor's uniform inform him that he was under strict cum control was... Well, it might have been a tiny bit, ever so slightly... erotic.

Thankfully Dr. Hasting didn't seem to notice or care.

"Third, and most important, do not attempt to leave this room. Trust me when I say that this is a secure facility and that smarter and luckier slaves than you have made the attempt and failed. An escape attempt will result in an automatic eight hour punishment session. I noticed how much you winced at a small bit of testicular discomfort. Do not give the disciplinarians an excuse to show you what true pain is."

Dr. Hasting looked at the mute boy for a long moment to ensure that his words had sunk in. Then he nodded, turned around, and addressed the nurse.

"Well, Nurse Toy, let's head back to my office and discuss my concerns about your recent behavior. Oh, and if you could track down both an ass and a ball paddle? I have a feeling we'll need them during the course of our conversation. And don't worry about cleaning up in here. I'll send down another nurse to see to the mess."

The nervous possum finally stepped away from the cabinet as she squeaked out, "Y-yes, doctor! I'll fetch those right away for you, doctor."

"Good girl," the lynx said, taking a moment to reach down, gathering up a glob of cum from the tip of Nurse Toy's chastity cage before holding his fingers out to the slave for cleaning. An act that she immediately undertook as she sucked and licked the feline's fingers clean.

"Hmmm, you've been needing that for a while, haven't you?" the man asked despite two of his fingers still being pressed well past her lips. "Such a good slut, squirting from just my cock. Remember when you insisted that you were an exclusive top? Just like you insisted you wouldn't be able to cum with the cage on. Just like you insisted you were a free man and not a sissy slave. Look how far you've come."

Somehow the possum managed to look simultaneously happy and profoundly upset at the same time as she (he?) finished sucking her own cum from Dr. Hasting's hand.

"But I think your slave journey is just starting, yes? Go wait for me in my office. If you're not standing in front of my desk in three minutes, I'll consider you late."

"Yes, Dr. Hasting!" she somewhat pathetically proclaimed after he took his spit soaked fingers from her mouth.

Within moments she was out the door, leaving Dr. Hasting standing there chuckling while Sam tried to process everything he'd witnessed in the last half hour.

"She doesn't know this yet, but soon she'll be on her knees begging me to put the last remnants of her masculinity into permanent chastity. I don't think she's quite ready to imagine a life where she'll never experience another erection, but it shouldn't take too much longer."

Having said this, Dr. Hasting paused at the closed door to offer a few last words to the overwhelmed teenager.

"I'll see you tomorrow for your next round of treatment. Enjoy your stay at the hospital and be sure to use this time to mentally prepare yourself for what comes next. Keep in mind that no one buys a slave just to look at. Especially not pretty slaves like you."

Having offered up his unsolicited advice to the very boy he'd recently modified in his operating room, the man left Sam alone, presumably to continue teaching Nurse Toy what it meant to be a slave.

Despite feeling rattled after experiencing so many shocking experiences in such a short time, part of the mouse felt like he should try to calm down rather than existing in a constant state of fear and panic.

On the one hand, the teenager was glad for the opportunity to privately collect himself. But on the other hand (and even this metaphor was ironic in the worst way, he realized) there was nothing else to do but lay in silence, waiting for whatever happened next. Dr. Hasting had made it clear that escape was extremely unlikely and regardless of how unforgivably the surgeon had wronged him, Samuel was inclined to believe him on this point.

So with nothing else to do, after a few minutes of sitting in silence the mouse took a deep breath and looked himself over.

The sight of himself sans arms was frankly startling. Without arms and hands, he looked undeniably helpless and he had to wonder if that was the point of the procedure. Hadn't Dr. Hasting repeatedly referred to him as a slave? This was after the lynx had so casually admitted to being the person who had permanently maimed Sam, referring to the atrocity as merely a "procedure".

And then there was the lack of voice. Considered together, it painted an exceptionally grim picture. Someone -- and Sam had no idea who yet -- wanted him mute, helpless, and substantially altered. Most likely the same person who decided to make him a slave in the first place.

Was it the man who had attacked him in the gas station bathroom? Probably not, the boy considered. The whole assault was a confused jumble (Sam thought he might have been drugged) but he remembered something about the man mentioning a "client" before he'd passed out. And what was "client" but a cute euphemism for "owner"?

Now, Sam was as much a fan of BDSM as the next horny, hormonal eighteen year old. He was hardly in a position to deny that, considering his laptop's extensive browser history.

He'd visited and even bookmarked plenty of websites that featured leather, ropes, collars, bondage furniture, chastity cages, and yes, sometimes rough, aggressive sex.

Samuel had jerked off countless times to "slave" boys begging to be allowed to cum as powerfully built older men mercilessly edged them right up to the threshold of release, only to repeatedly deny them. And despite being roleplay, Sam could swear that some of those tears of frustration were real as inexperienced submissives discovered what it was like to have a veteran dom exploit their body's natural reactions in that way.

And it wasn't just videos and pictures but stories too. Sometimes expertly crafted (though often amateurish) stories involving masters, slaves, and a huge variety of plots, characters, and power imbalances.

Sam even recalled reading a series of stories where an older father decided to get his wayward, borderline alcoholic eighteen year old under control by locking his own son's cock in chastity and forcing the horny teenager to earn release sessions by completing "chores".

Chores that were increasingly erotic in nature until the man's son eventually broke down and accepted that helping his dad out with his "manly urges" was just another one of his responsibilities, even going so far as to serve as his father's "alarm clock" by waking his dad up with a blowjob each and every morning.

All of this and more just so his dad would grant him a single intentionally ruined orgasm once a month before the small, unforgiving cage got put right back on. And the teenager wasn't even able to plead for more because he was always bound and gagged during these rare "milking" sessions.

By the end of the series the nineteen year old boy was profoundly grateful for his father's control and discipline, believing himself lucky to be granted that small concession as the man continued to fuck him in every room of the house (not to mention in every conceivable position, many of which involved a great deal of bondage equipment).

Reading that story was like a revelation for Sam who hadn't even looked at stories tagged with 'incest' prior to that point. Suddenly he was consumed with thoughts of strong, uncompromising men taking control of his orgasms. A deeply ironic thought, considering his current situation.

But there was a huge difference between fiction (and consenting adults) and whatever this was. Because based on that collar and her treatment, Nurse Toy didn't seem like she'd volunteered for this. Nor had Dr. Hasting gotten Sam's permission before... Before doing 'that'.

Then, with a mental slap, the mouse reminded himself that Nurse Toy wasn't his problem. He needed to escape. To contact help. Except, how was he supposed to do that?

This recovery room had no windows and only one door, which presumably led out to a hallway. A hallway that was sure to see frequent foot traffic. Plus, he was naked. There was nothing to cover himself with in the entire room which probably wasn't a coincidence. The mattress didn't even come with a bedsheet.

This whole experience seemed designed around driving home how helpless he was. Or maybe that was just the natural result in waking up in a "hospital" that performed horrible, illegal surgeries on "slaves" and "property".

Assuming the door wasn't locked, Sam could disregard the lynx's warning and try his luck by running down the hallway and hopefully out of the building. As for the nudity problem? Well, there was nothing he could do about that. If he had to experience some additional embarrassment in exchange for his freedom, that was a price worth paying.

But something told him that a facility that dealt with (and presumably profited off) an underground slave trade would have multiple layers of security in place to prevent such an obvious brute force tactic.

Further evidence that it wouldn't be as simple as strolling out the front door was Nurse Toy herself. She was permitted to wander about "freely", at least to some extent. And yet despite this, she hadn't managed to escape. For that matter, Sam had to assume that others hadn't managed it either because this place would have been shut down had it been discovered. At least, he wanted to assume that modern day journalism hadn't fallen that far.

The more Samuel thought about it, the more certain he became that this must be an especially secure facility. Which meant periodic locked doors, security staff, patrols, cameras, and possibly even some final line of defense such as the entire facility being underground. That's what Sam would do if he was a complete monster in the business of kidnapping teenagers and turning them into armless sex toys for rich pervert's sick amusement.

Not that he was bitter or anything.

Those words struck the mouse like a gong. Sex toy. Is that what he was? Had he been kidnapped and modified just so some rich asshole could effortlessly flip him over, push his face into the mattress, and fuck him? Knowing he couldn't argue or fight back?

To his astonishment and horror, Sam found himself erecting at the thought.

The situation he was imagining resembled some of the kinkier stories he'd read online. Young boys grabbed off the streets before being installed into sex dungeons as permanent fixtures. Sometimes these dungeons were written as being underneath private clubs and sometimes under the huge, well furnished home of their wealthy owner.

In the stories the "lucky" boy would be trained and conditioned until they eventually came to love their owner. Naturally this intense affection for their master was rarely reciprocated aside from an exceptionally rare orgasm -- if that.

Meanwhile the slave's owner would enjoy their property however they wished, fucking their slave even as the boy went weeks, months, or even years with their needy member locked away and denied release.

In some of the darker stories the boys were made to beg for their own chastity, forced to plead with their owner to keep them locked up, denied, and teased. Then sincerely and enthusiastically expressing gratitude for each day that passed where their owner got to cum while they didn't. Because good slaves didn't cum -- ever.

Sam was aghast to see his own cock throb at the idea of some rich snob locking him away in a hidden basement while mocking him for being a useless, horny chastity slave. The mouse couldn't help but imagine being forced to go down on an older man's unfairly huge cock as his own pole twitched uselessly in its cage.

The teenager's eyes grew wide as saw his erection drip precum at the idea of being turned into a slave. Which was just hugely embarrassing and shameful. Jerking off while reading stories or watching videos was one thing. Getting this hard and needy less than an hour after finding out that he'd been turned into a slave? Unthinkable.

What Samuel hadn't yet realized was that the medication he'd been given was already getting to work, enhancing his arousal response among other significant changes. Which didn't mean that the boy didn't find these ideas arousing but rather his body was reacting much more enthusiastically to his unintentional fantasizing than it would under normal circumstances.

But from the mouse's perspective, he was being the world's biggest pervert by getting off on his own kidnapping, modification, and enslavement. Did he actually want some unknown stranger to take ownership of his cock and balls (along with the rest of him) and decide if and when he got to cum? No. And yes.

Many of Sam's secret daydreams revolved around the idea of a handsome brute telling him what to do and the mouse reluctantly giving in so that he might eventually earn a desperately desired orgasm. But this? This was all too much. Too much by far.

Not his straining dick seemed to have gotten the message.

If the kidnapped youth was less shaken up he might have put two and two together sooner to figure out that his body's intense reaction was a direct result of the injections. Instead he just sat there, naked on the bed, rock hard, fretting about what a pathetic, horny loser he was.

This went on until another slave nurse eventually entered the room. This one was likewise collared and chastised but unlike Nurse Toy this (apparently male) slave was also gagged and so therefore unable to speak.

The rabbit's name was Nurse Naughty (as provided by the collar's front label) and the text similarly informed the reader that the dark furred rabbit was a Full Service Slave Nurse. But while the collar encouraged patients to take advantage of the nurse's oral and anal services, Sam doubted that applied to a slave like him. Not that he was the type of person to take advantage of a "slave" in the first place.

Though that was another data point. Apparently there were non-slave patients at this hospital. Or that seemed like a reasonable assumption.

With neither of them able to speak, the rabbit got right to their tasks with no introduction or explanation. It soon became clear that Nurse Naughty was there to give Sam a sponge bath.

The mouse, unhappy with being touched and handled without his permission, initially put up some mild resistance as the rabbit went about methodically rubbing him down with a damp sponge. But the other slave wasn't having it and didn't hesitate to take Samuel's recently injected balls in hand, squeezing them until the teenager got the message and stopped interfering with the nurse's responsibilities.

Common sense indicated that the rabbit would likely be punished if Sam was later found to be unclean. Of course Nurse Naughty wouldn't put up with uncooperative patients.

The slow, thorough sponge bath was mostly clinical. Right up to the point when it came time to go over Sam's still present, regrettably persistent erection. From there, what had been an awkwardly silent but otherwise professional task devolved into the gagged rabbit clearly going out of his way to tease and stroke the pent-up mouse's rock hard cock.

This meant that Nurse Naughty was the second person that day to just reach over and play with Sam's privates like he wasn't even there. Like his opinions or likely objections didn't matter in the slightest.

And what was worse was that the rabbit's wet hands felt really, really good. It didn't take the mouse long to feel like he was on the precipice of blowing his load. As if sensing this, the gagged nurse slowed down, intentionally avoiding taking the panting teenager over the edge.

Sam tried to silently mouth "Please!" to the nurse but this only resulted in a particular sharp squeeze of both testicles. Cringing from the unexpected pain, he figured that even attempting to communicate must be against the rules.

The patient's aching rod was surely "clean" ages ago but the minutes continued to tick by as the rabbit went over the same sensitive areas again and again. At one point Samuel unintentionally tried to hump against the nurse's hands only to yet again be subject to ball punishment.

The expectations were fairly clear by then. Don't move. Don't interact. Don't try to communicate. Don't chase release. He was to sit there and let this happen. Which was how thirty minutes worth of soul searing edging went by as Nurse Naughty played with Sam's teenage cock like it was his own personal toy.

When the longest (and somehow shortest) half hour of the boy's life was over, the nurse packed up and left like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. For Sam, he was nearly overcome with the need to blow what was sure to be the biggest and most intense orgasm of his life. It would have taken very little to get him there. A few humps against the mattress and he was sure he'd pop like a bottle of champaign.

But Dr. Hasting had explicitly told him that getting himself off was off limits. And without arms or cleaning supplies to deal with the mess, preventing the hospital staff from finding out about the forbidden climax was impossible. And that was assuming there weren't cameras or sensors hidden in the room.

Part of the boy couldn't believe that had just happened while another part wasn't all that surprised.

"It's just like in those kink stories," he thought to himself. "They're trying to break me down. To make me desperate to obey in the hope that they'll reward my good behavior. But I can't let them win. I won't!"

But Sam wasn't totally confident that this was true because he had to admit that there were a great many things he would have been willing to do as long as Nurse Naughty had gotten him all of the way off.

Hell, if the rabbit had turned around and raised his tail, the mouse would have gladly hopped off the bed and fucked him without even knowing the nurse's real name. An erotic (if pathetic) thought. Then Sam blushed at the idea that other, non-slave patients at the hospital could do exactly that. Per the nurse's collar, they didn't even need the boy's permission. His ass was always available, "gratis". Just not for Sam.

In the end, he decided that he'd just deal with the situation by ignoring his own needs. He was an adult, he told himself. Not some horny teen that couldn't go a single day without getting off.

This was easier decided than done as three more days worth of injections and unfulfilling sponge baths slowly crept by. Twice a day Sam had to put up with thirty minutes of slow, sensual dick teasing as Nurse Naughty expertly avoided bringing the armless slave over the edge.

By the third day the outrageously horny boy was prepared to take care of things himself regardless of the doctor's previous threats. But as chance would have it, the mouse wouldn't have the chance to give into temptation as events beyond his control unfolded.

Distractedly looking over the mouse's discharge papers, Dr. Hasting stepped into the room.

============

"Hello, boy," the lynx said, not bothering with or just as likely not knowing Sam's name. "How are we feeling today?"

Even as the mature lynx asked this he reached over and placed a warm hand on the mouse's already present, increasingly persistent erection. It was yet another sign that the man viewed the armless boy as little more than property to be touched and enjoyed however he or others might wish.

Sam had no response for the one of the primary people responsible for ruining his life. Regardless that the surgeon didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal to amputate the teenager's arms, the boy would never forgive him, nor would he ever forget.

"I take it as a compliment that you're so excited to see me. Sadly, as much as I might enjoy playing with your perky slave cock, today has been exceptionally busy. So let's get right to it, shall we? You're being discharged and your ride is already here, waiting in the garage."

Suddenly the doctor's invasive hand on his pole was entirely forgotten. It was really happening. Sam was being secreted away, never to be seen or heard from again. Not unless he was lucky enough to be rescued. Or even more unlikely, managed to escape.

"An orderly will see you out. Be aware that he's armed with a taser and is eager for the opportunity to make use of it. Unless you want to be shocked in your balls, I suggest you be respectful and submissive. Some slaves wrongly assume that this handoff is the perfect opportunity to make their escape. Considering how well behaved you've been during your stay, I trust you aren't so foolish."

From there the lynx spent the next half minute or so playing with Sam's erect, needy cock before (absurdly) wishing the mouse well and vanishing out the door, never to be seen by the boy again.

A few minutes after that, a huge bear dressed in dark blue medical scrubs entered the room. Without even bothering to directly address the teen, he pulled Sam off the bed and onto his feet before firmly grabbing the mouse by his erection and walking the alarmed, fast-stepping teenager down a series of halls while treating the boy's penis like a convenient leash.

The huge bear's grip didn't seem intended to be erotic (though in other circumstances, Sam might have enjoyed being treated like that). It seemed more like the employee knew from experience how to get confused and upset "patients" where they needed to be, as quickly as possible.

With the man gripping such a sensitive part of his body while using it like a control rod, Samuel admitted to himself that escape was impossible, even had he been brave (or foolish) enough to risk it.

While the two of them kept up a fast pace (Sam having little choice in the matter with his dick in the bear's unforgiving grip), the boy managed a few quick glances into open rooms as they made their way to wherever the pick up site was located.

The teen wasn't quite shocked by what he half-glimpsed but the site of seeing two different slave nurses being fucked like prostitutes was at least mildly suprising, despite what Sam had already experienced. Even more surprising, one of the patients looked to be a boy around Samuel's age and while the mouse only got a brief look into the room, the teenager seemed to be enthusiastically pounding Nurse Toy's ass.

Sam didn't have the opportunity to dwell on this as the bear yanked his erection hard enough that the armless mouse very nearly stumbled.

"Keep up," the man grumbled without so much as looking at the boy. Unable to speak up or defend himself, the eighteen year old had no alternative but to obey.

Soon they arrived in what looked to be an underground parking structure like someone might find at a big city shopping center. From there, another minute or so of forced marching brought them to their destination.

There a coyote with an appreciative but feral grin was waiting for him, arms crossed. As the man's sharp eyes bored directly into the shy boy's naked, armless physique the mouse got an opportunity to likewise take in the sight of the man who was waiting beside a generic black sedan.

Was this supposed to be his owner, Sam couldn't help but wonder. But the teen didn't think so. Neither the car nor the man's clothing spoke of money and one had to assume that purchasing slaves was risky and therefore expensive. But then again, what did Sam know about it?

The coyote was tall and lithe but at the same time, discreetly muscled. He was dressed as some sort of ranch hand or cowboy and he looked at Sam like he wanted to bend the boy over the back of his car and fuck him right there.

Sam had a sudden impulse to run but with the bear behind him and the coyote in front of him and nowhere to go, the odds of success felt next to impossible.

"Well fuck me if you aren't the prettiest pony I've ever seen."

Pony? The word didn't mean much to Sam but the context was clear enough. The coyote said 'pony' the same way the doctor had said 'toy'. What both men really meant was some combination of 'slave' and 'object', the cynical boy silently grumped to himself.

The bear grunted and spoke up for only the second time saying, "Verbally confirm the handoff codeword so I can get on with my day. Then you can play with your slave all you want. Once you get well enough away from hospital property, that is."

It was the same no-nonsense tone of voice the man had used when ordering the mouse to keep up. A sort of bored confidence that made the mouse flinch.

Reluctantly the cowboy turned his attention to the orderly and gave a cheery but clearly fake smile.

"Oh, he's not mine. Just picking him up for the boss-man. The codeword is Flapjacks."

The bear grunted at this, not really caring about the unnecessary added details.

"Codeword approved. Please secure your property and depart the premises as outlined in the terms of the agreement. Note that the hospital is not responsible for any future legal or liability issues you may encounter. The hospital expects you to forget any past conversations or collaborations. If you possess any paperwork or records that reference the hospital or our dealings in any way, destroy them at the earliest opportunity. This is not optional. Failure to comply with these previously outlined and agreed upon conditions will result in resolution via other-than-legal means. Are we clear?"

The orderly repeated this quasi-legal sounding statement in a tone of voice that implied he'd repeated the same words many times before

Rather than act annoyed the coyote simply rolled his eyes at the well practiced speech.

"Yes, clear as glass. You can go now. I got it from here."

The bear grunted again and asked, "Need help putting it in your trunk?"

Sam didn't appreciate being referred to as an "it" but once more found himself incapable of inserting himself into the conversation even as he opened his mouth to object. Despite making an earnest attempt, not a single sound came out of his mouth.

The cowboy just shook his head at the bear and said, "Nope. I got it. You can head off Mr. I'm-Very-Busy."

With a final grunt of acknowledgement (that could have also been interpreted as "fuck you") the orderly strode away, leaving the mouse and coyote alone by the car.

"Well howdy there, cutie. As I said, I'm not Mr. Brandt, who is your new owner. But I might as well introduce myself because we'll be seeing plenty of each other over the coming days. The name is Cody and I'd say you can call me Handler Cody but, well..."

Rather than sound genuinely empathetic, Cody gave every impression of being pleased by what he saw as he once more took in the sight of the mouse. Who was still unmistakably erect, having had both Dr. Hasting's and the orderly's hand on his shaft in the prior minutes.

"What's going to happen next is that you're going to get in the trunk. Nice and polite-like, right? Then we'll be taking a long ride to your new home. If you fight or resist me in any way, I'm going to use the taser in my coat pocket to zap you right in the balls. It'll hurt so bad you'll piss yourself but I'll just keep on tasing you so you learn not to do it again. We clear, pony? Give me a nice big nod if you understand."

As the coyote's hand was already moving to his jacket's pocket like he planned on pulling out the taser, Sam found himself nodding enthusiastically. Fighting back was pointless, considering this parking structure was effectively still inside the hospital complex. Even if he managed to surprise the cowboy by kneeing him in the balls, the teenager had no delusions that he would get very far, naked, shoeless, and unable to open most doors he came across.

"Good pony," the man said, once again using that word. "I'm going to touch your balls now. Not because I need to, to get you in the trunk, but because I want to. You stand there nice and pliant and let Cody get a feel for ya."

The coyote, who appeared to be in his late twenties, proceeded to do exactly that. He took the frowning, unhappy mouse's balls in both hands and rubbed, tugged, and played with them like they were toys. Sam tried not to blush as the cowboy whistled in appreciation.

"These are some real beauties. They're gonna look good, bouncing and swinging between your legs as you work on the ranch. I'm sure you've guessed but ponies aren't permitted clothes. That means these will be on display, all the time. And it goes without saying that we'll be continuing their medical treatment."

Unable to help himself, Sam twitched and throbbed as the too-close coyote played with his balls while practically whispering in his ear. The mouse thought he smelled alcohol on the man's breath. Classy, he mentally groused.

Cody followed this by grabbing the boy's cock, running his hand up and down the stalk as if staking a claim.

The mouse was getting tired of everyone touching him there as though they were entitled. As though just because he couldn't say "no" and "stop" they had every right to play with him. To make him hard. To make his balls ache with need.

"This, on the other hand, is pretty enough but not overly impressive. At least, not for a pony. Seems a bit eager though, doesn't it?"

Sam hated the man's vile, mocking words but try as he might he couldn't deny the way the coyote was touching him felt good. Given he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious for, the mouse didn't know when he'd last gotten off but it felt like it had been a while. A feeling made all the more intense by Nurse Naughty's periodic teasing.

Giving the boy's pole one last stroke, the man let go. Then he stepped away and opened the trunk.

"Alright, boy. In ya go," he said, guiding Sam into the space with a grip on the back of the neck. "Come on, slut. Let's go on an adventure, yeah? Don't pretend you're not excited for it."

The trunk was dark and cramped but mercifully somewhat padded. Whoever his owner was, apparently they didn't want him arriving damaged.

A few minutes later the car was in motion with the confused, worried, and kidnapped boy laying in the darkness. Something like a thick blanket had been settled around him and strapped in place.

Long hours passed like this as Sam's thoughts flickered from one worry to the next.

Who was this Mr. Brandt? Was his new "owner" the man who had paid to have him kidnapped in the first place? Or had he just been a target of opportunity and the original kidnapper had sold him off to whoever could pay his fee? What was Mr. Brandt planning to do with him and what kind of fucked up place was this "ranch"?

Was it going to be out in the middle of nowhere? Would there be a fence or security? Would there be any chance of escape? And if he did manage to escape, what would his life be like now?

There was little possibility of Sam going off to college even if he did manage to get away. At least, not anytime soon. His missing arms -- a tragedy he still hadn't come to terms with -- would change everything. Not to mention his missing voice. Nothing in life would be simple for him anymore. Everything would be necessarily challenging. Even things as simple as putting on socks or jerking off would be complicated, difficult affairs.

But based on how confident Dr. Hasting and Cody had acted, Sam had to figure his odds of successfully escaping were depressingly low. Perhaps "winning the lottery" level low. No one he interacted with recently seemed overly concerned about him reporting them to the authorities. They treated him like he was a slave. Like he would always be a slave."

And would he just go along with that? Doing what the people around him -- criminals, really -- said, no matter how uncomfortable or embarrassing?

Sam liked the idea of resisting but he understood that without arms, he had no way to defend himself. It wasn't like he was a powerfully built guy even before he'd been made totally helpless.

And the coyote had said they planned on keeping him naked. His vulnerable balls would always be out front and center, just waiting for someone to reach out and touch them or grab them.

And if Cody worked for this Mr. Brandt person, that probably meant there would be other staff, right? Other ranch hands. More people to keep an eye on him. To mock him and push him around. Men wearing boots and cowboy hats. Big, strong men with huge cocks and--

Samuel blushed intensely as he began to grow erect at the idea of standing naked in the middle of a bunch of cowboys. Tall, broad-shouldered men who towered over him and who ordered him around. Telling him what to do. Bullying him. Demanding things of him as they pulled out their dicks from their worn, faded blue jeans. Arguing amongst each other over who got to fuck him first.

The boy grew painfully hard at the thought of a bunch of steely-eyed strangers commenting on his body like he wasn't even there. Like he was some naked animal rather than a person.

Like he was a pony. That's what the coyote had called him. A pony.

In the darkness of the sedan's trunk, Sam bit his lip. He hoped he didn't grow hard when the people at the ranch looked him over. But given how worked up he felt, the mouse thought there was a good chance he would irredeemably embarrass himself. Worse would be if they expected him to strut around with an erection. If they expected him to behave like a randy animal who couldn't control his urges.

And if they called out to him? If the men on the ranch teased him or made fun of his dripping, long denied arousal? Well, no matter how embarrassing or hurtful their words were, the horny mouse already knew his member would throb at the attention.

Even back at the hospital, the more Sam tried to will his defiant erection to go away the more it refused him, as though mocking his attempts at self control. And the blasted thing always acted so eager when strangers put their hands on. The doctor. The nurse. The orderly. And most recently, the handler.

Would this Mr. Brandt touch him? Almost certainly. And much more than that. Whoever he was, this man had spent money on Samuel. The mouse very much doubted the man was having him driven to his ranch to invite him over for tea. And if the mouse was really to be kept naked, that made it all but certain that the boy would be standing there in the nude for their first meeting.

Naked. Helpless. Erect. Eager?

The teen blushed again, resenting himself for trying to turn this into one of the kink stories he read online. This wasn't going to be fun and he wasn't going to enjoy himself. Wherever Cody was taking him, it was much more likely to be the stuff of nightmares that some wet dream made true.

Sam didn't know where or what this ranch was but he already knew that it was going to be the most difficult experience of his life. Because whoever this Mr. Brandt was, the man had him by the balls just as surely as the coyote did a few hours earlier. And there was no way this man was a good or a decent person. Not after what Dr. Hasting had done to him.

The teenager sighed as the long car ride into the unknown continued. He told himself not to give up. To keep his eyes open for opportunities to escape. But it was hard to think when he kept imagining a room full of cowboys looking at him. Touching him. Bending him over. Taking him. Showing him how an animal took cock.

"It's just the lack of release" Sam told himself, feeling far less confident than he pretended. "This isn't you. Don't let them win."

But that's what the teenager was worried about. That the game had been rigged so badly that they'd effectively already won. Closing his eyes under the blankets, he just had to hope that his usual cynicism was wrong for once.

============

When the trunk finally opened again there were only two others around: The coyote and a large buck who was taller and more muscular than Cody but also older. He might have been mid-thirties or maybe a gracefully aging fourty year old.

"This him?" the gruff man with impressive antlers asked.

Cody literally scoffed at the question.

"No, Mark. This is just some armless teenager I found wandering the woods. That might be the dumbest question I've ever heard."

Rather than getting annoyed at the sharp-tongued coyote's insult the older deer simply shrugged.

"Boss-man said to double-check everything. That means I double-check everything, even the obvious stuff. Mr. Brandt doesn't like mistakes."

This comment seemed to take the edge off the coyote's aggravation.

"I suppose. I mean, we all remember Billy. Fuck, that guy really stepped in it when he--"

Mark interrupted as he effortlessly pulled the dazed, half-asleep mouse out of the trunk.

"We don't talk about Billy."

Cody sighed at this.

"Yeah... Fine. Anyway, yes. This is the new pony."

"Name?" Marked asked, his demeanor unflappable as he made sure Sam was steady on his feet before placing a hand on the teenager's shoulder to keep him from toppling over.

"No name yet. Mr. Brandt's still deciding. Let's get him to the stable. It's too late in the day to get any real work done but tomorrow we'll start putting him through his paces. We need to toughen him up and start working on his muscle tone."

The buck nodded even as he looked Sam over, appearing to agree with the idea.

"Fine by me. So what's the plan for today?"

Sam was likewise eager to hear what the so-called "plan" was so he paid close attention as the two men continued to discuss him as though he weren't standing right there. Even though part of him was very much aware that he was standing naked beside two undeniably attractive hunks.

Were they also assholes who kidnapped people? Undoubtedly. But still, there was no doubt they looked like the top results of an internet image search for the words "sexy ranch studs".

"We'll give him his daily enema, get him fed, and then kit him out," Cody answered.

Sam grimaced at the mention of a "daily enema". He didn't like the sound of that. Not at all.

"Boots or whole kit?"

"The whole kit. Bit and tail-collar included."

Mark raised an eyebrow at that and said, "Why's that? Boss-man ain't coming by today. He ain't even on-site."

"Because Mr. Brandt is going to want to see pictures of his new pony, isn't he? Even if he hasn't thought to ask for it yet. We'll get our boy here prettied up and I'll take some photos, then forward them on."

"That's... A smart idea," the buck said, nodding. Which had the effect of making his alters bob around too.

"Damn right it is," Cody replied, sounding proud of himself and a bit smug. "Now, help me get him to the stable. And watch his feet. He's not booted yet and if his feet get cut up it will set back the whole work schedule."

Without warning the powerful buck picked Sam up in a bridal carry like he weighed nothing.

"No reason to risk it. Pretty boy's dainty feet are probably as soft as he is. I'll just carry him."

The coyote shrugged and said, "Works for me. I've always said that you're the brawns and I'm the brains."

The deer chuckled at this.

"Remind me to punch you later."

The coyote grinned at his coworker.

"How about I remind you to fuck me hard into the mattress later instead?"

Nodding, Mark replied, "That's fine too. Gotta pay you back for getting the promotion over me. Don't complain if you come into work with a limp tomorrow."

Cody snorted.

"As if you could. I've bottomed for bigger guys than you, hot stuff. Hell, I've topped bigger guys too, for that matter."

"Challenge accepted," Mark answered with a matching grin.

Sam, who was very confused and increasingly worried, tried not to fidget in the man's arms as they made their way through what looked to be rural, picturesque farmland. The place might have been beautiful if the mouse wasn't preoccupied with dread and self-pity.

Off in the distance he could see a large building partially obscured by trees and shrubbery. Sam assumed that this must be the "stable" the two men who were busy eyeball fucking each other must have been talking about.

============

What followed next was a uniquely unpleasant experience for the would-be college boy.

"Giving him an enema" actually entailed no less than four separate enemas that took the better part of half an hour. It was painful and embarrassing and Sam hated every second of it. Even more, he hated the idea that this would apparently be part of his daily routine going forward.

After that, dinner turned out to be bland oatmeal with small chunks of fruit in it, alongside with a decent sized container of water, which the mouse was expected to drink until it was empty. Unlike a normal meal he didn't alternate between taking bites of food and drinks of water.

Instead, Mark practically force fed him the entire bowl of oatmeal prior to switching to making Sam chug down every drop of water. The buck made it clear that finishing the offered water wasn't optional by squeezing the mouse's balls when he tried to refuse more by turning his head away. The mouse had never had that much water in one sitting in his life but the boy wasn't afforded veto power as he continued to gulp, and gulp, and gulp until he felt about ready to vomit.

Sam didn't think it was even slightly fair to escalate directly to ball punishment but the cowboy hadn't asked his opinion. And even if he had, the new pony wouldn't have been able to share his thoughts aside from simple indicators like the nodding or shaking of his head.

The college boy especially didn't like the way Mark smiled as he squeezed down on the mute youth's throbbing sack. He understood that it was a very bad sign that the mature buck seemed to take pleasure in hurting him. Not to mention the fact that the ranch hand hadn't hesitated to take his orbs in hand and squeeze. It was almost like the man had been looking for an excuse to hurt him.

In addition, the mouse couldn't help noticing the two men were indeed treating him very much like an animal. Maybe this shouldn't have come as a surprise since they kept referring to him as a pony but it did. From the teenager's perspective he'd had only a few days to start becoming acclimated to his new reality and having two fully dressed men talk about him like he wasn't there was fucking with his head in a big way.

It didn't help matters that despite the situation he kept sprouting frequent spontaneous erections. The coyote and the buck didn't punish these but they definitely noticed, touching and commenting on Samuel's arousal just like he feared they might.

Sam hated how erotic he found it, the way the two handsome cowboys poked, flicked, and talked about his erections. Cody seemed to think they were more cute than anything. Mark took them as a sign that the pony was going to take his cock "real nice" when he inevitably got around to putting it to the mute slave.

Even when the pony had been so full of water that he thought he might burst, the coyote had kept on touching him, rubbing Sam's distended belly and his shameless hardon without the least bit of hesitation. The boy had only been able to breathe through the discomfort while Mark had forced him to take whatever up his ass while Cody rubbed his stomach like he was a wishing troll toy.

All the while the two men hadn't bothered to explain what they were doing or why they were doing it. They simply did whatever they wanted and forced Sam to deal with the consequences as he tried to breathe through the strain and discomfort. Being teased while being treated like a water balloon that was at risk of popping was not the teen's idea of a good time.

Plus, it wasn't like the coyote's fondling really felt that amazing. Sam was just so horny that anything bumping against his cock would have caused him to firm up. That Cody was occasionally touching and stroking him was overkill. Not that the boy was dumb enough to try to make the man stop.

When the series of humiliating, painful enemas were finally over the teen was trembling from nerves and frustration. Not to mention from the fear of what was to come. Neither of the cowboys seemed to notice Sam's anxiety. They kept right on chatting like the boy wasn't even there, talking about their coworkers, the ranch's dinner menu, what was new or worth watching on various streaming services, and any other random thoughts that crossed their minds.

It was a surreal experience for the young man. There he was, standing in the middle of a barn, naked no less, with two gruff, no-nonsense cowboys running their hands over him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it was normal to fondle a teenager and to play with his straining dick because you were bored.

There were even aspects to the situation that were turning Sam on in a big way, when he was able to momentarily forget the fact that he'd been kidnapped and had his life ruined. But having two fully dressed studs play with his dick while he was just expected to stand there and let it happen?

Yeah... That was doing it for Sam. Though he was loath to admit it.

Still, the enemas had been awful. The mouse hoped they gave him so many because he was new to the ranch. But the way Mark had chuckled at his evident discomfort and told him that he'd "get used to it" didn't fill the boy with hope.

But eventually that trial of endurance was over and the next item on the agenda (that hadn't been shared with Sam) was tackled.

"Lookie here, Cody," Mark said as he ran one hand over and around the mouse's sensitive tail while the other cupped one of the boy's ass cheeks. "Our new pony is really feeling the mood. We've barely started showing him the ropes and he's already about to spew his animal seed all over the ground."

The smirking coyote got in on the act, lightly slapping the teen's stiff cock while tugging on the pony's balls.

"Got us a natural here. Found that pony headspace quick, didn't you boy? I'd bet a month's salary that he wouldn't make a fuss if we bent him over and took turns on him, right here and now. I reckon he'd love for us to show him how cowboys make use of ponies around these parts."

Sam hated that the man was right. He didn't want to admit it, least of all to himself, but at that moment he wasn't sure that he'd mind overly much if the two workers made good on their "threats". Not when the coyote and buck both looked like they could have starred in their very own pornos.

"That right, boy?" Mark asked, not expecting or waiting for an answer. "You looking forward to being ridden by a couple of real men? You hungry for some genuine ranch hand cock? Gonna give us a warm place to put our cocks? Want some cowboy gravy for dessert?"

And just like that, Sam got his confirmation that yes, he got off on being talked down to by attractive men with pant bulges pointed in his direction. Standing so close they were practically pressed up against him. Their hands all over him. Touching him. Possessing him.

Fuck, he just really, really needed to cum.

Logically he knew that he was only eighteen and that the two men were a good deal older than him -- especially the buck who was probably twice his age. But Samuel's dick had been teased off and on for days and his balls had long ago reached the boiling point.

At that moment, Sam didn't really care if they treated him like an animal. He just wanted one of the two men to grab his cock and stroke it until he came. And if he needed to suck some stud's cock to make that happen? Well, that was a price the teenager was willing to pay.

The coyote whistled appreciatively and teased, "Lookie here, his dick is jumping around in my hand something fierce. Yeah, I'm thinking this here pony is aching for it. He's hungry for cowboy gravy alright."

Cody was stroking the mouse with a feather-light touch and the only thing keeping Sam from humiliating himself by begging for more was his inability to speak. Not that the coyote had a difficult time guessing his desires based on the boy's expression and his attempts to hump against the worker's hand which he kept just out of reach.

"Well then, it's a shame we're going to have to disappoint the pretty pony," Mark chuckled before slapping Sam's ass with a rude, unprovoked slap that made the teen gasp in surprise. "Because there's work that needs doing and as Mr. Brandt would say, work comes before play. At least, it does when you're a pony."

Immediately following the buck's slap the coyote started squeezing his balls rather harshly. This served as a rude reminder that these men weren't his friends. They weren't on his side or even good people, for that matter.

And while they might not have been the ones to actually kidnap him or perform that horrible surgery on him, Cody and Mark (whose last names he didn't know) seemed perfectly comfortable exploiting his situation. That and it was clear they were employees who were paid to be here. In that sense, the two men were quite literally profiting off his suffering.

"Yeah, but you'd still suck their cocks if they wanted you to, wouldn't you?" a hateful voice in the back of his head whispered. Sam pushed the errant thought aside as he tried to muster as much dignity as he was able. What was left of it, anyway.

Sam soon found out that this wasn't merely light-hearted roleplay for the handlers. Whatever else, they were entirely serious about working him hard and putting him through his paces.

"You heard the buck. Time to get you tacked out so we can put you to work. And I say we start with this."

Letting the wincing mouse go, Cody made his way over to a nearby cabinet and pulled out the largest butt plug Samuel had ever seen. It was so shockingly large that it took the pony a moment to realize that it was attached to a long pony-like tail that fell down towards the barn floor.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that this tail-plug was part of his "uniform" and that the grinning coyote had every intention of getting that huge plug inside of him.

The shock and disbelief must have been plain on his face because the cowboy said, "Don't worry, boy. It'll fit. We're pros at squeezing big things into tight packages. Aren't we, Mark?"

The buck only laughed as he ran a finger back and forth over Sam's quivering, puckered hole. Then the man pinched the sensitive rim because of course he did. The mouse was beginning to understand that his comfort and preferences weren't high priorities for these men.

What followed next was an insertion that was so rough and insistent that it bordered on violent. Even with gobs of ultra-slick lube being liberally applied, the fist-sized tail-plug was at the very limits of what Sam could feasibly take.

It was a monstrous beast of a plug and the two ranch hands grew increasingly irritated with the pony the longer they had to work as a team to shove the pony-tail plug under his twitching, distressed mouse tail.

They were not kind in their words or actions and Samuel cried real tears of pain and frustration as they held his legs apart while pushing the plug into him so hard that the pony thought he might split in half. Some of the words were just plain vulgar too.

"Stop resisting, faggot!" Mark bellowed at one point, lightly punching the plug to try to force it inside the much younger boy.

"You need to get serious about this," Cody demanded, trying to twist the plug as he pushed it up and forward.

As they worked together to force the plug in, the teen's frantic mind only managed to catch snippets of their grunted complaints.

"You're being intentionally stubborn, pony."

"What's your problem? Just spread your legs and relax, dumbass."

"Fighting is just making this harder, you dumb animal."

"You keep puckering up and you'll make me think your ass is holding out for a bigger plug. Is that what you want? This one too dainty for you, cupcake?"

"Ponies take what they're given. Stop with this entitled bullshit and take the damn plug already!"

"You're really starting to piss me off, little guy."

They didn't sound genuinely angry. Just annoyed and unreasonably judgmental in Samuel's opinion. But they definitely didn't care about sparing his feelings. He was called a dozen different flavors of lazy, stupid, and stubborn. All while they tried to force in what felt like the world's largest plug.

Sam absolutely hated it but as usual he couldn't speak up for himself.

When it was finally over and the too-huge thing popped inside, the mouse almost wept with relief. Except, now the tail-plug was now stuck firmly inside of him and he realized this was only the start of his ordeal as his ass began constantly informing him that it was being stretched to its limits.

Every instinct he had told him that he needed to get that plug out of his body as soon as possible. That his ass was never meant to accommodate something as thick and large as the tail-plug. But without arms, there was no way he was going to be able to pull it out without help. And based on how smug and satisfied the two assholes looked as they examined the second "tail" falling down behind his legs, there was no help to be found there.

The pony could feel the silken tail brush against his legs but that sensation barely registered compared to the profound stretch of his colon. And while the narrower base of the plug was far more manageable than the widest part of the plug, even that felt sizable as Sam's hole repeatedly tried to clenched down on it.

It felt like his ring of muscles was trying to squeeze down on the base of the plug only for the plug to refuse to budge even the tiniest bit. The plug was there and it wasn't going anywhere.

"You'll get used to it," the buck said, once more playing with the fretful mouse's rear cheeks as he took in the sight of the plugged hole. The bastard even ran the tip of his finger around Samuel's stretched ring, making the boy shudder and try to pull away.

"The hard part is done," Cody noted, sounding relieved as though he'd been the one inconvenienced by the act of plugging the teen. "Let's get his tail collar on next, followed by the rest of the gear. Then we can snap a few pictures before the pony gets all sweaty."

Mark offered up his usual wordless grunt to this and within a few more minutes Sam was fully tacked out in pony gear.

The minimalist black collar that attached to his non-pony tail and kept it raised and out of the way was the biggest surprise, but none of the pony gear was especially comfortable. And not a single piece of the gear felt "normal" for the boy.

The most annoying part (aside from the plug) was the rubber-covered bit that kept his mouth partially open. In addition to that, there were the reins that attached to the bridle that fitted around his muzzle and head. Sam's heart sank as he understood that he was going to be literally led around and controlled by whatever random person happened to be holding the reins.

Finally there were the pony boots which extended up past his knees and were held in place by belts that were cinched tight to keep them in place. The pony boots ended in rubber hooves that made Sam feel like he was standing on the ball of his foot or perhaps wearing high heels. The teenager hoped the pony boots (and the rest of the gear for that matter) would be taken off soon but knew this decision was entirely out of his hands.

Which was a thought that once more reminded the mouse that he didn't have hands anymore. The sudden sense of loss struck the dressed up pony like a hammer blow as he allowed himself to be escorted via the reins around a corner which led to a full sized wall-mounted mirror.

For the first time since his kidnapping and subsequent modification, Sam got a good look at himself. And what he saw stunned him.

No longer did he look like some bright-and-eager young adult about to head off on his own for the first time to tackle the right of passage that was college. Instead, what he saw looking back from the mirror was a naked, armless "animal" in full pony gear -- complete with hooves, bit, and bridle. Even more humiliating, despite all his "gear" there was nothing covering his privates which meant his balls and shaft were on full display.

Which meant his erection was on full display. His very hard, very shameful erection. An erection that both the workers were touching as they crowded around him on either side while Cody whistled again in appreciation.

"Looking good, pony," the coyote said, pinching the end of the blushing mouse's cock while the buck rubbed the shaft's root with his thumb.

"That's one mighty-fine looking animal," the larger buck agreed, sounding sincere for once even as he smiled as though he were looking down on the teenager. "You sure we can't spare a few minutes for me to dump a load down his throat?"

But to Sam's relief, the coyote just shook his head.

"Like I said, it's his first day. No way am I risking pissing off Mr. Brandt. Especially not right after my promotion. Fuck him on your own time, Mark. If your balls are big enough to roll the dice, that is."

The other ranch hand just snorted at that.

"Ain't nothing wrong with the size of my balls, as you well know. But I don't think the boss-man cares about keeping his new pony pristine as much as you seem to think. I mean, who's to say that he wouldn't like the idea of me making use of the handsome thing? How do we know he wouldn't love some pictures of me fucking this slut?"

Again the coyote motioned his disagreement.

"You seriously think Mr. Brandt spent all that money so you could swoop in and get your rocks off first? You're lucky you're good looking because you sure weren't blessed with an abundance of brains. I'm telling you, for now keep it in your pants. Remember, I'm the handler that's on the clock right now, Assistant Ranch Hand Mark."

A flash of irritation came across the older worker's face at the coyote's use of his official title before he managed to smother it. There was something mean and dark about the look but it was only there for a moment. But Cody didn't seem to notice it because he was still grinning like a fool.

Then a slow, sly smirk spread across his face as he began rubbing his pants' bulge.

Looking at the mirror, the coyote caught the rhythmic motion and swallowed hard, his eyes locking onto the growing bulge just as Sam's did.

"This bossy side of you has me wanting to put you in your place, yote. I'll tell you what. I'll let you get away with acting all high-and-mighty for now if you tell me that you're going to be a good boy and drain daddy's balls later."

The suddenly wide-eyed coyote seemed unsure on what to do or say next. The internal conflict was clear from his face, just as it was clear that the younger man very much wanted to get on his knees for the stronger, taller buck. But he also didn't want to lower himself in front of his new charge just to slake his lust.

"I... I don't think that now is--"

"No, boy," the buck said, interrupting as he continued to grope and stroke himself through the fabric of his jeans. "Say it right or you won't get your treat later tonight. And you do want your treat, don't you? I've seen how you've been looking at me. You want it real bad."

Cody looked ready to object until he realized that Mark was entirely serious. That if he wanted his sexy coworker to give him what he wanted later, he was going to have to play along and embarrass himself in front of the ranch's new pony.

Thankfully the decision wasn't that hard for the coyote because he cared little about what the teenage mouse thought of him. Who cared what a pony thought in comparison to getting another go at the other cowboy's meat?

Reluctantly clearing his throat with a cough the man said, "I'll be a good boy for you, daddy. Please let me drain your balls later tonight."

Mark smiled but he wasn't done teasing the younger man.

"I'm not convinced. Get on your knees and kiss my bulge."

"Mark..." the coyote said, sounding half annoyed and half pleading.

"Hurry up now. You don't want anyone to come by and catch you acting like the cum-hungry cocksucker we both know you are. Kiss your daddy's bulge, boy. Kiss it good and I'll feed it to you, later. That's the deal."

Sam didn't think the coyote would actually go through with it but to his surprise the cowboy's resistance suddenly broke and he moved quickly to settle in on his knees in front of the victorious buck, practically making out with the man's straining bulge with an eagerness that made the teenager cringe slightly in second-hand embarrassment.

For some reason he couldn't explain, the mouse began to feel like he was the pervert here, peeping in on an intimate moment that should have remained private. And yet the two men just ignored the plugged and tacked-out pony, like he wasn't even in the room.

"That's a good yote, keep kissing it. Show me you need it," the buck encouraged, his voice thick with need.

Cody responded by moaning into the buck's crotch as he ran his lips up and down the covered shaft.

Seeing the shocked look on the pony's face in the mirror's reflection, the smiling buck winked at the mute boy before saying, "That's enough. I'll let you worship it properly later tonight. Now, stop acting like a slut and focus on your work. You got a new pony to break in, remember?"

"Y-yes, daddy," the coyote said, sounding flustered as he moved to get to his feet.

But the impressively antlered buck held the other man's head in place for a few more moments, slowly humping the coyote's face before reluctantly letting him stand back up.

Cody had barely managed to get up before was pulled into a deep, passionate kiss that the coyote immediately surrendered into.

The loud, wet kiss went on for the better part of a minute and Sam's only option was to stand there and watch as his untouched erection bobbed and twitched in front of him. He couldn't help it. As rude and terrible as the two ranch hands had been to him, they were both undeniably sexy men and the mouse couldn't say that it wasn't hot to watch them make out.

When the kiss finally ended the coyote only managed a single mumbled word.

"Daddy..."

"Shush now. You wind me up any more and I'll fuck you right here. Get back to the job and meet me in my room at seven PM sharp. And don't be a minute late or I won't let you worship my cock. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was that, boy?"

"Yes, daddy!"

Gone was the cocky, self-confident coyote that had been bullying him up until that point. In his place stood a horny guy who was borderline desperate to suck off the stronger, older, more powerful man.

And Mark seemed to have Cody's number down and was happy to exploit the situation for his personal pleasure.

"As for you," the buck said, returning his gaze to Samuel. "You'll get your opportunity to worship me too. You best believe you'll be tonguing my balls before the week is out. That's a promise."

To emphasize the point, the bastard took hold of the base of the plug and started moving it around, making the hooved pony gasp as his aching hole protested the tugging.

Just before he turned and walked away the buck said, "Welcome to Sunset Ranch, pretty pony. We're going to have so much fun together."

Then the man slapped the startled mouse's tender ass one last time before he left the "dressed" pony with the softly panting coyote.

After watching the other cowboy strut off, with a shake of his head Cody managed to collect himself before he delivered a slap of his own -- directly into the pony's sensitive, defenseless balls.

"What are you waiting for, slut?" the coyote demanded in an unmistakable effort to reestablish the pecking order. "Time to stop being a lazy beast and earn your keep, pony. All this food, lodging, and gear isn't free, you know!"

Unable to talk or fight back, Sam had to settle for accepting the abuse as the man pulled out his phone and started taking the pony's picture from various angles and distances, including several close-ups of his crotch, ass, and bridled face. And when Cody instructed him to lean forward slightly and stick out his ass, the teenager was too afraid of yet another slap to refuse.

Keeping his balance while armless and wearing rubber hooves proved to be challenging but Sam was highly motivated to figure it out in order to avoid more strikes to his exposed, sensitive areas.

Eventually the coyote grunted in something that approximated satisfaction and, without saying another word, he took the reins in hand and guided the unhappy teenager towards whatever was next on the agenda that no one had bothered to share with him.

The boy hoped that, whatever was next, it wasn't as unpleasant as he feared.

But, as it turned out (and as was becoming an unfortunate pattern in Samuel's life), what came next was even worse than he'd feared.

============

Three hours later, Sam was thoroughly hating his life.

It wasn't just the hard work, which was never ending and demeaning in the extreme. It wasn't just the constant barrage of insulting language the coyote directed his way as he gasped and panted while receiving precious few (and much too short) breaks. It wasn't even the cruel leather crop that the handler applied to the most sensitive areas of the pony's body without mercy or hesitation.

It was everything put together, plus being naked, plus working in the sun, plus being dragged around by actual reins like he was some dumb, unthinking beast. And it was the total absence of anything resembling a silver lining.

Everything was awful and Sam's entire body hurt. The lithe teenager just didn't think he was built to work this hard. Plus, having him pull carts was just stupid. Weren't there battery-powered movers for just this sort of work? What was this, some sort of historical reenactment where trucks and haulers hadn't been invented yet?

Yet, it was hard to muster his anger when he was in this much pain. Not only were his muscles sore but the damn coyote had cropped him dozens of times. Aside from his head and face, no part of his body had been spared. Certainly not his ass or balls, which Cody had focused on as though these parts of the mouse's anatomy had personally offended him.

Had he been able to speak (and had his mouth not been stuffed full with a metal bit), Sam would have gladly humbled himself by pleading with the ranch hand to please, please, please stop hitting his balls. Not that the pony had any real belief that this would have worked.

Thankfully the coyote didn't appear to be getting off on causing him pain when he wasn't meeting the handlers' ludicrously high standards. But that didn't stop the man from trying to wring every ounce of effort from the crying mouse's body as he could.

"You think I can't tell when you're purposefully slow-walking, boy?" Cody barked as he brought the crop up in an arc that collided directly with the bottom of the silently grunting boy's sack. "You got ten minutes until your next break. How many times do I have to remind you that ponies don't decide their work schedule. Ranch hands like me do. And I say, lift those knees and get to pulling."

Sam had no choice but to dig deep into dwindling energy reserves and comply. Anything else would result in another strike from the crop on his balls, his stomach, his ass, or even his nipples.

Only his cock and his face had been spared but when it came to his shaft, apparently it wasn't the cowboy being kind so much as apparently he didn't want to risk the pony "wasting his energy" by involuntarily cumming from the stimulation.

Yes, that's right. To Sam's horror, the only reason his penis was being exempted from the abuse was that Cody was afraid he'd spontaneously orgasm from having his dick slapped around. But even then, that still left the rest of the mouse's body as a viable cropping target. And since striking the pony's balls seemed to produce the best results, that's what the coyote seemed to focus on.

"There we go. Better. More effort means fewer corrections, in case you're too dumb to have figured that out. But don't worry, pony. I can swing this crop as many times as it takes to remind you."

Sexy or not, Sam was learning to hate the man. He no longer cared that the man seemed to come straight out of central casting for the role of "sexy bad-boy cowboy with an attitude problem." By the time the coyote cropped his balls for the dozenth time, the mouse was beginning to wish the man would trip on a tree root and break his neck.

As for the work itself, in Samuel's estimation it was as simple as it was pointless.

Summarized in a few words, the mouse was being forced to haul an ever-filling apple cart around. A cart that he'd been strapped to. Like an animal.

This was Sam's first opportunity to see the ranch he'd been (eventually) kidnapped to. And while the teenager wasn't given anything like a tour, just the act of heading out to the apple orchard (or "grove" as the coyote called it) gave the mouse his first glimpse of his new temporary home. Or at least, his hopefully temporary new home.

Based on his first look, the ranch was surprisingly large and featured several large buildings, a subtly lavish homestead, an expanse of fields for growing crops, and the damned apple orchard. It was all very beautiful and quite idyllic. Except that not one of the workers that Sam came across bothered to lift a finger to help him.

Oh, they seemed normal enough, if more attractive on average than one might expect from a random sampling of hard working ranchers. And while not all of the men (and a few women) of Sunset Ranch were model quality like Mark and Cody, they all had plenty of "curbside appeal" as Sam's old high school friend used to jokingly refer to it.

But it wasn't their looks that surprised Sam. It was how casually and easily they accepted his presence. You'd think that an armless, eighteen year old "pony" would at the least be cause for a raised eyebrow or two. Yet here on the ranch, that didn't seem to be the case.

Men and women tipped their hats and raised their hands in greeting to Cody but not one amongst them acknowledged the naked, bridled, hooved mouse beyond an appreciative glance. Well, except for the giraffe who made a point of looking Sam over while licking his lips. And then there had been the man who smiled and rubbed his bulge as the pony trotted by. Sam thought that ranch hand might have also winked at him but he had already averted his gaze so he couldn't say for sure.

Appallingly, the mouse's erection had returned with a vengeance at the attention which made the coyote chuckle, though he didn't otherwise mention it.

Perhaps the man's reason for this was that this wasn't time to tease the mouse but was instead time to put the pony to work.

And work Sam did. For the next few hours the teen was forced to haul an initially empty cart up and down the orchard as it gradually filled up with apples by the various workers who carried ladders around. And once it was full? Cody made him drag the wheeled cart back to the center of the ranch so that the apples could be transferred to the primary storage site before heading back out and repeating the cycle.

Over and over and over and over, for hours.

Anytime the mouse slowed down or tried to catch his breath outside an approved break, the crop came down and the insults flew. The coyote had a foul mouth and was prepared to call the "lazy, useless pony" every dirty name in the book, plus plenty that Sam had never heard before.

The insults were bad enough but the crop was unnecessarily cruel in the mouse's opinion. Not that the coyote asked or cared about his opinion. All the cowboy wanted (demanded, really) was for Sam to keep putting one hooved foot in front of the other, without slowing down.

It was all rather simple, on paper. Keep moving at the established pace and he couldn't be cropped. But the pace was as brutal as it was unreasonable and the heavier the cart grew the harder it was to meet the ranch hand's sky-high expectations. But whenever Sam slowed down -- even just a little bit -- the harsh bite of the crop would find his ass, his sack, his thighs, or anywhere and everywhere else. Except his head and his shaft, that was. And the portion of his legs that was covered by the hooved boots.

Sam couldn't really say what he'd expected after he'd been kidnapped, but it certainly hadn't been this. This wasn't "sexy" or "kinky" or "fun". This was pointless, brutal, back-breaking work that made sweat drip down his back and off his forehead.

And yes, he might have been erect for a good portion of the work but that didn't mean he was getting off from the treatment. It only meant that the daily injections they were forcing on him were more potent than he initially suspected. That and, they hadn't allowed him to cum since he'd woken up in that evil medical facility.

Dr. Hasting might have made Nurse Toy to squirt out of her chastity cage right in front of him, but the twisted lynx hadn't so much as touched Sam's cock. Not even when he'd fucked Sam with the plug while openly daydreaming about taking the teen home and permanently locking up the boy's needy penis.

Then there was the giant tail-plug that pressed against the mouse's prostate like it was trying to smoosh it out of existence. Every step he took felt like a large-fisted man was dragging their knuckles over his full, sensitive prostate with the explicit intention of tormenting him. Which all added up to the net result that even pained and exhausted, Sam spent more time erect than he spent soft.

Again, not that the coyote cared.

"I said step, you dim-witted git! You think Mr. Brandt will accept owning a pony this lazy or slow? Get it through your thick skull: You're here to work, boy." And then the crop came down again as Sam winced and continued to pull the cart with everything he had.

By the time the work was over and evening meal came around, the mouse felt like his legs were made of jello. Jello and pain. He was barely coherent as the coyote rinsed him down and fed him.

There was one thought in the back of the aching pony's head where he hoped the man might take the plug out of his very sore ass, but it was not to be. Along with the leggings and the tail collar, apparently the plug was part of his "permanent outfit" and would only be removed for his morning enemas and shower. Only to be pushed right back in again after he was washed out, inside and out.

It was yet another indignity piled atop everything else that the would-be electrical engineer was required to deal with. His ass would always be stretched to capacity. His prostate would always be assaulted with every step he took. And his cock would always be twitching and straining at the unceasing stimulation.

But it was Cody's parting words as the coyote escorted him into his stable stall that really made the mouse break down and cry.

"See you bright and early tomorrow, pony. Those apples aren't going to pick and carry themselves, so we got another full day. Get some rest so you're ready to do your part. You need to put on some muscle-mass, pronto. I'm not going to tolerate you embarrassing me like you did today for too much longer. You're in a bit of a honeymoon period now but me and the rest of the staff aren't going to take it easy on you forever."

The notion that the man considered this an "easy" day might have been the most heartbreaking news of the day. Sam wanted to object. To scream or yell. To curse or plead or beg. But all he could do was stare at the man in open-mouthed shock as the coyote grinned at him.

"Now for the good news. We're moving you to a once-a-day injection schedule so that the post treatment discomfort doesn't hinder your sleep. This means your next injection is tomorrow morning, just after breakfast. You're welcome."

Sam didn't feel very grateful but the man didn't seem to notice or care.

"Speaking about balls, I need to be off. I got a date with a hot stud who's going to put my mouth to work. Yeah, yeah, I know the guy's an asshole. But damn if he isn't sexy as hell. And he knows just how to talk to me with that gravely voice. It really gets my... Ahem!"

The coyote coughed into his fist, blushing slightly at what he'd been about to confess. Then he shook his head and refocused himself.

"That aside, you be good, boy. And I recommend not pissing on the hay because that's where you'll be sleeping. Congratulations on getting through your first day at Sunset Ranch. Don't get cocky because you got a whole lot more to learn."

And with those parting words the ranch hand closed the stall door, leaving Sam in a dimly lit space without food, water, or toilet. In fact, the only thing the stall contained apart from himself was the small-ish pile of hay and a shelf that held a half-empty bottle of lube. Which was a discovery that did not fill Sam with joy or optimism.

Though there was no clock on the wall, it couldn't have been much past six PM in the evening. And yet, the teenager's day seemed to be over. Too tired to complain about it (even just to himself), the still booted and plugged pony carefully laid down on the pile of hay and silently groaned as he was finally able to take weight off his overworked legs.

The hay was somewhat scratchy and not all that comfortable but it was still vastly superior to the floor's hard wooden planks. Sam tried to relax and let his mind wander but for several long minutes all the boy could think was, "Fuck, this plug is really huge."

In the dim light, his erection continued to strain despite the lingering ache in his well-cropped balls. Not for the first time, the mouse was glad that his old-fashioned parents weren't around to see him in this disgraceful, shocking state.

Very briefly Sam considered humping the hay until he climaxed. Then he closed his eyes and decided he was too sore and tired. Plus, he wasn't quite prepared to deal with the shame that would come from acting like the horny, rutting animal that Cody had accused him of being multiple times throughout the day.

For now, he just needed to relax and recover. And maybe when he eventually fell asleep and woke up the following morning, this would all have been a terrible dream and he'd wake up back at home in his own bed.

============

The following morning didn't do much to improve Sam's first impression of the ranch.

Having the plug forcefully yanked out, being forced-fed a bland breakfast while some new stranger who was working the morning shift gave him no less than half a dozen back-to-back enemas, and being hosed down with cold water from a literal garden hose all conspired together to further sour his already foul mood.

The worst part was the injections. The needles were unhesitatingly jabbed right into one testicle and then the other, and the grumpy mouse had no choice but to deal with the discomfort that accompanied the "treatment". Not only did it feel like his sore testicles were suddenly under a great deal of internal pressure, but to make matters worse his shaft also grew erect despite the dull ache that bordered on outright pain.

To any onlooker (of which there were at least a couple others milling about) it probably looked like he enjoyed having his sack tugged, manhandled, and injected.

During the "treatment" been tempted to pull away or at least put up some kind of token resistance, but the task-focused goat had made it clear that he'd slap the boy's balls around if the mouse made a fuss. Based on what he'd seen so far of the ranch's employees, Samuel didn't doubt him.

Afterwards, all the pony gear that had been taken off for his "shower" was put back on, including the freshly cleaned plug. Humming as if enjoying himself, the goat took several long minutes slowly pushing it inside the gasping pony. Not because the act needed to take that long but because the man seemed to find satisfaction in making the teenager groan and sweat as his hole was forced to stretch ever so gradually wider.

At one point Sam thought he heard the otherwise silent man quietly mumble, "Yeah, that's right. Stretch that pink hole for me," as the cowboy used his other hand to palm the pony's ass. The mouse hated that the recent injections made him erect throughout the entire humiliating process as the man moved the plug back and forth without going so far as to slip it fully inside until the very end.

When the tail-plug finally slid into place, Sam was perversely relieved. It was far better to be stuffed wide by the uncomfortably thick thing than to have some stranger work his hole over while Sam could only shiver and gasp.

The net result of the morning routine was that the mouse already felt used and abused by the time Cody came to collect him for another work shift in the orchard. A feeling that was exacerbated by the unnamed goat casually touching the pony's dick with several long strokes before he handed the reins over to the coyote.

This made the man chuckle at Sam's aggrieved expression and say, "You'll find that most ranch hands appreciate getting to spend time with you. It's just that, they'll each express that gratitude in their own unique way. My advice is, the sooner you get used to being touched and handled, the happier you'll be. Now, come on. We got a long day ahead of us."

After that the coyote didn't seem to pay much attention to him as the man led the pony with a dreamy smile on his face and a small limp in his stride. The pony could only assume that the man's date had gone well. Not that he cared whether the bastard had gotten lucky or not.

Soon, Sam didn't have the energy to spare for such idle thoughts as the man immediately put him to work doing the same thing as the day before: Hauling freshly picked apples around.

The pony's legs were still sore from his last "shift" but just like last time, Cody didn't cut him the last bit of slack whenever he slowed down. Good mood or not, the man didn't hesitate to crop Sam over any perceived inefficiency.

"I figured you must like having your balls whipped," the coyote remarked as he ran the end of the leather crop back and forth over the pony's sensitive, slightly swollen sack. "Why else would you be dragging your heels when I'm staring right at you?"

Samuel strongly disagreed with that characterization but had no way to voice his opinion. He'd also learned that nodding or shaking his head was a quick way to earn a swing of the crop. Apparently no one was interested in a pony slave's opinion; the most obvious non-verbal communication was not allowed.

As the day went on the eighteen year old was given the occasional break but these felt too short and too infrequent. Sam got the impression that if you ran into Cody at the gas station or grocery store that he would seem like a friendly, charismatic guy. All good looks and easy smiles.

But the way the coyote barked orders at him and cropped his balls without a moment's hesitation, the pony knew firsthand that there was another side to the man. A side that was all business and harsh pragmatism. Because the ranch hand had a job and he was here to see it done.

"You think I don't know when a pony is holding out on me? I don't care if it's only your second day. Get your ass in gear and pull!"

He was given plenty of water to drink but the downside of that was he had to urinate frequently. Which meant pissing where he stood or, in at least one case, releasing his bladder as he trudged along under Cody's watchful eye.

Three hours into the work, Sam experienced a mini-meltdown where everything that had happened to him over the last several days came crashing down all at once. The fact that he was on this ranch, modified and enslaved, being bullied by a handsome coyote while he stood around naked and in pony gear.

The fact that these people felt they had every right to inject his balls with an unknown substance, only to then turn around and punish his sack whenever he wasn't moving fast enough for their liking. And the fact that these people apparently considered him owned property who could be touched, dressed up, bossed around, and made to work long hours under the sun as he sweat and panted.

Samuel wanted to scream. To demand to be let go and that someone contact the police. He wanted to insist that he wasn't going to take another step in those pony boots for these perverts' pleasure as they watched his toil and struggle. He wanted his voice back. His arms back. His life back. He wanted to head off to college and never see any of these people or this place ever again.

Cody must have read something in his expression because rather than simply cropping the boy as he'd done so many times before he instead nodded and said, "Yeah, it's always hard for new ponies. The first few days, I mean. I'll give you ten minutes to collect yourself but then we need to get back to it. Still more to do before lunch break, ya hear?"

Sam barely heard him as his hole clenched down on the huge plug that refused to budge. The plug served as a reminder -- practically a metaphor -- that no matter how he might wish that things were different, they weren't. That he could rage against his circumstances all he liked but his ass would still be stretched around the pony-tail plug. Because without hands, he couldn't even pull it out. Just like without hands, this place was virtually inescapable.

The minutes ticked by as the teenager stood there, still strapped in place in front of the half full cart. Eventually Sam came back to himself as glanced around only to see that he was alone in the orchard. Not that the privacy helped him. Technically he could still move while attached to the cart but it would be slow going and he wouldn't get far. But even if he wasn't strapped in, where would he go?

The ranch was huge and based on how long they'd driven to get there, it was out in the middle of nowhere. And if he made it off the ranch and into the surrounding wilderness, he didn't have food or water or clothes or any way to take care of himself.

Around him were just trees and crops and low green hills as far as the eye could see. Which made sense. They wouldn't let a kidnapped boy walk around out in the open if there was any risk of a stranger with a phone and social media account happening by. The implication was clear: His captures were sure he wasn't going anywhere and that help wouldn't be arriving.

He was helpless. Totally helpless. Dr. Hasting and this as of yet unseen Mr. Brandt had seen to that.

Several minutes of lonely silence later, with only the sun and the breeze to keep him company, the coyote came back.

"I was nice and let you have your little pity party. Now it's time to get back to work. You give me any trouble and I'll give it right back, only worse. Move, pony."

The man's tone was neither cruel nor kind. Just firm and entirely uncompromising.

Not seeing any other option, Samuel heaved a weary sigh, leaned forward, and started pulling. And he tried very, very hard not to think about the fact that he was once again erect.

===========

Four days later, the mouse was thoroughly fed up with "farm life".

The enemas. The ever-present plug. The injections. The hooves and the rest of the pony "outfit" which emphasised his nudity far more than it obscured anything. The few dozen ranch hands who took it as their right to unabashedly look him over. To touch him. To rub their hands down his back, over his ass, and across his cock and balls.

All while complimenting the "pony" to the current handler like he wasn't right there, listening. Like he couldn't understand everything they were saying. Like he was an animal.

Samuel would have screamed in frustration had that been an option.

Making matters worse, many of the looks and even touches were increasingly licentious and some were downright lecherous.

One man had even pressed his unmistakable hard-on against Samuel's side while the badger was oh-so-casually chatting it up with Cody. Like he wasn't practically dry humping the mouse through his clothing while they stood under the shade of a tree.

The coyote, for his part, didn't say a word in the pony's defense or even acknowledge that the other ranch hand's justification for coming over to talk about the "work schedule" was a completely bullshit excuse to push his jeans-covered cock up against Samuel again and again for the better part of five minutes.

And if only that had been an isolated incident. The ranch was full of men in their twenties, thirties, and forties who all looked at the much younger teenager like he was a buffet they were eager to get in line for.

There were also a few women on the ranch but over ninety percent of the staff seemed to be male. That could have been pure coincidence but given how comfortable everyone was with a literally collared pony slave being bullied, bossed around, and punished right in front of him, the mouse had his doubts.

Sam didn't know why the cowboys hadn't just mobbed him and had their way with him but whatever the reason he was grateful for this small mercy. But with the way the men looked hungry rather than frustrated, part of the mouse thought it was only a matter of time before the sexual tension boiled over into something far more overt.

Logically he understood that he hadn't been kidnapped, kept naked, and forced to strut around in front of everyone just to then not be used and taken advantage of. Given his recent streak of abysmal luck, there was no way he'd get off that easy.

And to his growing dismay, it wasn't just the ranch hands who were feeling horny.

The injections were having an impact and that was putting it mildly. Just under a week on the ranch and Samuel was walking around with a near permanent erection. By the sixth day, even when he was being punished it refused to go down.

But it wasn't his hard-on that was the real problem. It was his balls which ached and throbbed with need. And the feeling grew more intense with each passing day.

Sam could have humped the ground or hay at night in his resting stall, except that he'd been explicitly warned against that. With a thumb pressing painfully into one of his testicles, Mark had told him that they'd better not see any "pony cream" in his stall come morning or his balls would be cropped so long and hard that he'd never make that mistake again.

With no way to clean up or hide his mess except to pile hay over it and hope the staff didn't notice, the mute boy had been forced to accept that there wasn't much he could do about his growing sexual frustration for the time being. Not with how closely Cody, Mark, and others were watching him.

Why they cared about whether a teenage boy got off, Samuel couldn't say. And it's not like he could ask, nor did the ranch hands bother to explain themselves. As a "pony" his role wasn't to question why but to do as instructed.

Which wasn't so easy when handsome cowboys kept touching him and rubbing up against him. One especially bold man -- a rabbit -- even took out his cock and rubbed it back and forth on Sam's upper thighs when Cody wasn't looking.

He didn't say anything. He just looked Sam right in the eyes as he enjoyed the sensation of the boy's short-furred thighs as if daring the mouse to look or pull away. The man and his impressively sized erection were gone less than ten seconds later but the pony was left feeling shaken. It was yet another sign that the "look but don't touch" status quo could give way at any moment. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Glancing over and seeing the slave looking dazed and erect, the coyote chuckled.

"Having yourself a naughty little daydream, pony?" the man said, having missed the mouse's encounter with the speedy rabbit. "Then by all means, here, let me help."

Without an ounce of timidity the coyote stepped directly in front of the teen, took the boy's twitching cock in hand, and began stroking it with long, feather-light touches.

Sam felt very conflicted. Part of him wanted to pull back and turn away, having developed a deep resentment for the man who was one of his primary tormentors -- always pushing him to move faster and work harder. At the same time, the stroking felt incredibly good.

Given that he was kept unconscious for an unknown amount of time prior to and after his surgery, the mouse didn't even know how long it had been since he'd last cum. What he did know was that he was desperate for it now and also that the ultra-light touches weren't getting him there.

Which seemed to be exactly the coyote's intent.

"Yeah, you're feeling it, aren't you? You're just about ready."

Sam didn't know what he was supposed to be "ready" for, but if the ranch hand meant ready to get off, he was more than ready. He'd never been more ready. Sure, he pretty much hated Cody but he could overlook that for a couple more minutes while he blasted out a load all over the ground and possibly the coyote's hands and body if the guy didn't move out of the way in time.

But the closer Sam got, the slower the strokes became and the looser the grip. It was so frustrating that it took all of the teenager's willpower not to further shame himself by trying to hump against the cowboy's hand.

Though his refusal to give in to his primal urges just made the man laugh.

"Don't pretend like you aren't enjoying this, pony. You'll hurt my feelings."

Then the handler pinched Sam's sensitive cockhead, making him silently suck in air at the intensity of the sensation.

"How about this? You finish off the day strong and give me one-hundred and ten percent, and I'll give you a chance to get this needy pony cock off. How about it? You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours. Fair's fair, yeah?"

Sam almost nodded by instinct but drew up short at the last moment, knowing that doing so would only earn him an unpleasant slap or crop to the balls. So instead he stomped his left hoof twice, hoping that this was permissible.

Apparently it was because the coyote's grin grew even wider.

"Now you're getting it. We'll make a true pony out of you yet, cutie. But for now, it's time to get back to it. Remember: One-hundred and ten percent. And keep in mind, if the carrot doesn't work on you, we'll be going back to the stick."

The youth really, really didn't want to play these people's games. He especially didn't want to put extra effort into it in a pathetic attempt to garner their favor or earn himself a "carrot".

But given how heavy and needy his balls felt and that this was the first time one of the handlers had even dangled the possibility of earning relief in front of him, just this once Sam was willing to try a bit harder and see if he couldn't finally get some relief from his drug "enhanced" balls.

He wasn't a pony, he told himself. He wasn't some unthinking, horny animal. He was just a teenage boy that needed to get off.

That's what he told himself as he began to pull the apple cart with all his might.

This didn't mean he was giving in or that he'd given up hope of rescue or escape. He just needed a little relief. Just a bit, to clear his head.

He wasn't an animal. He wasn't a pony. He just needed to get off. Just this once. Just to take the edge off.

But he definitely wasn't a pony.

===========

Four hours later, Sam was regretting all of his life choices.

When Cody had demanded he give one-hundred ten percent, the bastard had meant it. Anytime he even so much as thought about slowing down the ranch hand invited him to consider which was more important to him: A couple of sore legs, or a couple of sore balls?

For once, the mouse hadn't had the spare energy to mentally complain about how stupid and pointless the work was. That a truck or a battery powered hauler could perform this task faster, easier, and cheaper. All of Sam's focus went into taking another step. And then another. And then another.

Step by step the work got done as the coyote stayed nearby, watching his every motion. It was clear the asshole was looking for an excuse to deny Sam his reward, even in the last minutes before the work day ended.

But the pony pushed through and despite the burning desire to stop and take a knee, he finished strong.

And yet when the man calmly said, "Good job, pony," the boy was stunned. He hadn't actually expected his effort to be acknowledged, let alone praised.

"I'll let you rest for a few minutes and get some water in you. Then we'll see about getting those swinging balls of yours emptied, yeah?"

The words should have made Sam blush or even spit in anger. But considering his erection was still as persistent as it was unignorable, the boy decided to ignore the uncomfortable reality of the situation and focus on the positives.

For once he wouldn't have to do his best to fall asleep while ignoring his increasingly severe blue balls. Suddenly Sam thought he might understand a little about how Nurse Toy felt as she was fucked up against the cabinet by Dr. Hasting while her caged cock spewed its load all over its painted surface.

The mouse remembered how the possum had moaned. In that moment it was clear that the slave didn't care about dignity or appearances. She was just happy to get off.

It was only after the coyote started leading him back towards the main area of the ranch that it occurred to Sam to wonder about the logistics of how his prize would be awarded.

In his head he'd previously assumed it would be a quiet, private affair as the ranch hand finished stroking him off in the middle of the mostly deserted orchard. But given that they were heading back into the far busier part of the ranch, evidently that wasn't to be.

Sam didn't like the idea of being forced to cum in front of other people but he also understood that if that's what the man decided, he wouldn't be given a choice.

As far as the mouse was concerned, it would be bad news if he was made to put on a show in front of the other cowboys. Some of them were barely restraining themselves as things were. Putting on a live "show" for them would only escalate matters.

But again, there really wasn't anything Samuel could do about it. Not when he couldn't even get his own cock under control. Drawing the attention of more than a few men, his fully hard shaft bounced and swung in front of him with each step he took. With no hands and no clothes, he couldn't hide it or do anything with it. It was on full display for any and all to see.

And while Sam tried to avoid looking down and taking in the sight of himself, he couldn't help but notice that he seemed... bigger, in the crotch area. He'd always thought he was a bit above average (for a mouse) in regards to his length and girth, but now... Didn't it seem larger than before?

He was sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him, probably because he was so self-conscious about being kept nude and paraded about in front of everyone. But some lingering notion kept insisting that was definitely better endowed than he'd been prior to being kidnapped.

Then Sam was distracted by a sharp tug on his bit and bridle as the coyote said, "Keep your head up, pony. Let all the good folk see how proud you are to be a contributing member of the ranch. Though with a dick that hard, I doubt anyone will have any difficulty seeing your pride."

The man phrased it as a joke but the teen knew the cowboy well enough by now to hear the barely disguised order. If Sam didn't fix his posture and get his chin up, the handler would hurt his balls. Because that was always what Cody did to him when he tried to ignore or pretend he didn't understand the man's orders.

So Sam tried to turn off his brain and move on auto-pilot as he walked down one of the main thoroughfares of the central area. He ignored the people peeking out of windows to get a look at him. Just as he tuned out the appreciative whistles and murmured conversation as he followed a couple steps behind Cody who was making a show of holding his reins.

The boy tried hard not to think about the fact that any one of these people could pull out their phones and call the police. That it would only take a single decent person to choose to help him and then he'd be free. Free of Sunset Ranch. Free of Cody and Mark and the rest of the harsh, overly demanding ranch hands. Free of the brutal work and the sun and the sweat. Free of Mr. Brandt who had yet to make an appearance.

Free to start putting back together the broken pieces of his former life.

Instead, Sam worked hard to check his mental doom spiral as they headed towards a large building the mouse had never been inside before. Which wasn't surprising, considering he only went where he was taken and that was usually just to the orchard and back, unless Cody wanted to embarrass him by showing him off on another part of the ranch.

But before they stepped inside the coyote paused and looked him right in the eye.

"You're going to follow orders the first time, no delays. Because if you embarrass me in front of my coworkers, there's going to be a reckoning. You hear?"

Startled by the man's sudden intensity, Sam nodded. Which proved to be a mistake as he was slapped across the face.

"Ponies don't nod. Try again."

The sullen teenager stomped even as his resentment for the older coyote grew another few inches. It must have been so easy to bully other people when they were permanently handicapped and couldn't raise a hand in self defense. Not that Sam was stupid enough to try that even if he still had his arms.

"Stop pouting. You should be glad I'm going easy on you and letting you get your rocks off a few days before you were scheduled to. But maybe your attitude will turn around when you see what's waiting for you inside. I texted one of the handlers while we were heading over so everything should be set up for you."

Sam didn't like surprises. Especially not when he was bit, bridled, plugged, and naked. But the coyote didn't care as he resumed his tugging on the reins and guided the pony inside and past the large barn-like doors.

A short hallway and a couple turns later and Sam saw what was waiting for him. And it was so borderline unbelievable that it took him several long seconds to even parse what he was looking at.

Because inside the large, high-ceiling room were four other "ponies", all lined up in a row.

There was so much "wrong" about the situation that the teenager had to force himself to consider what he was seeing. Four men, bent at the waist in pony gear that was nearly identical to Sam's. And like Samuel, none of them had arms.

The "wrongness" of the sight temporarily discombobulated his brain. These were four otherwise healthy men who looked to be in their early to late twenties, depending on the individual. All of them were young. All of them looked strong. And all of them looked helpless with their legs spread and their necks tied down to a hip-high bar that looked similar to a very simple bicycle parking rack.

Because of the angle the four ponies couldn't see Sam but he could see them.

There was the elk who was the largest of the four ponies. The man probably would have looked downright intimidating if he still had his arms. But with the pony boots and the metal bar that was holding him in place, any intimidation factor was reduced by a huge margin.

Next there was a dark furred wolf that was shorter than the elk but still an impressive specimen in his own right. Again the lack of arms threw Samuel's brain for a loop. Standing behind the men, Sam couldn't get a good look at their faces or expressions. But in his immigration the wolf was snarling, silently demanding to be set free.

The third man was a squirrel with a large, bushy tail. Like his fellow ponies, he was bent over at the waist but the metal bar holding him in place was shorter than the others because he was the smallest of the four.

Finally there was a ram who was about the same size as the wolf. He was shifting a bit in place but Sam couldn't say if it was because of nerves, frustration, or discomfort from being locked into an awkward, unbalanced position.

Despite the lack of arms they all looked strong and fit. And yet, Sam's eyes kept glancing over them again and again. Because something didn't make sense. Something was different. Or missing?

It took the mouse another few seconds before it hit him like a sledgehammer. None of the ponies had balls.

Instead what lay under their tail and exposed hole was a furless patch of... nothing. Just smooth skin followed by their dangling, flaccid cocks.

Sam felt like screaming. Or maybe throwing up. But in the end all he managed to do was stare as the coyote pulled him closer to the four bound males.

"These four beauties, my lucky little pony, are your mares. And as you can see, they're prepared and ready to take your seed. Your fertile, potent, stallion seed."

But the coyote's words didn't make sense. None of this made sense.

These were just four average guys, weren't they? They should be going about their lives. Heading to the gym or picking up groceries or going to work. But instead they were here. Armless, ball-less, and helpless. And given how quiet each of the four geldings were, like him they were probably mute as well. Forever voiceless.

Sam stared at the coyote, his mouth open in a wide O of shock.

"I'm sure it's difficult to believe, but I assure you that they're each well trained and ready to greet their new stallion. Like you, they work plugged and you won't have any trouble putting it to them. Plus we already lubed them so just line up, push in, and get to work."

The teen had to replay the words in his head a few times to understand what initially sounded like confusing, meaning words.

Cody wanted him to... fuck these men?!

The ranch hand must have seen the confusion on the boy's face because with an annoyed twitch of his eye he deigned to explain further.

"Like I said, these are your mares. And you're the stallion. This isn't complicated, pony. Tab A goes into slot B. Now, are you going to step up and get to work or am I going to have to punish every pony here because you decided that this would be an ideal time to be obstinate and test my patience?

But wasn't that impossible? Sam didn't know anything about these men. Not who they were or where they came from. He certainly didn't know if they had consented to being "mounted". Given the lack of arms and balls and the fact that they were bound in place by their neck, he very much doubted they had.

Sam's mind was stuck in a loop as the no longer smiling coyote stepped close to whisper in his ear.

"You will do this or I'll make sure that each of their cocks is slathered in chili oil tonight -- inside and out. So you can put on a show that won't bother the mares in the slightest, or you can be responsible for them crying their eyes out as the extra intense burning keeps them awake late into the night."

One particular word of that threat caught Sam's attention. Show?

It was only then that the mouse noticed there were a fair number of people milling about, talking amongst themselves and watching Sam and Cody with interest. Though, there was also a snack table set up, so maybe some of the ranch hands were here for that.

Still speaking softly into the youth's ear the man said, "Last chance. Prove that Mr. Brandt was right to bring you to the ranch as a stallion instead of as a mare or I will make your life hell. Yours and theirs."

Despite his words, it was the coyote who took Sam by the bare shoulders and moved him over directly behind the first "mare" -- the elk.

It was only then that Cody realized there was a small problem. Or rather, a short problem.

"Oh. Well, that's embarrassing. Looks like we have a logistics issue that we didn't consider. These guys are too tall for a short-king like you. Here, don't go anywhere. I can fix this in just a minute."

And then the coyote was gone, leaving the pony standing there staring at the larger elk's ass.

There was background noise as the three dozen or so people talked amongst themselves but Sam purposefully tuned them out. He wasn't interested in hearing what any of those assholes had to say. They were all just standing there, letting this happen. Or worse, they'd gone out of their way to come so that they could enjoy the show.

With little else to do, the "stallion" just kept staring at the mare's ass. At the raised tail and the lubed, stretched, plug-worn hole. Was he really going to do this? Was he going to fuck this man because some other man told him to? Was he going to effectively rape a stranger just because he'd been threatened?

It seemed both unbelievable and inevitable. Because as much as Sam would like to believe otherwise, part of him knew that as soon as Cody started cropping his balls, he'd do what he always did: Give in.

Plus, it didn't hurt that the elk had a great ass. Large and muscular, yet round. As Sam stared at it, there was little doubt in his still stunned brain that the man's warm hole would feel heavenly. And the teenager was so very horny.

And then something caught the mouse's eye. It was the wolf's tail. It was... wagging?

Sam looked over to see the man raise his ass as continued to wag his tail. And then, just in case there was any doubt or misunderstanding, the wolf spread his hooved legs just a bit wider.

Despite neither of them being able to speak, the meaning was clear. It was an invitation. For whatever reason the wolf was inviting Sam to fuck him. Maybe the wolf was trying to communicate that there was no reason to get everyone punished because the new pony felt compelled to take some sort of moral stand?

Or maybe it was more self-centered than that. Maybe the wolf just didn't want to get punished because Sam was being an idiot and trying to claim power he just didn't have.

Regardless of the reason, Sam decided to cease the offered lifeline. Willing himself to move, he moved a few feet over until he stood behind the bent over wolf's rear. Which only made the wolf's excited tail wag even faster.

Which meant... What? That the wolf wanted to get fucked? Was he some sort of volunteer? Had he signed up for this life? Or had they'd just broken him down so thoroughly that he was eager to act as they animal they kept pretending he was?

The pony didn't have any good answers but it was clear from the wolf's upraised ass and wagging tail that the man was fine with what was about to happen to him. Or perhaps even pleased with the direction things were headed.

Sam didn't understand it and questioned the mental health of the wolf who seemed delighted at the idea of being fucked by a stranger and fellow slave. Then again, the mouse had no idea how long the wolf had been on the ranch. Months? Years? How "normal" was a pony supposed to act if they'd been trapped in this place for half a decade or more?

It was a chilling thought considering he'd been here less than a week and he was already feeling the temptation to just give in and do what the men said so they'd leave his poor balls alone.

Not that the wolf had balls to crop or slap around.

With that thought, the coyote returned with a few helpers who set wooden boxes behind the bound ponies.

"Carrots! Or rather, crates containing carrots. You get the idea. And now that the last hurdle has been overcome, step on up and get to thrusting, stallion. Or I'll show these people the lovely, wide-eyed expressions you make when your balls are being knocked around."

Begrudgingly accepting that he had much of a choice, Sam carefully stepped up onto the box of carrots and positioned himself so that he was directly behind the wolf. Nervously, he chewed on his bit as he placed the tip of his shaft lightly upon the canine's lubed hole.

Could he really do this? Could he fuck another armless man just so--

Taking the initiative the wolf pushed back, his eager hole effortlessly taking in the first couple inches of Sam's arousal. Not expecting the sensation, Sam soundlessly gasped as the wolf gave him the clearest sign yet that YES, he wanted this!

The man tried to push back and take more but that was as far as his collar-like neck strap would let him go. But Sam had gotten the message and seeing no suitable reason to hold back and risk punishment, the mouse gave the tail-wagging wolf what he wanted. He pushed in.

Sam was only a little startled when the crowd began to cheer and clap. Voices he didn't recognize or that were only vaguely familiar encouraged him on.

"Yeah, fuck that wolf-slut, pony!"

"Give it to him good. Come on, prove you're a real stallion and breed him hard."

"Hurry up, mouse! Some of us have other things to do tonight! Teenagers, I swear."

The words kept coming but Sam did his best to ignore them. Who cared what they wanted when none of those fuckers would lift a finger to help him?

Instead, the young man focused on how wonderful the other man's hole felt. It was effortless to push in which was no surprise given that the coyote said the "mares" were kept plugged like him. A pony-tail plug that Sam was wearing even then as Cody hadn't bothered to take it out. Not that this surprised the teen. Cody was a certified smug asshole.

The pony soon lost himself to the rhythm of the act as he pushed in hard and fast with each thrust, finding that the wolf was more than able to accommodate him. The only problem was that he was only a few minutes into the act and he could already feel his orgasm approaching like a freight train. Unstoppable and powerful.

And just like that, it was barreling down on him as he came and came hard in the wolf's receptive ass.

The climax was so strong that Sam felt like his soul was being pumped through his balls and out of his dick. It was so earth-shaking that it took the teenager another few seconds to realize that the crowd was once again clapping and cheering.

They'd gotten their show and they were thrilled. The monsters.

Except, the show wasn't over because Sam hadn't even fully come down from his orgasm when he was being forced to pull out and step off the produce box as Cody used his reins to guide him back over to the elk.

"Oh, yeah. Introductions. So that was Spunky you just got finished spunking. Though he was named more for his attitude and less for the other reason. This here is Baton, and he got his name because he's more of a shower than a grower. Even soft he's got a huge one that dangles down near his knees. But enough chit-chat. Round two, go!"

Allowing himself to be pulled up onto the second carrot-filled box, it took Samuel a few seconds to understand that Cody wanted him to fuck the elk too.

Except, that was crazy, wasn't it? Sam felt like he'd just pumped out nearly every drop of cum into the excitable wolf's rear. He didn't think he had much left in the tank for Baton.

Then the stallion felt the sharp slap of an open palm on his left ass cheek.

"I said fuck, pony! Or do you think I won't spank you the entire time you're breeding Baton, just to prove a point? Because I definitely will if you don't get to thrusting."

Sam hadn't fully caught his breath but the ever-demanding coyote wasn't particularly interested in giving him the chance. Seeing that his cum-soaked cock was still mostly hard, the mouse gritted his teeth against the bit and pushed in, wanting to get this over with.

The orgasm had felt amazing but the bastard hadn't really given him time to enjoy it. Now his hyper-sensitive pole was being gripped by a new stranger's hole and with the way the coyote was lightly tapping his ass with the end of the crop, Sam knew what he had to do.

Just like before, the audience once again cheered and called out their enthusiasm as he pushed in for the second time.

"Take that big pony's hole, little guy! Fill it up good!"

"Show him who the real man is. Twenty dollars says the mare gets fully hard before the stallion even cums."

"You liking that mouse cock, Baton? Bet it feels real good pushing into you, showing you your place. Why don't you spread your legs a little wider for your new stallion?"

Again Sam did his best to ignore the crowd. The group cowboys (and a few women too) were living it up, enjoying watching younger men suffer and perform for their pleasure. They were snacking and drinking and socializing while five naked men put on a demeaning show for them.

This time around it was much slower going. Though after an initial hesitant start Sam found it was still plenty pleasurable. Yet unlike the time before when he had weeks worth of saved up, unspent cum, this time he'd literally just gotten off.

Thankfully the teen was still horny enough to make a solid go of it. It didn't hurt that the elk had one of the sexiest asses Samuel had ever seen. And his plug-trained hole was just as good as the wolf's.

Unable to slow down with Cody keeping an eye on him, it took Sam another fifteen minutes before the familiar sensation began to creep up on him again. Not that he was the most experienced top but it felt strange to be unable to grab the other man's hips or to rest his hands on the man's lower back. It was this random thought that struck him as he began to cum for the second time in a row that evening, despite being tired from a long day of difficult work.

Oddly, cumming inside the elk drew the loudest applause of the evening. Why this was the case, Samuel didn't know nor did he especially care. Nothing these people did made sense to him. He couldn't imagine the mindset it took to kidnap someone from a public bathroom only to make them haul carts of fruit around on some remote ranch, of all things.

From that perspective, "slaves forced to participate in semi-public sexual performances" bizarrely sounded more normal than "slaves treated like animals and forced to perform endless soul-crushing ranch work."

Of course, in Sam's case he was forced to do both. So fuck him, he supposed.

Feeling wrung out and a bit bone-weary, the cummed-out mouse was glad it was done.

And then the unthinkable happened.

"Alright, solid second showing. Cream is up next. Let's keep the momentum, yeah? The crowd wants to see you working hard to breed your mares."

Sam blanked on what the coyote was trying to convey until he figured out that Cream must be the name of the squirrel that Cody was pulling him towards.

For the first time that evening, the mouse dug in his hooved feet and tried to pull back. There was no way he could cum a third time! Not when he'd just gotten off twice in a row without even a brief rest in between.

But that just made the coyote pull on the reins harder and since Sam was bridled, the handler had all the leverage he needed to place the mouse where he wanted him.

"Stop making a fuss. This is your job, stallion. And like you learned in the orchard, a pony doesn't get to decide when it does and doesn't work. Besides, this is way easier than hauling apples around. All you need to do is put your dick in the mare and then keep thrusting until you squirt. Easy, yeah?"

It was an understatement to say that Sam really wasn't in the mood to cum for a third time. But glancing around towards the crowd, he didn't see any sympathetic eyes. What he saw was a bunch of Sunset Ranch employees who were enjoying watching him do as he'd been told. The heartless bastards.

Which was when a horrible thought struck him. They weren't going to make him fuck all four ponies in one go, were they? That would be insane. As in, completely unreasonable.

But a cynical voice in the back of his head said, "More unreasonable than taking your arms? More unreasonable than taking these other men's balls?"

The mouse hoped he was wrong. That they weren't going to make him fuck both the squirrel and the ram, directly after they'd made him have sex with the wolf and the elk. It seemed impossible. He wasn't even sure if he could properly go the distance with "Cream".

There'd be nothing left for the ram. They had to understand that, right? Cody and the others weren't so detached from reality that they thought an eighteen year old could cum endlessly, right?!

This was the thought that was going through his head as Cody literally manhandled him into position before pushing him forward and inside of the squirrel. Sam didn't think his increasingly sore cock was quite half hard but the coyote didn't seem to care.

Seeing that the pony didn't immediately get to work the handler sighed and adopted the typical no-nonsense tone he used when lecturing the teen.

"You can move your hips or I can start inviting audience members to come up and spank your cheeks. Either way, this is happening. So, do you want to fuck Cream spanked or unspanked? Your choice, stallion."

Much like a lawyer never asked a question they didn't already know the answer to, the ranch hand never offered Sam a choice that was actually a choice. It was always just a false choice between "obey and suffer a modest amount" or "disobeyed and be forced to obey after suffering a huge amount."

And given the smug look on the coyote's face, the man knew precisely what he was doing.

Groaning with a long huff of air, Sam started moving his not even half-hard cock back and forth and he did his best to cope with an intense case of hyper-sensitivity. This was no longer fun or erotic for the mouse.

Not that being forced to perform in front of these people had been a joy to start with. But the overwhelming need to get off had helped Samuel disregard much of what was happening around him. Like the men and women enjoying sliders, finger food, and ice tea while Cody made a spectacle of ordering him around.

In fact, this was exactly what the coyote said it was. It was work.

Was this how prostitutes felt, Sam wondered? When sex workers had to pretend to be into what was happening except while just focusing on the mechanics and performance of the act? Except, this was worse because the teenager was having to take on the active role. And it was worse because he was being forced to perform over, and over, and over.

A sharp slap struck Sam's plugged rear, making him wince.

"Faster, pony. A stallion always breeds with long, sure thrusts. This isn't about your selfish pleasure or self-gratification. Your first priority is to your mare. Second, your handler. Third, the audience. As for your needs and desires? They come a distant fourth. And honestly, it probably shouldn't even rank as a priority."

It was clear the coyote was speaking more for the audience's benefit than his. But Sam tried to step it up a notch as his reluctant pole gradually hardened into full rigidity. The mouse ignored the dull, empty ache that had replaced the previous intense overfull feeling he'd been experiencing just an hour prior.

Then the pony felt a wave of guilt hit him as he compared his self-pity about his sore balls against the plight of the "mares" who had each been gelded. Unlike the other four men, at least he still had balls to worry about and fret over. The other ponies just had a smooth patch and skin and possibly a barely visible scar as evidence of what had been taken away from them.

Part of him wished he knew the other ponies' stories but then again, he was barely keeping his own head above the metaphorical water and wasn't sure he was emotionally ready to handle more bad news. Still, he wasn't so naive as to assume that any of the four men had willingly given up their testicles.

Sam did his best to put that grim line of thought out of his head as he refocused on thrusting into the bound squirrel.

It took longer this time but eventually his libido perked up as his member fully reawakened for the task. It helped that, like the mares before him, Cream's lubed hole felt really, really good.

What was less helpful was Cody's hand on his ass, silently encouraging him to keep up the pace as the minutes ticked by.

But eventually Sam felt his balls pull up as his body prepared to let loose its third batch of cum in under an hour. The mouse felt his hole spasm around the large plug that was stretching him wide even as his own shaft stretched out Cream's hole.

Then the audience once again cheered and clapped as it became clear that the pony was living up to his responsibilities as a stallion by seeding his mare.

"Good job, boy," the coyote said as he helped the panting teen off the box of carrots. After the long day followed by three "performances" in a row, the youth felt like he could barely stand. Which was why he nearly wept when he saw that the handler was tugging him towards the fourth and final pony.

"Come on, you got this. Just one more mare and you'll get a nice long rest."

Sam shook his head in dismay and refusal but he was too tired and defeated to stop Cody from lining him up behind the ram. Then, without the slightest bit of grace or courtesy, the coyote pushed the pony's sore, barely erect cock into the last mare.

"His name is DP and he's been waiting all day to put on a show with you. And you know what they say, pony. The show must go on."

Time seemed to stretch as the teenager considered the absurdity of his situation. He'd already been forced to fuck three men, presumably against their will (though the wolf had seemed pretty into it). What was the point of making him do it a fourth time? Was this some sort of cock-milking fetish? Were they getting off on seeing a man brought past the point where sex brought pleasure and then forced to keep going, cumming over and over?

Sam couldn't say for sure but based on how aroused Cody sounded in his ear, it probably wasn't too far off the mark.

"All you got to do is keep moving your hips," the handler coached, his voice taking on an affectation of empathy even though it was clear he was enjoying seeing Sam struggle. "Don't think about how your balls feel. Just breed your mare and the rest will take care of itself. Trust me, boy. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

The mouse wished the man would drop dead at that moment. But since the coyote didn't, he gave up trying to fight it and started thrusting. He just wanted this to be over.

"There we go. Give that mare your pony cock. Push it in deep. You're being such a good boy for me."

This didn't even really feel like sex to Sam. At least, not any kind of sex that he was familiar with. He felt like he was a cog in a machine. A well lubed piston that was under tremendous stress, forced to keep pistoning even as he felt like he was starting to break apart.

For several long minutes there was no pleasure in the act. But, mercifully, that slowly began to change as his sluggish libido and sore, almost completely empty balls began to rouse and rally for one last go.

As Sam felt himself begin to grow hard he couldn't help but sigh in relief. He could do this. He could cum one last time and then the evil coyote would leave him alone. At least for a time. Because he was so very tired and needed to rest.

The entire time Cody continued to murmur soft encouragement, as if some part of him acknowledged the difficulty of the unreasonable task he'd put before the boy.

"Keep thrusting. That's it. Make it happen, pony. Everyone is counting on you."

Time continued to slip by as Sam fell into an almost zen-like meditative state. He needed to cum. They wouldn't let him stop until he came and so, this had to happen.

If the man kept talking, the boy didn't hear it. As he sank into the rhythm the crowd disappeared. The handler disappeared. Even the ram disappeared. There was just Sam and the warm, wet, welcoming hole that was gripping his tender flesh.

Eventually it happened. In an orgasm that was far more uncomfortable than it had any right to be, one last far smaller load was pumped into the mare as darkness began to creep into the edges of the mouse's vision.

But thankfully the coyote was there to keep him upright.

"You did it! Well done!"

Sam felt the coyote stroke his aching balls like he was petting them. Yet the mouse didn't have it in him to resist or protest so he just stood there and let it happen as the crowd gathered around to offer their congratulations.

Except, they weren't congratulating Sam. No, instead the men and women were singing the coyote's praises as they told him what a fine job he did, coaching the pony through his first breeding session.

And while attention was paid to the mouse, it was mostly in the form of unknown or rarely seen ranch employees touching his sweaty, tired body. The gathered people ran their hands over his quivering thighs, spent sack, soft cock, and also his stomach, chest, neck, and bit-stretched lips. They didn't even leave him the dignity of avoiding his shoulder stumps.

Not even Samuel's nipples were spared as one laughing woman made a point of pinching and tugging on them with her manicured nails. The mouse didn't think the cruel, red-painted things looked practical for ranch life, but what did he know? Maybe she worked in the kitchen.

At the same time, a few people made their way over to the still bound mares. Sam thought he saw one man start to unzip himself in front of the bent wolf's head but he couldn't see clearly with all the people pressing in around them. That and it was hard to focus with so many people touching every part of his exposed skin and fur.

After a few minutes more of this Cody spoke up to say, "Thank you for all the heartfelt encouragement. Me and the stallion best be getting back to the stables. Mr. Brandt's new pony needs his rest after finally being able to spill his seed."

Sam did his best to ignore the words. He didn't want to think about being the owned property of a man he'd never even met before. Some rich one-percenter asshole who thought money gave him the right to kidnap college boys.

The ranch workers got in a few last touches as they made their way towards the exit but thankfully that was all they did.

As the pony followed after the unhurried coyote under the dark, evening sky, he winced in discomfort as the too large plug grinded down on his overworked prostate with every step he took. It was like the damn thing was punishing him for cumming so much. The sensitivity made the tail-plug feel even larger than normal but there was nothing the boy could do about it as he followed the cheery, whistling coyote holding his reins.

Soon enough Sam was back in his stable where he was fed some gruel-like substance by the smiling handler. The teen was too tired to even care. He just wanted to finish his "meal" and get some sleep.

But Cody wasn't interested in letting him get off that easy.

"If you were a virgin before you came here, you're definitely not one now. You fucked those mares like a true stallion, boy. I'm proud of you."

Sam did his best to keep his cool. Spitting gruel in the man's face or kneeing him in the balls was definitely a bad idea, no matter how badly he wanted to.

"Now, I want you to rest up and recover because tomorrow is another long day. I think we'll hitch you up to the plow and start building your muscles up that way."

What once would have sounded completely absurd to the boy now seemed inevitable. He knew Cody wasn't joking. The man -- or some other handler -- really was going to strap him in front of a large metal plow before forcing him to till the top-soil through his own manual effort.

"You're going to look so good, with your cute hard-on bouncing around while you lean forward, struggling for every step. And we got lots of fields for you to practice on, so don't you worry about running out of things to do. Sunset Ranch will keep you plenty busy, pony."

Sam felt the frustration growing within him, getting ready to explode. But he knew there was no point so he breathed through it while keeping his eyes straight ahead. He didn't want to deal with the perpetually smirking coyote anymore and hoped the man would get bored and leave soon.

"Alright, I can see you're tired, grumpy-boots. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning. We'll have a fresh new day to greet and those fields won't plow themselves."

Then, just like that, the man winked at him and let him be, once more leaving Sam alone in his lonely, quiet stall.

The mouse might have cried had he not felt so detached after everything that had just happened.

None of this felt real. How could any of this possibly be real? That an eighteen year old was forced to "roleplay" (for lack of a better word) without break or end. Hauling produce. Pulling plows. Tilling fields. Breeding mares.

It was all a bad joke except there was no punch line. He'd been forced to fuck four strangers as a crowd of onlookers made small talk and ate snacks. Dozens of people had looked on as Sam had literally doubled the number of people the teenager had sexual encounters with.

And he hadn't even been able to see their face or look them in the eyes as he did it. Like a mindless animal, he'd stepped up, pushed in, and got to work. Breeding them one after another because some smirking, handkerchief wearing coyote demanded it of him.

What if one or more of those men had been straight? The only silver lining there was, he had to assume the other ponies weren't so clueless as to believe he was a willing participant in all this. Perhaps that meant they didn't hold his otherwise unjustifiable actions against him, too much. Hopefully.

And what had they done that had gotten their balls taken away? Had that been Mr. Brandt's decision? Someone else's? Had they arrived on the ranch that way? As was often the case in this place, Sam had hundreds of questions but no easy answers.

Still wearing his boots, plug, and tail-collar, the teen settled onto the piled hay as the stables' lights dimmed for the night. He still dreamed of rescue but with every day that passed, it felt less and likely.

Samuel sighed into the quiet night and hoped that the next day would be better. Or at least, less bad.

==========

It took the stallion a few days to appreciate that he'd jumped to a very wrong conclusion.

He had assumed that being brought in to breed the four "mares" was a special occasion, a one-time thing. A strange combination of punishment, show, and "treat" that wouldn't be repeated often, if ever.

He had been wrong. Unbelievably wrong.

After three more evenings where he was made to mount and seed the other ponies, Sam now understood that it was more than a coincidence. It was a new routine. That like the injections, enemas, and soul-crushing ranch work, breeding the four ponies was now another part of his day.

The days and weeks that followed this realization proved his initial suspicion to be true.

Because once Sam was introduced to the mares, the daily breedings never stopped. And not just daily breedings but public daily breedings. It became clear that anyone who cared to was welcome to attend and the mouse was expected to vigorously pump the ponies full of cum regardless of whether half a dozen were watching or more than three dozen.

With this new expectation being set, not a day passed where Sam wasn't expected to energetically drain his balls into the mares four times in a row. It wasn't just a challenge but a difficult, humiliating, degrading challenge.

One thing it was not, however, was optional. The handlers (often Cody, but frequently another ranch hand) made sure to drive home that this was not some private intimate act between lovers but raw, ball-slapping rutting between two animals. And if Sam showed the least bit of confusion over that fact, they were happy to crop and punish him until the message was driven home.

Mostly that just meant that the stallion had to fuck the ponies "like he meant it" but the crowd was full of unsolicited advice on how the teenager could better breed his bound-and-lubed partners.

Samuel tried to tune them out for the most part but that was difficult when stern-eyed men holding various instruments of punishment stood at the edge of his vision, just waiting for an excuse to step in and make him suffer.

But eventually things settled into something of a pattern as the mouse learned what was expected of him and how to make the outrageous, difficult task just a little easier on himself.

The first breeding of each evening was easy enough. The daily injections made Sam increasingly horny by the time the day's physical labor was done. What used to take days of "going without" now took mere hours. Sam woke up mildly horny each morning but by early afternoon his modest arousal would develop into a full on case of blue balls.

Which meant that while the would-be electrical engineer had his own thoughts about being made to have sex, his excitable cock was all about it. The mouse's balls didn't care about the morality of the act -- they just wanted to get off.

By five PM his cock was rock hard and sometimes leaking precum. And so to his great shame, the first breeding was pleasurable in a way he didn't have the words to properly describe. Sam hated that soon he didn't need much encouragement to fuck the first pony of the evening.

Whether it was the squirrel, wolf, ram, or elk, that first warm hole felt so, so good. So good that it was rare for Sam to last five full minutes as he worked off an entire day's worth of sexual frustration.

To his frustration and regret, that initial breeding made the stallion feel more like a mindless animal than anything else that happened to him on the ranch. He just couldn't help but lose control of himself as he shoved his needy shaft in, hard and deep, unnoticed drool leaking around his bit if he was bridled during the act.

And that first orgasm of the evening? Pure bliss. Sam didn't know that cumming could feel that good. For those euphoric seconds, the boy was momentarily able to forget about what his life had become as undiluted pleasure consumed all rational thought.

Which, unfortunately for the pony, only made the come-down all the worse. Because Sam wasn't brought to the breeding barn to fuck a pony. He was there to mount and claim four of them.

And so the second breeding was far less frantic; the edge of Samuel's need had already been dulled. This had the downside that the mouse was far more aware that there was a living, thinking person he was shoving his cum-slicked, still hard dick into.

Which meant that Sam had the presence of mind to ask himself some truly awkward questions. Was the other man enjoying this, even a little? Did they blame him for what he was doing, despite the nearby handlers practically barking orders at him? Wasn't this technically rape? And wasn't "I went along with it because I was afraid to be punished" a pretty piss-poor excuse at the end of the day?

But there would be no answers as the stallion claimed and bred his second pony of the evening. With the minor exception of the wolf, whose wagging tail consistently gave the impression that the large canine very much enjoyed being taken in this way. Perhaps the wolf, or "Spunky" as he was called, was the exception in that he actually did volunteer for this?

Sam wasn't sure and he had no way to find out.

The third breeding of each evening was always much more difficult than the first two. This was exacerbated by the fact that Samuel was never permitted even a short break between mountings. And so by the time the third session came around his shaft was overly sensitive, his balls were sore, and his libido had plummeted to "barely noticeable" levels.

But Cody, or Mark, or whoever simply didn't care. Not only did the teenager have to fuck, he had to fuck like he meant it. If any of the handlers got the impression he was holding back, they would punish him even as he continued to thrust and pant.

Typically they focused their "corrections" on parts of his body other than his balls, for practical reasons. But this was apparently more of a general guideline than a hard rule as some of the cowboys just didn't care.

In one especially cruel instance a mean-eyed giraffe had stepped up and tased Sam directly in his aching, twice-spent balls, making the mouse thrash in place and almost fall down during the unprovoked (from his perspective) tasing. The teen hadn't even seen the punishment coming because he was facing away, tiredly fucking the ram.

Afterwards the man wasn't the least bit apologetic as he grunted out, "You can use your balls for their intended purpose, or they can be punished. We said fuck like you mean it, dumb pony. Test me again and I'll give you more than just a quick kiss with the taser."

Sam hadn't seen Cody's reaction to this but Mark had laughed so hard he spilled his beer. As if the youth needed further confirmation that the buck was a total asshole.

And then, as if to drive the point home, the giraffe had rubbed the end of the deactivated taser back and forth over the mouse's hurting sack for the rest of the breeding, promising to "light 'em up" if Sam so much as thought about slowing down.

Even Cody had looked mildly uncomfortable at this and might have spoken up, if the buck hadn't had his arm draped over the coyote's shoulder, whispering distracting things into the other man's ear.

If the first breeding was a frantic release and the second was shamefully pleasurable and the third was an uncomfortable challenge, then the fourth breeding was brutal and exhausting hard work.

Nothing about taking the last mare of the evening was fun or enjoyable for the youth. Sam was sure that the only reason he could get it up for or last through the final session was because of the daily injections. Without those there would simply be no way he'd still be half hard by the end.

But just because the stallion was firm enough to achieve penetration (if only just) didn't mean he was looking forward to it. Which was probably why there were always multiple handlers on hand to shout "encouragement" at him as the men ordered him around like drill sergeants.

In the early days Sam wasn't even sure he could get through the last breeding. But he soon learned that not only was participation not optional, success wasn't optional either

The stallion WOULD fuck the fourth and final mare and he WOULD cum deep inside them, no matter how badly his balls aches or how empty they felt. And if that took over a half hour of joyless pumping? Well, the handlers were fine with breathing down his neck the entire time until they were able to confirm that his sore sack finally gave up the goods.

Some of the men would step in close to whisper encouragement in his ear during the last and most difficult challenge of the evening. Telling him that he was a fine pony and that he was doing good work. That he just had to keep thrusting and that everything would be fine.

Other handlers were not nearly as nice and muttered threateningly about hanging weights from his balls if he didn't stop wasting their time and "being a little bitch" about "fucking some tail."

Sometimes Sam got this feedback at the same time as one man gently rubbed his armless body in an encouraging fashion while the other cruelly pinched and twisted his nipple. All while the mouse had to keep thrusting because if he stopped or slowed down then both men would lay into him, regardless of whether they were the "bad cop" or "good cop".

If anything the ranch hands made him put more effort and energy into the fourth mare than they did the third. And they were always ready with corrections and punishments. If they got the slightest impression he was slowing down or taking it easy, then any number of horrible things could be in store for him.

Slaps to his ass. Clamps on his nipples. Menthol smeared on his plugged hole. His breathing cut off with a large hand over his mouth or a plastic bag around his head. And plenty more besides.

While they didn't use every possible tool and technique when he failed to meet their sky-high expectations, they used more than enough to drive the message home:

The stallion was to finish every session with an impressive display of potent, virile masculinity, no matter how empty his balls felt or how sore his body was.

And to Sam's immense dismay, this uncompromising four-part session happened every evening, without exception.

The only thing worse than forcing his protesting, defeated balls to give up one last load was the knowledge that he was going to have to do the same thing the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Because each day the four mares would be lined up (in seemingly random order) and the mouse would be forced to have sex with them. Each of them, every day. There was no haggling or negotiating. There was no discussion around what was reasonable, fair, or realistic.

There was only Sam, his multiple handlers, and his hyper-sensitive cock that was getting undeniably bigger day by day.

Like the rest of the work that was assigned to him during his time at the ranch, the employees didn't care if Samuel was in the mood or feeling up to it that particular day. The pony would do as he was told or suffer, and then be made to do it anyway.

And so Sam worked.

He pulled and he hauled and he ate and he rested and he fucked. He put up with enemas and injections and fondling and lustful looks, all because he had no choice. But most of all, he worked.

By the end of his first month on the ranch, the mouse did his best to ignore the fact that his cock was a couple inches longer than when he first arrived, and noticeably thicker. Not to mention more sensitive. Though it was hard to ignore it when it swung out in front of him like it was proudly greeting the world.

Everyone on the ranch was treated to the sight of Sam's unignorable raging erection and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was fine, he silently repeated to himself. He'd be rescued any day now and his increasingly large cock and incredibly needy balls would go back to normal. They'd probably even be able to provide him sophisticated bionic arms if he reached out to the right charity.

This was fine. Everything was fine.

Sam repeated this mantra to himself even as he was forced to mount up and breed again, and again, and again. All while ranch hands looked on, commented, made small talk, and occasionally touched him even as he was made to put on a show for them.

All the while he told himself that he wasn't raping these men. That they were all in this together. Despite being bound, bent over, and unable to fend off his insertion, the stallion thought they knew that it wasn't him who was exploiting them but the men who ran the ranch.

If there was even the slightest impression he was in on it, it was because the handlers insisted he thrust his hips forward so aggressively. Unless Sam wanted his ass paddled and spanked, slowing down or taking it easy on the mares wasn't an option.

That the mouse repeatedly fucked them hard and deep was just a byproduct of their combined helplessness. Regardless of how good it felt to spill his seed in their warm, welcoming holes -- how mind-meltingly pleasurable it was -- the pony knew he wouldn't rut into them if he had any choice or say in the matter.

Sam had almost (but not quite) convinced himself that his fellow ponies didn't blame him for what he had to do by the time that Mr. Brandt returned to the ranch.

The man who controlled his fate had at long last arrived to take a look at his new property.

==========

The teen was barely awake when he realized that someone was lifting him to his still-hoofed feet. Sam instinctively adjusted his legs to regain his balance as he blinked sleepy eyes in the dim morning light.

What he saw shocked him as his jaw and throat worked to form words that wouldn't come.

The man helping him to his feet was a tall, broad-shouldered horse with brown fur so dark it might as well have been black. But more surprising that the fact that the youth had never seen him before was the expensive looking tailored suit the steel-eyed equine was wearing.

Everyone else (except the ponies) wore typical ranch work-wear such as jeans, shirts, and even cowboy hats to shield against the sun. This man, who looked to be in his mid to late fifties and was now running his large hands over Samuel's naked body, looked entirely out of place compared to the rest of the staff.

Which meant it was easy for the mouse to guess who he was. This man was the frequently mentioned Mr. Brandt, owner of Sunset Ranch. And based on the possessive look in his eyes and the complete lack of hesitation in touching the teenager's modified body, he was also the self-proclaimed owner of Sam himself. At least according to Mr. Brandt.

Sam kept waiting for the silent, staring man to introduce himself and after a minute the horse did -- after a fashion.

Except instead of using words the man simply unzipped his suit pants, pulled out his half-hard ebony horse cock, took the back of the gaping mouse's head in hand, and pulled the boy down until pony lips met cock.

The eighteen year old was too stunned to fight back as several inches of thick dick was fed into his slack-jawed mouth. The towering man didn't adjust his posture at all, instead using his grip to force the boy to bend over and accommodate his swelling girth.

After that there were several long seconds where nothing happened as the confused youth refused to simply roll over and give in to his kidnapper. To the man who had ruined his life and who was now using him like an unthinking, unfeeling sex toy without even bothering to introduce himself first.

Sam wasn't quite brave enough to bite down but that didn't mean he was going to fall to his knees and suck off the horse who had stolen his voice, his arms, and perhaps even the possibility of a normal life.

But rather than act annoyed or impatient, Mr. Brandt simply took control as he began moving Sam's head back and forth over his increasingly erect shaft, forcing the much younger man to blow him regardless of how the kidnapped would-be college boy felt about the situation.

Only when Sam tried to pull back and resist did the equine grab one of his large sensitive ears and twist.

"Settle," the man instructed as he inflicted pain on his property, his voice as hard and unforgiving as iron.

That was it. That one word was all the man deigned to speak to Sam who was working hard not to think too much about the warm, velvety cock that was filling up his mouth as it pushed deeper and deeper towards his throat.

The pony was at a loss for what to do. Did he really just let his entitled, wealthy kidnapper treat him with less respect than one might show for an online store sex toy? It felt like he should stand up for himself. That if this wasn't the time to do something in his own defense, when would he ever find the courage?

It felt all the more important because the stoic businessman was undoubtedly forming a first opinion of Sam. And right now that first opinion must have been along the lines that the mouse was a meek, defenseless sex slave who wouldn't even make a fuss if some strange man decided to fuck a load down his throat.

But try as he might, Sam couldn't come up with a single viable option as the well dressed horse used his two-handed grip to guide the stallion's mouth over his long, girthy cock.

Twice more Sam tried to step or pull back. The first earned him a rude shove of the shaft down his throat, causing him to choke and thrash, while the second earned him a harsh slap across the face after the businessman momentarily extracted his saliva-drenched member.

The man didn't bother speaking again as he brought the unhappy boy's mouth back on his pole. Because why bother talking when the message was crystal clear? Resistance would be punished and the mature equine wouldn't hesitate to cause the boy pain.

Acknowledging that he really wasn't in a position to fight back, Sam tried to clear his mind and settle in to ride out the humiliating abuse. This was easier thought than done as the ranch owner's huge shaft wasn't really ignorable. Especially when the man pushed hard enough to test Sam's limits, causing the mouse to instinctively try to push back against the horse with arms that weren't there.

Mouth (and sometimes throat) stuffed with cock, Sam felt powerful as noticeable streaks of precum began to drench his tongue.

Blinking, the bent-over boy looked up at the man and saw a figure with perfect self-confidence. Everything about the man spoke of self-assuredness, from his posture, to his grip, to his clothes, to his unflinching expression.

The man didn't look bored so much as in his element. Sam got the impression the rich equine would look equally comfortable regardless of circumstances, Whether that was in a board room, on a golf course, or fucking an armless pony slave on his private off-the-radar slave ranch.

The man didn't bother to make eye contact with the pony. Instead he looked through and past the boy as he maneuvered the teenager's mouth back and forth over the top half of his shaft.

At that moment Sam didn't feel like a person. He didn't even feel like an animal. He felt like a thing. Like an object. Like a toy the horse was momentarily making use of. One that would soon be dirtied with the rude asshole's cum before being shoved back down to the ground and forgotten -- until he was called upon to be used again later.

What Sam didn't know was that Mr. Brandt had no interest in letting the pretty pony off that easily. Because the man wasn't only interested in collecting ponies. Half the appeal was in breaking them into accepting their new life. And despite early reports that the stallion was an earnest worker who responded well to handler-provided incentives, Mr. Brandt could see that the pony was far from accepting his new life.

But that was fine with the horse. Ponies that gave in too easily tended to bore him. Mr. Brandt hoped the boy rediscovered his inner fire and that he struggled and resisted mightily in the coming months, as things became increasingly challenging for the pretty, intelligent thing that showed so much potential.

Pulling his cock out of the gasping, gaggy pony's mouth the man addressed the boy for the second time that morning.

"Worship me," the dark furred horse instructed as he maneuvered the youth's face under his shaft and against his balls.

Mr. Brandt didn't know whether the teen would give in or resist but he was prepared for either. More than that, both courses of action (or inaction) were enjoyable in their own way. Besides, breaking a pony wasn't about any individual response but rather the regime of discipline that was enforced over months and years.

What the pony hesitated to do today he would enthusiastically throw himself into on a future date. After all, Mr. Brandt hired the best staff and trainers for a reason. Even the most stubborn (and homophobic) of ponies came to understand that their preferences didn't matter when their owner's member was shoved in their face.

Not that sexual arousal was difficult to achieve when Sam's balls were injected every morning. Besides, Mr. Brandt knew from the boy's phone browser history that big dicks and assertive men were definitely in his wheelhouse of kinks.

That made things easier but the equine would have been equally happy if the youth had been racist against horses. It would have been fun to watch Sam's disgusted, aggrieved face as he was forced to worship and suck his equine owner's fat horse cock again and again and again.

But based on the squirming teen's blush, that specific flavor of humorous humiliation wasn't in the cards. A slight pity, but at the end of the day Mr. Brandt didn't really care what Sam's opinion was. Only that he obeyed.

The seconds ticked by as Sam stood frozen with lips pressed against the horse's waiting balls.

They both knew he'd be punished if he refused to comply with the order. But Mr. Brandt was willing to give the teen a few moments to think through his choice. Was he a thoroughly unreasonable man? Yes, of course. But he wasn't impossibly unreasonable. He could spare fifteen seconds for Sam to decide if he wanted to get right into worshipping his owner's balls or if he wanted to be punished first. Though the worship itself wasn't in question. That would absolutely be happening, regardless of the mouse's thoughts or feelings.

In the end the pragmatic youth gave in, knowing that not only didn't he have the cards to win this particular contest -- he hadn't even been dealt into the game. Mr. Brandt had engineered his victory well in advance and there wasn't anything Sam could do about it.

When the pony's lips and tongue began to work on his impressive sack, Mr. Brandt was only moderately disappointed. Part of him had been looking forward to kneeing the boy in the balls, proving to his new property that he held ultimate power over even the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of his improved body.

But this was fine too. Reluctant submission certainly had its own appeal.

Not that the youth was doing a great job of worshipping his master and owner's balls. But a firm squeeze on the back of the boy's neck fixed that as Sam's tongue and mouth adapted to something that was closer to actual worship than begrudging licking.

For his part, Sam couldn't believe how far he'd fallen. This man had to be over three times his age and he was licking, sucking, and slurping on the horse's balls like they were the best thing he'd ever tasted. He had tried to resist in a half-hearted way but the pain in his neck and the balls smothering his face encouraged him to try harder so that the man wouldn't ruin his life more than he already had.

The mouse convinced himself to go along with this shameful "worshipping" when he considered that Mr. Brandt could take his sense of hearing if he wanted. Or his eyesight. Or even "just" his sense of smell, if the horse wanted to rattle his metaphorical cage and send a message without impacting his ability to work.

The teen was very aware that he was trapped in a wooden stall with the unreasonable man. So if Mr. Brandt wanted his balls energetically sucked -- or "worshipped" as he'd called it -- then Sam wasn't inclined to risk a worse fate just so he could be punished and forced to go through with it anyway. Because after seeing the man there was zero doubt in his mind that the horse would get his way in the end.

The stallion only had to remind himself that the horse also owned four "geldings" to remember just how high the stakes were in this place. There was a reason the man sounded so confident when he ordered Sam to worship him. Because it would have only taken a single punishment or threat for the teen to throw himself into the task. And Mr. Brandt knew that.

Risking a glance up at the man as he worked his mouth back and forth over the equine's sack, Sam saw that the man didn't look overly impressed. Part of that was that the man's poker face was practically locked but the mouse suspected the other part of that was that he wasn't doing an overly amazing job. His desperation translated to enthusiasm, true, but he was in no way an accomplished or talented ball worshipper. Which was probably why Mr. Brandt was looking down on him -- both literally and figuratively.

Despite this, Mr. Brandt didn't speak. Sam wondered if the man thought it beneath his dignity to speak to "animals" any more than was strictly necessary. The one-word commands certainly implied that the businessman wasn't interested in having a conversation with the pony.

Not that the man struggled to make his wishes known. Taking his bruising grip off Sam's neck, the horse crossed his arms as the armless pony continued to work. It didn't take a genius to understand that if the mouse stopped or pulled away that things would go very poorly for him.

And so falling to his knees, the stallion made a show of worshipping his bastard of an owner. He licked and sucked and nuzzled until he felt like his whole face was covered in his own saliva. All the while ignoring his own drug-fueled erection because he didn't feel mentally ready to acknowledge how turned on he was.

Was a good deal of that arousal due to the drugs that were forced on him on a daily basis? Of course. But that didn't make Sam feel any less ashamed of his own reaction as he treated the horse's balls like they were his favorite dessert in the world.

It also didn't mean that there wasn't some small part of the mouse that enjoyed this. The same part of him that thrilled at checking out those BDSM sites and reading those stories. And probably the same part of him that had secretly wanted Cody and Mark to bend him over and take him on that very first day at the ranch. Back before he fully understood what complete jerks they were.

Unhurried and looking to make a point, Mr. Brandt let this go on for nearly half an hour. In the past he'd had ponies worship him for hours at a time. At one point he'd even had a literal thone built so that ponies could worship him like a god-king as he sat on the exquisitely carved seat, drinking wine out of an old fashioned goblet as the pony proved they understood who was the master and who was the animal.

Now that throne was collecting dust in some storage room but the horse had fond memories of teenagers gagging themselves on his cock as he stared down at them, legs spread on his seat of power.

But he had something else in mind for his initial meeting with his newest acquisition. It was time for the stallion to get bred.

"Enough. Get up."

Mouth tired from the cocksucking and ball worship, that was an order that Sam was more than willing to obey. But he wasn't naive enough to assume that this trial was over.

Seeing the panting mouse's compliance the equine issued his next command.

"Move atop the stand."

Glancing around, the boy saw a piece of equipment that appeared to be an exercise step. It must have been brought in while he'd been asleep. Not seeing an alternative or a way to get out of this, Sam did as he was told.

"Turn around. Spread your legs."

Back at the hospital, the boy remembered asking himself whether someone had really purchased him as some sort of sex toy. Samuel thought he was about to get an answer to that question.

"Wider. Show me your plug."

The teen gulped, spreading his legs as wide as he could while still keeping his balance. Because it didn't take a genius to understand why the equine wanted easy access to his plug.

But then Sam almost fell over in shock as an unseen palm cupped his hanging balls.

"If you close your legs or try to pull away, I will hurt you here. Not only that, you'll work the next week wearing ball weights meaning you'll feel my disappointment with every step you take. Show me you can be a good animal and you can spare yourself that pain."

The eighteen year old shuddered. The constant manual labor was bad enough. He could only imagine how much worse it would be with weights yanking his sack, bruising his balls. He doubted any of the handlers would go easy on him just because he'd "earned" himself a punishment. Mark might even work him harder, getting off on the sight of Sam's sack in distress as the weights swung back and forth.

This thought was interrupted as the plug was yanked out, the pony expelling air through his nose at the feeling. Seconds later something else was pressed between his cheeks, pushing up against his plug-worn hole.

Something warm, large, and alive. The cock he'd just spent half an hour worshiping like his life depended on it.

"Do you feel that? Bet you didn't know you've been waiting your whole life for this moment."

That "moment" last well over a minute as Mr. Brandt teased and tested his entrance by maneuvering the end of his shaft in small circles, making Sam aware of just how little distance separated them. Making the mouse acknowledge that he could only stand there, legs spread, waiting for the inevitable.

This was why he'd been bought, he considered. Why he'd been kidnapped, modified, packed up, and delivered. It had all been building up to his owner finally getting some use out of his slave.

Sam did his very best to ignore his own pulsing erection. He wasn't going to enjoy his own debasement, he insisted. It didn't matter how many stories he read about rich, hugely endowed, unreasonable owners making their slaves take their greedy shaft just like this man was about to do.

The pony hadn't asked for this. Hadn't consented or volunteered. He'd been taken while using a public bathroom. So he certainly wasn't looking forward to the cruel horse shoving his thick cock into his twitching, hungry hole. Of course he wasn't.

When the shove came, it was not gentle or considerate. It was not the slow, thoughtful insertion of a lover. Rather, it was harsh and pitiless making Sam gasp at the brutal intrusion. And, taking Sam's hips in hand, the middle-aged man kept shoving forward until he was nearly all the way in.

"That's it. Squeeze down on me. Good pony."

The young man barely heard the words, feeling like he'd just been stabbed as the millionaire's (or maybe billionaire?) rod punched through him like it had a vendetta.

"Look at that pretty hole. It's stretching so well for me."

The man sounded quite pleased as Sam breathed through the agony, a good deal of his focus spent on keeping his legs grounded and spread to avoid the ball weights that he had little doubt Mr. Brandt would make happen, should he interfere with the equine's fun.

"Given your height and small frame, I wondered how this would go. But in the end it turns out that you were born to take this cock."

Those were the words Samuel heard right before he got fucked harder than he'd thought one person could take another. The thrusts came fast and deep and hard and for the first couple of minutes the pony wondered if the man was actually trying to kill him. That Mr. Brandt was trying to rip him in two or puncture something important with his pounding rhythm.

But when Sam didn't immediately pass out or expire and the thrusts kept coming, an even scarier thought occurred to him.

What if this was just the way Mr. Brandt preferred to have sex? A complete domination of his "partner". A lack of concern for their comfort and well being. Not because the horse liked to pretend that his armless ponies were animals but because the ranch owner well and truly believed that's what Sam and the others were.

Just animals. Animals that existed to be used and abused and enjoyed without thought for their wants, needs, or desires.

Finally it clicked for Sam. This wasn't a man who enjoyed indulging a roleplaying fantasy full time. This was a man who owned two-legged, armless ponies.

As this flash of insight struck the mouse like a lightning bolt, the gut-churning exploitation continued.

Then the man said something that chilled Samuel's bones.

"I'm taking you deeper now. Stay still and let this happen."

The man didn't even wait for the teenager to process the words before he started breeding the boy even deeper and harder. Something Sam wouldn't have thought was possible until his owner showed him otherwise.

"Hmmm, you took every inch of me. I can't say I'm proud. Not when I'm witnessing my stallion take to dick like a fish takes to wonder. But I am... satisfied. I can already tell that you're going to be very useful for relieving my stress."

In the pain and fear Sam had lost his erection. Now it was coming back in a hurry as the man talked to him like he was an object. Or more specifically, a sex toy. The mouse had jerked off many times to the idea of exactly this happening to him.

And now that it had happened? He hated it. He loved it. And for Mr. Brandt himself, his owner? He hated him too. And he wanted the well hung sociopath to fuck him so hard that Sam came like Nurse Toy had. A glorious orgasm felt like the least he was owed after everything the man had done to him.

The only problem with that was, he'd been too well drained breeding the mares the night before for his cum to be pounded out of him. He wasn't like the possum who had been kept chaste for weeks or months. He'd been made to drain himself until he was empty and then forced to give a last load, "just because".

So, no. There'd be no spontaneous ejaculations on the stallion's part. Not that Mr. Brandt cared. He wasn't here for the pony's pleasure.

But Sam could grow erect and he did as the sex act that was more violent than sensual slammed into him like the older horse was trying to find his limits.

"Never forget that I own this hole, Carrot," the surprisingly athletic man grunted into his ear. "Just like I own the rest of you, from your ears to your hooves. Take every inch and know your place."

The young man didn't like mentally referring to himself as a slave. It felt like buying into his tormentors' false narrative. Like a betrayal of the self. But right then, Sam believed it. Whatever else he might be in the future, standing in that wooden stall in a dusty barn, he understood that no matter what he might think or believe, there was no doubting that he was Mr. Brandt's slave.

As if to drive this point home, the man kept addressing his latest conquest.

"This is your life now. Every day will consist of work, breeding, and service. There will be no exceptions, no days off, and no escape. Your plans don't matter. Your opinions don't matter. You will go where you are told, do as you are told, and fuck who you are told. Any bad attitudes, hesitation, or half-hearted efforts will be spotted immediately and punished. Only through perfect obedience will you find any relief."

Sam listened and, hating himself, he started to believe. After all, he was constantly being watched, what could he do? The only time he'd been cut any slack was when he'd given in and done exactly what was asked of him. When he'd behaved like a mindless animal.

"You must always do your best. To do less is to invite correction and pain. Ours -- and most importantly, my own -- satisfaction with your efforts are the only rubric by which you should measure your success."

Fuck, the man was so deep. It felt like the heft and strength of the man's shaft was the only thing keeping Sam on his rubber hooves.

"From this day forward you do not need to think. We will do your thinking for you. Whoever you were before is gone, never to return. There is only Carrot. You are Carrot. This ranch's horny, slutty, desperate to please stallion. And you will work hard for your betters, each and every day."

Sam knew he'd be getting a "pony name" sooner or later. Now he had one and it was deeply humiliating. And damn if it didn't make his dick outrageously hard.

They'd just stolen his name. Mr. Brandt, this total bastard, had just ripped away another integral part of him. First his freedom, then his arms and voice, and now his name.

The mouse thought himself fortunate that he didn't have a voice in that moment because he might have begged the brutal dom to please, oh pretty please, reach around and stroke his cock. Mostly empty or not, he knew he'd still manage to cum if the heartless businessman paid the slightest attention to his straining length.

Of course the still monologuing man did no such thing.

"It's time to move on, Carrot. To accept things as they are. So turn off your useless brain and take your owner's cum, animal-slut!"

The orgasm was almost gentle compared to savage gut punches that came before. Sam didn't feel himself filling up but he did feel the large amount of cum that gushed down his cheeks and onto his balls.

Sam was in a daze as he played back what had just happened to him. He'd finally met his owner and it had been everything he'd feared it would be. That and more.

Rubbing his cock clean on Carrot's thigh fur in a practiced motion, the man addressed the pony one last time. What the mouse didn't appreciate at the time was that it would be one of the last few times the horse would ever speak to him directly as generally speaking the man wasn't a fan of lowering himself by conversing with animals.

"Work hard for me and I'll come by and use you again soon. Do not expect me to be so gentle next time, now that you're properly broken in. Remember that your only purpose on this ranch is to make me happy. Do not disappoint me, Carrot."

The man emphasized this last point by flicking the pony's balls in a not so subtle threat of what he could expect if he failed to meet or exceed his owner's expectations.

Then the man was gone, leaving Samuel standing on the raised platform with his legs spread, still leaking his kidnapper's seed. Or at least, the man who had paid off his kidnapper's invoice.

Still unplugged, and having been fucked so hard and deep, the mouse felt bizarrely empty. Which was humiliating to think about. Now it felt strange not to have a giant plug buried in his gut?

For several minutes the young man just stood there feeling empty, guilty, defeated, and horny. He was left in the silence with one big, unignorable question.

Was Mr. Brandt right? Was this all his life was now, with no possibility of rescue or escape? Was he destined to spend the rest of his days being treated like a silly animal, worked hard for others' benefit only to be "rewarded" by being forced to put on public shows?

Everyone he'd encountered since being stolen away acted like this was a done deal. Were they right? Had all his options been stripped away until he'd only been left with two awful choices: Perfect obedience or horrible punishment? A life where being slightly too slow in pulling an apple cart resulted in multiple crops to his balls? A life where cowboys openly thrilled at forcing him to obey and submit.

As if summoned by the thought of cowboy handlers, Cody poked his head in the stall and whistled.

"Holy moonshine, the boss-man really made a mess out of you. Did you give him trouble or was he just in a particular randy mood? Well... None of my business I suppose."

Then the coyote came around Carrot, saw his still present erection, and laughed.

"Got a bit of the masochist in you, do ya? Between you and me, I totally get where you're coming from. Mark can be a bit of a beast in the sack, and, well, like I said. Hard and rough can be fun sometimes. Plus, it's a good thing that a pony enjoys their owner. Much better than the alternative."

As the man talked he ran his crop up and down Sam's arousal, uncaring about how threatening the gesture looked. It would hardly be the first time the man slapped his erection around for no reason.

"Anyway, enough gabbing. Let's get you cleaned up and put to work. You got a long day ahead of you and unfortunately it's supposed to be extra hot, with no wind or cloud cover. So I'm going to need you to reach deep and power through, okay? Let's give it all we got because we got a schedule to keep."

An animal. They were all just going to keep doing this to him, day after day. No pity. No breaks. Just endless work driven by constant threats to the most sensitive parts of his body.

Sam didn't even notice he was crying until the handler coughed and said something.

"Silly pony, tears won't help you. I mean, I don't mind if you have yourself a little pity party but don't let Mark see you. Trust me, crying will just make him want to bully you harder."

But now that the tears had started they wouldn't stop. Somehow Mr. Brandt using him like one of those men from his kink stories had been enough to pop the lid on his bottled emotions.

He was supposed to be off at college, checking out boys his age at the library or gym. He was supposed to be studying to become an electrical engineer. Those stories he read were just supposed to be harmless fiction, not something that could actually happen to him.

Samuel was really starting to become worried that there might not be an escape from this. That every ounce of his agency and control had been taken away and now only that unforgiving horse's wants and needs mattered.

Was the mouse really just a hole for that man to fuck? In the end, is that all his life amounted to? A man who didn't think of him as a person. All this for the benefit of a man who saw him as some combination of convenient sex toy and work animal.

"Hey Carrot, maybe this isn't the best time to mention it, but there's something I should give you a heads-up about," the coyote said, still playing with the emotional boy's length with his footlong riding crop.

"Now that Mr. Brandt's had his way with you, some of the other staff are likely to become comfortable in 'sampling the goods'. What I'm trying to say is, you're about to become a very popular distraction, if you know what I mean."

Sam wished he could muster up the energy to be surprised. But honestly, what did he expect? Of course all these horny, handsome cowboys were going to use him to get off. It couldn't have been a coincidence that most of them looked like they came straight off the cover of some rustic fashion magazine.

The men on this ranch were brought here for a reason and it wasn't because Mr. Brandt gave a damn about crop yields or good harvests.

Despite understanding this, Carrot couldn't prevent the surge of anxiety that rose within him as he watched the now smiling coyote slowly unbutton and unzip his pants.

"So on that point, why don't you be a good little pony slut and show me what that mouth can do."

As sore as his ass felt, Sam still felt more than a little amped up from his experience with the horse. As the hunk of a cowboy pushed down his jeans, making his half-hard member flop about, the pony felt himself drawn to it.

If this place was designed to grind his spirit into the dust, then he might as well take his wins where he could get them. And as much of a jerk as Cody was, damn was he sexy.

Ignoring his recently shed tears, Samuel leaned over, took the coyote's attractive, plump cock in his mouth, and got to work.

If Cody was surprised at the instant compliance, he didn't show it.

Instead he said, "That's a good boy, Carrot. Let's get you fed and then we can have a nice productive day under the sun. That's my good pony slut."

Then the asshole fucked Sam's mouth while telling him what an obedient, hardworking pony he was. How the stallion was going to make a great many ranch hands happy and how they were going to feed him all the thick, delicious cowboy cum he could possibly want -- and more besides. How they'd all chip in to teach him how to suck and fuck just like they liked, until it came as naturally to him as pulling carts.

Because of course he did.

==========

The next week was possibly the most demeaning of Sam's life.

Not only was he worked extra hard by handlers who seemed keen on making a good impression on their boss, but Mr. Brandt himself came in to the stables at least once a day to fuck the mouse hard enough that the mute boy wondered if the horse was trying to break him.

Even more humiliatingly, after the first day the suited man didn't even bother to speak to him, instead treating the pony as though he were dumb and deaf as his legs were pushed apart prior to the man spearing him on his outrageously large shaft.

There was no prep time. No foreplay or easing him open. There was just a middle-aged man's over-endowed cock slamming into him so hard that Samuel worried he might split in two.

Only once did "Carrot" make the mistake of instinctively trying to pull away. But the sudden iron grip on his balls that squeezed, twisted, then pulled convinced the youth that, as distasteful as it was, passive acceptance was the preferable course.

Sam tried hard not to think about the truth that he was little more than a rich man's sex toy. That every part of his teenage body had been modified to the businessman's preferences and tastes. That even his increasingly large porn-star cock was constantly hard and eye-catching because Mr. Brandt had decided that's how it should be.

A shaft that was stubbornly erect even as the horse and his employee did terrible things to Sam. Because even as Mr. Brandt fucked him hard enough for the mouse to feel it for the rest of the day, the boy's member throbbed and dripped like it couldn't be more into the life that Sam was forced to live.

The boy hated how horny he was when he woke up, splayed out in an undignified fashion on his pile of fresh hay. Just as he hated how much his body reacted and responded to pitiless man's fuckings.

Not that his erections did him any good. Mr. Brandt barely glanced at his straining arousal. The horse wasn't interested in providing him relief. At least, not through any avenue other than the mandatory evening breedings. The net result was that Sam's release schedule was strictly controlled.

By the time the sun was setting in the evening the stallion was desperate to get off. So much so that he had to make an effort to get his breathing under control as the day's assigned handler guided him to the mares' barn. The mouse tried to hide his emotions in the minutes leading up to the public breeding but that was nearly impossible given the way his jutting pole bounced and twitched, hot in anticipation for the first mounting.

The knowledge of how difficult and uncomfortable the fourth and final breeding would be should have tempered how excited Sam was for the degrading spectacle, but it didn't. By this point part of the pony had accepted that fucking with tired, sore, and empty balls was the price he had to pay for that first glorious release. The orgasm that was so strong and prolonged that the stallion was practically frothing around his bit by the end of it.

Yet it was always a bitter pill to swallow that he still had three mares to go after he'd achieved that initial satisfaction. Not that the second or third breedings were "bad" or unpleasurable, but by that point Sam had come back to himself enough to realize how hugely fucked up it was to be made to have sex with bound, bent over "ponies" while ten to thirty other men looked on and made small talk.

The fact that Sam barely even noticed the giant plug in his ass as he thrust into the warm, lubed mare was evidence enough of how far he'd fallen. Even as he topped he couldn't escape Mr. Brandt's presence and control. Not that the horse ever showed up for the breedings. Apparently the wealthy man was much too busy to watch something as unimportant as a pony getting off.

Though there were a couple of occasions that Mr. Brandt dropped by to use him directly after the evening's breeding. Those were the only times that Sam was soft while the man fucked him hard enough that Sam swore his insides must be molding to the exact shape and curvature of the equine's dick.

But there was little true satisfaction in being drained so thoroughly. Not when Sam knew that, come morning, he'd be just as desperate as the day before. Meanwhile the burning, hateful injections just kept coming. It was honestly the scariest part of the mouse's ongoing slavery.

Just how horny would he grow after a year's worth of injections? Would he even be able to hold a coherent thought in his head when he woke up feeling like his balls might explode if he didn't get off soon? And how big would his cock grow? Twelve inches? Fifteen? Even more?

With no arms and a huge erection (for a mouse), he already felt he looked like a freak. How much worse would it get when his hard-on swung down past his booted knees? Not to mention how large his balls would grow by that point. It was easy to ignore his sack in light of the more apparent changes but Sam hadn't missed how his pair had started to sway back and forth with every step he took.

But then again, at least he still had balls. Unlike the mares.

When Mr. Brandt eventually left on latest business trip, Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Escape or rescue never felt especially likely on Sunset Ranch, but somehow the horse's presence made it seem outright impossible. As though the older horse was so much in control of this place that the wind didn't dare blow in a direction the man didn't care for -- much less the possibility of law enforcement coming by to knock on doors and ask questions.

Not that things got better for Samuel after the man returned to his busy life of flying on his private plane, closing deals, and signing contracts.

Instead, every warm-blooded man on the ranch took their boss' departure as the starting pistol to teach Carrot that his "job" was more about getting fucked than breeding himself.

After Mr. Brandt departed, at least ten times a day the pony would be pushed against a wall or tree, or bent over a chair of barrel, or pushed rudely to the ground on his bare stomach as the ranch hands availed themselves to his ass and throat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

No one asked his permission. They simply pulled out their cock and pushed in, sometimes not even waiting until the other cowboy was done. The first time Sam was spit-roasted, he was genuinely shocked at the outrageous treatment. But by the twentieth time it happened in less than a week, Sam just sighed, opened his mouth, and let it happen.

Resisting was pointless and the mouse knew that fighting back was an invitation to get his balls kneed, kicked, or squeezed. Mark was especially eager to look for any excuse to hurt him there but the truth was that few members of the staff would hesitate to remind him just how sensitive and vulnerable his enlarged balls were.

Even Cody, who was generally more patient and thoughtful than the rest of the employees, didn't think much about stepping on Carrot's balls while saying, "No. Ponies don't think -- they obey."

The pony might have preferred the coyote to be the day's handler over any of the other ranch hands, but there was exactly stiff competition for the prize of "best handler." In this case "best" simply meant, "didn't squeeze Sam's balls while giving instructions, just to emphasize his point." Plenty of the other ranchers were happy to threaten Carrot's sack, often and shamelessly. And even when he hadn't actually disobeyed or dragged his hooves.

That Cody waited to bring the crop into play until after Sam had started to grow tired from hours of labor wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement of his character. Especially when the coyote was as happy to get his dick sucked as any of the rest.

It was in this fashion that time continued to tick on as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. With the only difference being that sometimes Mr. Brandt was onsite to remind the mouse what it was like to be fucked by a man who had absolutely zero regard for him. A man who rarely spoke more than a few words to him, never treated him as anything more than a mindless animal, and who thrust into Sam with such force that the teen was left with no doubt that the man truly viewed him as little more than an object and possession.

As winter began to set in and the days grew colder, at first Samuel was grateful for the reduced heat but eventually became worried as not a stitch of additional clothing was offered to him to stave off the chill. Soon the pony tried to stay moving just to keep his body temperature up but this was just a short term solution.

Just as Carrot was beginning to grow truly worried about his health and safety, he was finally given an extended break from field work and permitted to stay inside while the weather outdoors plummeted to icy temperatures.

At first Sam was grateful to his unreasonable handlers for granting him the barest amount of consideration.

What he had no way of knowing was that all too soon he would look fondly back at the days of summer with its dehydrating heat and soul-crushing field work. Because the very next day he was introduced to Mr. Jennings, his new indoor trainer.

A forty-seven year old lion with a long track record of getting "lazy" ponies up to his exacting standards. An unforgiving man who made Mark look downright empathetic in comparison.

A man who was looking forward to having the stallion known as Carrot at his mercy, all alone, and under his complete control.

==========

Sam knew he was in trouble when he was brought to a large, mostly empty building and left in the care of a man he'd never seen before. A maned, broad-shouldered lion who looked at the mouse like he was a piece of shit that had gotten stuck to the heel of the man's shoe.

The trainer, who was dressed as a coach and wearing gym shorts that left little to the imagination, walked over to the nervous boy before looking him up and down. The man didn't appear impressed by what he saw.

Then, grabbing the surprised youth's half-hard dick he yanked Sam closed, looked him dead in the eyes and said, "Let's get one thing straight, pony."

And then before continuing on the lion started stroking the shocked boy. Except there was nothing gentle or affectionate about the touch. Somehow his stroking technique was simultaneously mocking and slightly painful. This wasn't a handjob but a statement of dominance.

"To me, you're just an animal. Many of your other limp-wristed handlers say this, but they don't really mean it. It's a game to them. Roleplay. A sexual fantasy come to life. You will find that this is not the case for me. The only reason I'm even talking to right now is because addressing you directly will produce quicker results. And you'll soon discover, in this room results are the only thing that matter."

The man continued stroking the squirming, wincing pony but even as he spoke his grip tightened. Sam had encountered plenty of men (and a few women) who seemed intent on crushing the life out of his balls, but this was the first man to adopt that same approach for his shaft.

"My name is Coach Jennings, but of course you won't be using my name. You'll wish you could talk or plead with me but know in advance that I don't lower my standards for anyone. Let alone a horny beast like you."

The lion then used his other hand to slap the head of Sam's shaft, just because he could. Then he repeated the motion three more times for good measure.

"If you don't hate me by the time I'm done whipping you into shape, I'll have failed at my job. If you thought you were going to be gifted some relaxing winter break just because you couldn't go outside in the rain and snow, go ahead and piss that idea away right now. Ponies don't get vacations. They work."

Coach Jennings shot Sam a harsh, challenging look as if daring the pony to disagree.

"Now, spread your legs nice and wide because we're swapping out your plug. Not that I need to explain myself to a slut like you."

Samuel was experienced enough with men like Jennings that he didn't hesitate to obey the order. He knew that the lion was looking for an excuse to put the hurt on him and that even a small delay in obedience would result in instant punishment.

"Christ, you're pathetic," the man said, not sounding the least bit impressed with Sam's instant compliance.

For once, Sam actually blushed at the insult. The lion's tone made it clear how little he thought of the boy's decision to abandon dignity to avoid pain and discomfort.

The mouse kept his hooved feet spread as the man fetched something from a nearby wall-mounted cabinet and then stayed in position as one plug was swapped out for another. Facing away, he couldn't say what made one plug different for another and the man didn't bother explaining. Both plugs felt unreasonably large from Sam's perspective, but he was unfortunately used to that.

"Alright, slut, your new tail is all set. See those white lines set around the perimeter of the room? As I'm sure you were too dumb to notice, this is an indoor. So get to running."

The man didn't give the pony a chance to start moving before slapping the eighteen year old on the ass, hard.

And like that, the hooved, collared, and plugged (but otherwise naked) stallion was off like a shot. With the spacious building as large as it was, the track had the benefit of curving gently and so it was mostly a "straight" jog forward for the mouse with very little momentum lost to turning.

In what would turn out to be a moment of profound naivety, only a few minutes into the run Sam wondered when the jerk of a trainer might give him a break.

Glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye and sensing that it might be a bit before he could stop and recover, Samuel began to gradually slow his pace to conserve his energy.

This is when the plug came "alive" inside of him, as a sudden flash of sharp, inexplicable pain consumed his ass. The pain was so unexpected that Sam nearly fell over, only managing to keep his legs under him because of the speed he'd already built up.

"No one said to slow down, pony," the lion said, his tone almost bored. "And since I know you're too dumb to figure it out, I'll explain it to you. That's a shock plug you got buried up that slut-hole of yours. Not only that, it has a sensor to keep track of your speed. Drop below an acceptable speed and you get a shock. And yes, it's designed to hurt. Technically the plug has discharge settings below the one you just experienced but it doesn't matter because we'll never be using them. That setting won't permanently damage you, and that's good enough for me."

As still throbbing and mind still reeling from what just happened, the teen couldn't believe what he was hearing. He had to keep running at this speed or the plug would fry him from the inside out? That was ludicrous.

And yet, Sam struggled to doubt the lion. Coach Jennings didn't sound like a man who was fond of jokes or pranks.

"Even a dumbass like you can figure out what it takes to avoid punishment. Just keep running. Easy, right?"

The problem was, Sam had never been much of a runner and despite spending so much time outdoors since his kidnapping and enslavement, that effort hadn't been focused around long distance endurance.

In other words, the pony was only ten minutes into his "light jog" and he could already feel himself growing tired. But soon he would be forced to choose between aching legs and oxygen deprived lungs and the too-large plug waiting to go off in his ass like an especially cruel taser.

Sweat began to break out over Sam's armless body as he raced around the track, over and over. Never stopping and never daring to slow down.

But as the minutes ticked by the pony began to slow down, almost inadvertently. He didn't know what the exact speed threshold was but he was afraid he might be getting too close and--

Sam silently screamed as the plug once more lit a fire in his ass. Then he forced his legs to speed up even as his body begged for rest.

Chuckling, the man tugged his gym shorts down, took out his cock, and began slowly stroking his erection, never taking his eyes off Carrot from his vantage point on the far side of the track.

"Yeah, that's it. Work that body. Seeing you finally put in some real effort is turning me on, slut. Maybe when I'm ready to cum I'll let you have a break. You can come over here and suck my cock while you catch your breath. But I'm not near ready to pop yet so you're going to have to keep running until I'm ready for your mouth."

Samuel barely heard the man. All that he got out of that was that the coach wasn't letting him stop yet. He had to keep going. He had to keep running or--

*ZAP*

The pony wanted to cry in pain and desperation but couldn't afford the loss of focus or energy expenditure. Despite the real and growing pain in his thighs, he gritted his teeth and pushed onward.

"Getting it yet? I decide what 'good enough' looks like. I decide when you've run long and far enough. And I decide when I'm ready to grant you the undeserved privilege of sucking a load out of my balls. Until then, you run."

Sam had no idea how long he'd been running or what speed he was going. All he knew was that it was increasingly difficult to think as the smirking lion slowly stroked himself off while taking obvious delight in the stallion's acute and growing distress.

There was no pity in the man's eyes. No empathy or sympathy. Just a barely noticeable glint of satisfaction as the mouse pushed himself to stay moving as he ran around the track, with the only sounds echoing around the large room being his ragged breathing and his hard-rubber hooves striking the ground.

That and the occasional grunt of satisfaction as the lion played with and stroked his dripping, aroused shaft.

Finally, uncounted minutes later and just as Sam was certain he was going to collapse into a repeatedly punished puddle of goo, the coach sighed in disappointment and called out.

"Okay, that's enough. Head over here and get on your knees for me. And just to make it clear how this works, how good you suck me determines how long of a break you get. Or rephrased for a simple pony like you, the better of a cocksucker you learn to be, the easier your winter training will be on you."

Hurrying over on legs that felt weak and exhausted, the mouse fell on his knees in front of the older man and, for the first time since arriving at the ranch, did his absolute best to pleasure the cowboy who was in charge of him that day.

The lion just snorted at the sight, even as he pushed his hips forward to try to get more of his shaft down the boy's throat.

"Pathetic," he commented, sounding far from impressed by what he'd seen so far. The harsh, unforgiving word made the boy try even harder to please the man who held such undeniable power over him.

Unfortunately for Sam, what he hadn't realized yet was that Coach Jennings would never be anything but disappointed in him. It didn't matter how fast or long he ran, how good he was at giving head, or how quickly and unquestioningly he obeyed instructions. Jennings knew he achieved his best results when he never stopped pushing the animal he was put in charge of.

Samuel was hardly the first teenager who'd been placed in the older man's care. The coach knew all the tricks for getting the best work out of his charges.

And Carrot? Carrot was exactly the type of pony that brought out the lion's inner bully. He was looking forward to seeing just how much the stallion would improve his cocksucking technique in the false hope that the coach would go easier on him.

"You think you're too good to deep-throat me, pony? You better fix your attitude, and quick."

Fully aware of the threatening plug buried deep between his cheeks, Sam punished his own throat as he pushed forward onto the frowning man's cock repeatedly, even as he struggled to catch his breath.

It was going to be a long, deeply unpleasant winter for the boy who was looking up at the stone-faced man in a desperate attempt to get a sense of how his efforts were being received. Only to redouble his efforts as Coach Jennings crossed his arms as he sighed again.

Less than a half hour into their first training session and already at the limits of his endurance, Sam pulled out all the stops to please the man who refused to be satisfied with his efforts.

And sadly for the mouse, the harder the pony tried to get on the lion's good side, the less the winter trainer respected him. After all, what self-respecting man would get on his knees to suck off the guy who had treated him with nothing but contempt from the word 'go'?

But that was fine. Coach Jennings didn't need to respect the pony to get him into shape. And if Carrot was going to act like a pathetic, cocksucking animal, then that's exactly how the lion would treat him.

Besides, he didn't need to respect the animal to enjoy the boy's throat.

==========

The three months that followed were exhausting in a way that Sam didn't have a proper word for.

Coach Jennings never took it easy on him. Never showed mercy or gave him an unearned break. Instead, as the weeks went by the expectations only grew.

Running around the track in a large circle all day would have grown boring if it wasn't so terrifying. Because the plug's setting was always tuned to the point that Carrot was genuinely afraid of having it go off inside of him.

The discharge was so strong that Sam was sure it wasn't healthy for him. Nothing that painful could be entirely without long-term consequences, he was sure. But Coach Jennings didn't seem to care. As long as the pony kept running while hitting the unforgiving speed requirements, the lion didn't seem to care what happened to Sam.

Emphasizing this point, more than once the man had said, "I don't care if you're convinced you're going to have a stroke or heart attack in the next five minutes! If you need to die to meet my expectations, then that's what you do!"

So that's what Sam did. He ran, then he sucked cock, then he ran some more. And while the mouse was fairly confident he'd gotten better at getting the lion off, you'd never know it from the way the man treated him.

"You think breathing is more important than getting my dick down your throat? Think again, slut!" the trainer might say.

Sam was likewise aware that his stamina had improved by an order of magnitude. Not that it mattered. Every time he improved the coach would just raise the bar, day after day. And there were no compliments. No praise or congratulations.

The only metric the pony had to go on was punishment or the lack of punishment. If the teenager did something the man "liked" (if that was indeed the proper word for it) the man would simply grunt and that would be that.

But if Sam didn't run hard enough or long enough or stumbled over his feet in bone-deep exhaustion, the plug would come to life in his ass and his entire world would become white, blinding agony for several infinitely long seconds.

"Get up, pony," the man would say, his voice hard and without mercy. "You're going to give me another five laps and then you're going to show me how grateful you are by taking care of this hard-on for me."

Resisting didn't help. Refusing to obey didn't help. Even pretending he was more tired than he actually was didn't help. Somehow Coach Jennings always knew.

The only way to avoid more soul-searing pain was to do as the trainer commanded. Over the weeks Sam learned that only instant compliance would spare him from additional reprisal.

Sam missed the field work dearly. Hauling apples around was better than this. Even pulling the heavy plow through hard, compacted dirt was better than this.

Here in Coach Jennings' track room, he only ever did four things. He ran, he sucked cock, he drank water, or he stared directly ahead at the wall, unmoving, while his aching legs recovered for the next run.

And when the long day was over and another handler came to fetch him, Sam was required to give even more as he mounted and fucked the four naked, bound mares.

'More' the ranch hands always demanded of him. More and more and more. More effort. More endurance. More thrusting. More cumming. More blowjobs. More service. More tongue. More throat work. More enthusiasm.

And if Carrot didn't meet his captors' expectations? His balls were cropped. His dick was squeezed. His face was slapped. His plugged ass was zapped.

So, perhaps understandably, Samuel got very good at doing what was required of him.

He sucked every cock that was shoved in his face. He stood perfectly still while maintaining his wide stance when Mr. Brandt was on-site to take advantage of his property. He ran until he felt like he might throw up and then he ran some more. And more. And more. Until Coach Jennings "rewarded" him to fuck his own throat raw on the lion's rod.

All the while Carrot hoped for rescue that never came. Hope that dimmed day by day as dozens of men made use of the pony's ass and mouth.

Every day Sam woke up horny and hopeful. And each day he went to bed tired, sore, and with balls that ached from four back-to-back orgasms. And still the mouse's shaft grew longer and thicker.

His erection was more than "eye-catching" by the time winter passed. Sam was nineteen by this point and, in his opinion, his always-hard shaft was obscene. Obscene and still growing because the morning injections kept coming.

Making matters worse, it wasn't just larger but more sensitive too. The teenager knew this because of how overwhelming it felt to breed Baton, Spunky, Cream, and DP. Oftentimes he barely lasted a minute while mounting the first mare whereas by the time he got to the fourth he would have been squeaking and grunting from raw, overworked nerves had he not been permanently muted.

Not that the handlers cared. They always wanted him to breed harder, faster, and deeper. By this point they more than knew what he was capable of and if they didn't get it, Carrot could be sure he'd be harshly punished even mid-breeding.

It was his duty as a stallion, they'd told him a thousand times. Their slutty, lubed mare holes needed to be fucked hard and creamed deep. They were spread and bent over for him and if he didn't do his duty, his balls would pay the price.

Carrot tried not to think too hard about it as he was brought mare to mare each evening.

And then when the breedings were done for the day, he tried not to think as eager cowboys used his reins to pull him into a side room where up to a dozen men were waiting for Carrot to service them, often two at a time.

As for where the rest of the watching and cheering staff got off to, Sam wasn't sure but he assumed they were taking advantage of the elk, wolf, squirrel, and ram instead of him. He doubted the other ranchers decided to go home to stroke one out.

Eventually winter gave way to spring and Sam's time with Coach Jennings finally came to an end. A fact that made the pony weep in relief when he saw that he was being brought out to the fields instead of the lion's indoor track.

In the weeks after, the handlers barely had to crop Carrot's balls given how attentive he was, as well as eager to comply. Based on his new perspective, plowing fields was paradise compared to running so hard that he feared he might give himself a heart attack.

Some of the handlers still made up excuses to punish him (Mark included), but generally the pony could turn off his mind and work on autopilot and still easily hit the day's goals.

Though his work was often paused as staffers came by to feed the plugged pony a load of fresh cum. Several of the men remarked at how much better Carrot was at sucking dick though few bothered to directly address the "mindless" pony.

In this way, Samuel wrapped up his first year on the ranch as more months drifted by. Days filled with hard labor, scheduled breedings, and frequent service of the many free men Mr. Brandt employed -- many of which Sam wondered whether they did any real work, given how often he spotted them lounging around playing on their phones.

These boring, barely changing days on the ranch were occasionally interrupted by surprise visits from Mr. Brandt who would drop by the ranch to relax and unwind from his otherwise unrelenting work schedule.

What this meant for Sam was that on any given day there was a chance that the powerful, middle-aged horse would come into his stall, move him into whatever position he wanted to take the armless mouse, and then fuck the teenager so hard that the boy regularly worried about the risk that the man might inflict real damage as he shoved hard, deep, and fast into the youth.

During these occasions the pony could barely believe that this was what his life had become. To be the pliant, unresisting hole that some millionaire (or perhaps billionaire?) used to get off between business trips.

The dark furred horse could have easily had any high-end escort or prostitute he wanted. Or any number of willing and eager boy toys who would hang on his arm on nights out and laugh at the wealthy man's bad jokes.

But no, that wasn't good enough for the equine. Mr. Brandt had to have Samuel kidnapped from a public bathroom, modified in a secret hospital, only to then make sure that the "pony" was bossed around and bullied by a bunch of rural, horny cowboys.

Mr. Brandt's arrogance and selfishness were off the charts and yet Sam couldn't even complain or tell the man off. All he could do was stand there with spread-wide legs, face the wall, and get fucked by a horse three times his age. All while Carrot's own drug-enhanced erection bounced and jumped in time with the man's unkind thrusts.

After their initial encounter, the horse rarely bothered to directly address the pony, aside from brusque one-word commands.

It became clear that from the businessman's perspective the stallion really was little more than a simple minded animal. One that needed his balls smacked and crushed if he was even a half second too slow in following the horse's orders.

If Mr. Brandt told him to turn around and face the wall, the equine meant RIGHT NOW and no later. The same with spreading his legs, providing oral "worship", or any of the other few commands that the horse impatiently called out.

And Sam always hurried to obey because to do otherwise was to find his large balls in the horse's squeezing, uncaring hand as the man used the most sensitive part of the mouse's anatomy to drive home the message of which of them was in charge and which was the helpless animal.

Entire weeks could go by without a visit from Mr. Brandt but when he stepped into Carrot's stall the teenager was on his hooves and straining to listen because being the horse's obedient and compliant sex toy was infinitely preferable to discovering how far the older man was willing to go in hurting Samuel's hyper-productive balls.

Shamefully, this also meant that the pony was pathetically eager when the equine offered up his own hugely endowed shaft for worship. Not that the serious, mostly silent man ever seemed overly impressed with Sam's efforts. Still, the horse must have not hated the oral attention because his unannounced visits often started with at least fifteen minutes of slurping wet licking and sucking as Sam gave the man a slutty blowjob that had a roughly zero percent chance of ever being reciprocated.

Mr. Brandt never praised him for this. Never said "thank you" or "good job". But the mouse absolutely heard about it (and felt it) if his owner and captor wasn't convinced that his pony was doing his utmost to be properly worshipful.

Not that the man bothered to explain what Sam had done wrong or could have done better. No, the unsatisfied horse would simply reach between the mouse's trembling legs, find his dangling sack with his large hand, and begin squeezing until the teen got the message: That he must do his very best, every time. No exceptions.

Then the horse would shove his still hard, spit-soaked cock back in Sam's face and the pony would have to get back to it like he hadn't just experienced some of the worst pain of his life.

The well dressed man rarely came in the boy's mouth (though there were times that Sam was "gifted" a stomach full of the horse's cum) and so usually pivoted to splitting the pony open on his cock as the youth tried his best not to fall over or close his legs as the man fucked into him without prep, stretching, or anything more than a few seconds of advance warning.

Eventually Samuel realized that the point wasn't to make him strain or to cause him discomfort. This was just how Mr. Brandt preferred to fuck and he just didn't care about his property's opinion on the matter. This realization frightened the boy because it implied that the man wasn't overly concerned with Sam's safety.

Was there a chance that the horse could literally fuck him to death? Would Mr. Brandt even care if he accidently ruptured something deep inside the mouse? Would the wealthy man bother to stop thrusting if something went wrong? Or would he just keep thrusting and cumming even as Sam slowly expired on his shaft?

And perhaps the most terrifying question of all, had the steely-eyed, uncaring horse ever fucked a pony to death in the past? Was the hugely endowed brute fucking him with a murder weapon of a shaft? Had he been responsible for ending the lives of other kidnapping victims? Fucking other teenage boys so hard that they literally broke.

Sam didn't know and had no way to ask or find out. All he knew was that the man's force and pace didn't feel safe as the pony was made to accommodate way too much horse cock. And yet he had to keep his legs spread and take it unless he wanted his balls to be crushed and squeezed.

The only silver lining here was that Mr. Brandt spent far more time away from the ranch than he spent on it, and oftentimes entire weeks would go by without seeing the man. Which was of course the purpose of the giant plug in Sam's ass. So that he would always be ready to take his owner deep inside, without requiring any tedious prep work.

That Sam didn't want to spend his life with his ass plugged with an unreasonably sized pony-tailed accessory wasn't a factor that the ranch hands even considered. If Mr. Brandt wanted his stallion plugged, then that's how it would be. No exceptions. "Realistic expectations" and "pony quality of life" weren't items that were discussed.

Being made to sleep with the plug that was constantly making its presence known by pressing up against his overworked prostate was absolutely uncalled for in Sam's view. But aside from a few mumbled complaints about the annoyance of having to temporarily remove the plug when a ranch hand wanted to fuck the pony, the staff mostly ignored it or acted like it didn't exist.

Sam didn't have that luxury as every step he took brought his mind back to the tailed plug that stretched his ass to an absurd degree. Back in the fields, it wasn't as bad as it had been under Coach Jennings' marathon jogging and running sessions but the pony couldn't help but feel his gut uselessly clench down on the (mercifully non-shock) plug as he plowed yet another field in mid spring.

Cody, the annoying upbeat coyote handler, had wandered off to take a phone call while Sam had to keep pulling the plow or face likely punishment when the lazy man eventually returned.

As much as the mouse wanted to stand around, relax, and stare at the slowly drifting clouds for however long Cody was away, it just wasn't worth the risk to his churning, cum-filled balls.

The coyote might not punish Sam as often or as harshly as some of the other handlers, like Mark, but that didn't mean Cody took it easy with the crop either.

A few minutes later and the mouse was forced to stop anyway as two ranchers -- a badger and a panther -- unstrapped Carrot from the plow, bent him over at the waist, pulled out his plug, and took the stallion from both ends as they continued their conversation.

Sam didn't even try to resist as he was fucked between them, neither man so much as acknowledging the nineteen year old as they talked about some sports game that the stallion wouldn't have been interested in even if he had still been allowed to watch television.

Thankfully the chatty cowboys finished up fairly quickly as the badger paused the conversation just long enough to make sure Sam swallowed everything the man gave him before he used the boy's facial fur as a convenient rag to clean himself off before tucking himself away.

Since they didn't bother reattaching the pony back to the plow (and Sam could only hope that Cody didn't punish him for the ranch hands' oversight) the two men moved almost but not fully out of the mouse's range of hearing as they stopped under a nearby tree to continue their conversation.

The mute lad wasn't paying them too much attention until the panther said something that caught Sam's ear.

"Man, Carrot's going to look so different when they take his balls."

Sam, who was standing in the middle of the partially plowed field, facing away from the two men, froze in place as he struggled to process what he'd just heard.

"Yeah, he's got a big pair on him, for sure," the badger easily agreed. "But you know that Mr. Brandt doesn't let any of the ponies keep their balls for too long."

The animal slave tried hard to convince himself that the two men who'd just dumped loads in him weren't actually talking about his hypothetical future castration. That couldn't be the case. He had to have been misunderstanding them.

"You sure?" the panther asked. "Carrot seems pretty popular with the crew. Wouldn't that make it more likely that he gets, I dunno, an extension or something?"

The badger snorted at this.

"You know how Mr. Brandt is, he likes his rules. No stallion lasts longer than two years and I doubt that's going to change with Carrot. Besides, he already sort of looks like a mare, given how short and lithe he is."

Despite the warmth of the summer day, Samuel started shivering where he stood as panic began to creep in.

"I know he's not like, a traditional stallion, being a skinny mouse and all. But everyone has sort of gotten used to him in that role. Watching him get bent over and fucked alongside the other mares, by a new stallion no less, is going to be be majorly surreal."

Sam lost control of his bladder and began pissing through his hard-on as he realized the two ranch hands really were talking about his future castration. But, why! And just as importantly, when?!

"Yeah, well, that's life on Sunset Ranch," the badger replied. "Work here long enough and you'll get used to it. All the current mares used to be stallions and now each of them bends over and takes it. When they're not out working the land, that is."

Still not fully believing what he was hearing, the stallion began to cry. It wasn't fair, he told himself. He'd done everything they demanded. Everything Mr. Brandt and the handlers asked.

He worked until he was bone tired. He obeyed every instruction, sucked every cock, and even put on shows for the jerks as he bred the other slaves each and every evening. He hadn't even tried to run away or fought back as needles were pressed into his balls day after day, injecting him full of drugs that even now were making his shaft grow to obscene proportions.

So why, after taking so much -- his arms, his voice, his freedom! -- was Mr. Brandt going to take even more from him! Why?!

Meanwhile, as Sam silently experienced a moment of panic-fueled crisis, the two ranch hands kept conversing, oblivious of the teenager's mental pain.

"Any word on who the next stallion will be?" the panther asked, not sounding particularly upset that the pony he'd just fucked and re-plugged was going to be relieved of his testicles in the not too distant future.

"Nah, Mr. Brandt doesn't decide that until just before gelding day. Even then, unless you're one of the senior staff you won't hear about it until the new stallion arrives. Which is always a hoot. It's hilarious how confused and bewildered new stallions are, stumbling around, trying to hide their dick. You can tell they don't realize that they're never going to wear real clothes again."

The men shared a laugh at this as Sam tried to focus enough to force himself to listen in case any other critical information was shared.

"Speaking about gelding day, what does the boss-man do with the balls? Don't tell me he eats them or something?"

The badger snorted at this.

"Gross. Don't be dumb. Nah, I hear he preserves them in some sort of see-through plastic. Kind of like a paperweight, but shaped like a snowglobe with a wooden stand and all that. You know, like some people do when they preserve butterflies and insects. Except, the globe of plastic has a pony sack instead. Word is, he's got a display shelf full of the past stallion's balls in his private study. Must be over a dozen of them by this point."

The panther whistled, impressed.

"Jeez, man. Can you imagine some rich old guy deciding that your balls would look better on some shelf rather than swinging between your legs? Glad I'm not a pony!"

"No joke," the badger agreed as he began to head off, leaving the shade of the tree. "But don't kid yourself. You're not nearly handsome enough to be one of Mr. Brandt's ponies."

The panther laughed as he lightly punched the other man on the shoulder.

"Good thing, too! I'd rather be plain looking and intact than sexy and gelded!"

The ranch hands laughed as they headed back to the main work area, still chatting back and forth as they went as their voices faded off into the distance.

For the next several minutes Sam could barely think as he struggled to come to terms with what he'd just learned.

All the "mares" he'd been forced to breed had been stallions at some point in the past. Each of them had been the one fucking and cumming and putting on a show for the ranch's staff. Each of them had been new to the ranch at some point, having had the terrible luck of drawing Mr. Brandt's eye.

As Sam panicked, his erection throbbed and bounced between his hips. It was though the fear of being castrated had made his balls even more desperate to cum than they usually were.

The pony tried to push this need away as he worked to decide what he was going to do about the disturbing revelation of his impending "gelding day".

Should he try to run away? But that seemed like a terrible idea, considering he was borderline helpless and the ranch was far out in the middle of nowhere. Even if he managed to get a few miles away, he'd be without food, water, shelter, and with a giant impossible-to-remove plug stuck in his ass.

If he ran away, the most likely outcome was that he'd be stopped before he got far or quickly found and returned. The second most likely outcome was that he'd die a gruesome death out in the wilderness.

Finding a helpful, sympathetic stranger or even a road seemed incredibly unlikely.

But maybe he should try anyway? Because if he did nothing, Mr. Brandt was going to take his balls. Why that was the case, Sam couldn't pretend to understand. But apparently the horse got off on kidnapping teenagers and then forcing them to fuck over and over again before relieving them of their balls.

Sam's knees shook as he considered whether he might vomit, his stomach turning over in queasiness. He was going to be castrated. In some number of days, weeks, or months, one of the ranchers was going to take his reins in hand and escort him to the place where they'd remove and preserve his balls.

He had to get out of here. He had to run away and escape or find help and --

"What are you standing around in a daze for, Carrot?" Cody said, placing a hand on the pony's shoulder and making him leap in place out of shock.

"Calm down, boy," the coyote said, chuckling. "I'm not blaming you because some dumbass unhitched you from the plow. But you will need to work hard to make up the lost time or I'm going to have to bruise those plumbs of yours. Now, let's get you back to work."

The mouse was too shell-shocked to resist as the handler fastened him back to the heavy plow. Once everything was ready, Cody slapped Sam on the ass -- hard -- and said, "Pull. Come on, work those pretty thighs, slut!"

Startled into motion by the open-palmed strike on his cheek, Carrot resumed tilling the field as his mind worked overtime, unable to forget that his heavy sack had an appointment with a veterinarian and whatever time he had left was counting down to zero.

He had to run away. He had to escape this hell-hole or find some way to get in contact with the police. He had to--

Sam hissed noiselessly in pain as the coyote's crop impacted his sack without warning.

"Focus, Carrot. You're here to work, not think. So, do you want to feel another one of those or do you want to be good and pull the plow as best you can? You know we don't tolerate lazy ponies here."

As always, Sam didn't really have a choice. Trying (and mostly failing) to momentarily forget his future as the ranch's newest mare, Carrot put all of his energy into dragging the plow as Cody rubbed his aching sack with the leathery end of the crop, emphasising his point that he was ready to dispense more abuse and correction if the stallion wasn't doing his very best to work his owner's land.

By the time the handler's crop had swung and struck him a half dozen more times, Sam had finally managed to focus enough to convince the man that it was his joy and pleasure to till the fields in preparation for Mr. Brandt's prize winning crops.

Of course, his obedience only managed to earn him a mouth full of coyote dick as Cody took full advantage of his time alone with the pretty pony.

As Sam sucked the grinning, grunting man off, all he could think about were variations of the same words as the phrase repeated in his head, again and again.

It wasn't fair. He had done everything they asked for and they were still going to take his balls. It just wasn't fair.

"Fuck, that mouth of yours is so sweet, Carrot. But be a good pony and take me a bit deeper, yeah? That's my little obeyer. Keep doing as you're told and I'll feed you a nice treat. Everyone knows how much ponies love cowboy cum."

As the coyote shoved forward, making Sam take him all the way down to the root, the mouse wasn't mentally present enough to genuinely care about the rough, insulting treatment. His mind was still back on the panther's and badger's conversation, replaying it in his head on loop as he struggled and failed to think of a viable way out of this mess.

Because somewhere on Sunset Ranch there was a display shelf filled with suspended, preserved pony balls. Each of them had worked hard for Mr. Brandt, day after day in the brutal sun, giving their very best to the selfish man. And in the end it hadn't been enough.

Cream the squirrel. DP the ram. Baton the elk. Spunky the wolf. They'd each been where Carrot was but none of them had managed to stop the horse from taking just a little bit more from them.

Voice. Arms. Freedom. Dignity. And apparently soon and against all common sense or possible rational justification, his balls.

And then? And then Mr. Brandt would apparently move on to the next stallion, doing it all over again as a new boy was made to listen and obey. To spread his legs as his owner fucked him hard and rough. To take the suited horse deep as the man used his latest pony to relieve the stress of his fast paced life of travel and business.

Because boys like him lived for Mr. Brandt's pleasure and were modified and trained according to his whims. And there wasn't a single thing Sam could do about it.

It wasn't fair, the teenager thought as his throat worked over the moaning coyote's sensitive shaft. As Sam sucked as he'd been taught by Coach Jennings and many others, his own erection throbbed, useless and untouched between his legs.

None of this was fair, the mouse whined internally to himself as he prepared to swallow yet another load from one of the men who could have easily saved him from his circumstances by making a single phone call on his behalf.

In fact, any of the men or women on the ranch could have spared him from the endless toil working the fields, hauling apples, or running endlessly around a track as a trainer slowly jerked off, enjoying his struggle. Any of them could have saved him from what was coming later this year, the "friendly" coyote included.

Instead, grunting and slamming his hips forward, Cody began to feed the pony yet another batch of free man seed. The man grinned down at the sight of the younger lad doing his best to slurp and swallow.

Then the handler made Sam suck and lick him clean while he explained how much harder the stallion was going to have to work in the hours ahead to make up for lost time.

Time that was "lost" only because three men -- Cody included -- chose to exploit the pony for their own pleasure, regardless of what the teen thought about it.

But because nothing about Sunset Ranch was fair, Sam got back to work as the happy coyote followed along beside him. The man aimlessly chatted about whatever was on his mind as he rubbed the end of the crop threatening over the mouse's swollen, dangling balls to "motivate the pony" to keep up the pace.

The nineteen year old knew from past experience that this was no idle threat and so pulled the plow to the best of his ability as Cody companionably continued his one-sided conversation as though he wasn't prepared to punish Sam's already aching balls without a moment's hesitation.

============

Samuel knew he was approaching the end of his second year on the ranch but didn't have a precise sense of time.

Two years of work had made him strong and fit, yet also docile. Or perhaps a more appropriate word would be domesticated.

Since coming to Sunset Ranch, Carrot had been told when and how to move, when to eat, when to drink, when to fuck, and when to provide service.

The teen -- soon to turn twenty sometime in the near future -- was sure that he'd sucked every cock on the ranch many times over by this point, with the exception of the other ponies. And while much rarer, there had even been a few women who shoved the stallion's head between their thighs and ordered the mute boy use his tongue for their pleasure.

By this point Sam was used to doing as he was told without making much of a fuss.

Many among the staff were rude and rough when it came to sex, like Mark and Coach Jennings. Others (though fewer in number) used a softer touch that was somehow still insistent and demanding, like Cody. But all treated the mouse like a mindless beast of burden in that, when they spoke they expected the animal slave to listen and obey.

Which, after two years of punishments, corrections, and a worrying amount of harsh attention directed towards his balls, was exactly what Sam did.

He sucked. He swallowed. He pulled. He worked. He spread his legs. He bent over. He did everything he was told and didn't complain when they punished him.

He also took everything Mr. Brandt gave him whenever the man visited the ranch. Every brutal thrust. Every gut filling orgasm. Every mouth-filling blowjob as he was made to worship and service the very man who had ruined his life.

And because the horse took his voice and his arms and made him totally helpless and dependent on others, Sam never got the opportunity to beg the man to spare his balls. Balls that were due to be gelded any week now as Carrot's tenure as the ranch's stallion gradually drew to a close.

Not that the teen had accepted this inevitability. In truth, he was desperate to save himself. To keep what little he had left intact even if things could never go back to the way they'd been before. But while Sam had spent countless hours obsessing over increasingly far-fetched methods by which he might escape his fate, in his heart he knew there was little to be done.

Meanwhile dread and fear had settled deep in his stomach as his shaft grew to truly obscene proportions. Were his member to be pressed against his stomach, his ever-present erection would stretch up past his nipples and could very nearly touch the bottom of neck. And he was always horny. Always needing release as his cock flopped around when he walked, the ridiculous sight was a constant source of amusement for the staff.

Well, almost always.

The four orgasms in a row during his nightly breedings still dampened his arousal to the point that he'd go temporarily soft. Well, more like half-hard these days. But despite how difficult seeding the fourth mare was, after two years' worth of injections it took less than a couple hours before he was once again fully erect.

And because Carrot was only allowed to cum when "servicing" the mares, he was always needy. He woke up horny, went to bed horny, and was just as horny when made to provide relief to the dozens of employees who made Sunset Ranch their home.

But despite how difficult it was to cope with being perpetually sexually frustrated, Sam didn't want to lose his balls. He didn't want to become a gelding -- another one of the mares who were bred each and every day by the current stallion.

Samuel didn't want to be bent over and locked onto the breeding mount. He didn't want some armless, needy boy to fuck his hole with frantic thrusts, desperate to spend the seed from drug enhanced balls that were increasingly hard to keep satisfied.

Were his own tender, frequently punished balls a burden? Of course they were. They were embarrassingly large and constantly ached with both the need to cum and the frequent cropping, slapping, and squeezing they were subjected to.

But as difficult a burden as they were to bear, Sam didn't want to lose them. He didn't want them taken away by some heartless veterinarian who didn't care that he was taking away one of the mouse's last pleasures in life.

Because as much as they weighed on him, both mentally and physically, Carrot loved cumming. He loved mounting and thrusting and seeding tight, warm holes. Even if he was only permitted to do with the other ponies. Even if there was always an audience as he was ordered to shoot exactly four loads every night -- no more and no less.

Nothing else on the ranch gave him that sort of pleasure or release. Even if cumming four times in a row was strenuous and demeaning, there was no denying how good it felt as he worked his now giant cock under the tails of the bound, spread mares.

Yet, there was nothing he could do. And it was an open secret that Carrot didn't have much time left as the ranch's one and only stallion.

This was proven by the amount of people who went out of their way to touch and handle his balls, as if they were some precious, ephemeral thing that wouldn't be around much longer. Plenty of the ranch hands even snuck pictures and selfies with the mouse, always making sure that Carrot's cock and balls were prominently displayed as they smiled for the camera.

Most of the ranchers were (somewhat) polite about his circumstances but others openly mocked the stallion, telling him that it was almost harvest time for his "apples" and that he'd be a much better work pony without all that extra weight slowing him down.

A couple of the especially cruel cowboys told him that he should be grateful to be turned into a gelding because it would remove a vulnerable punishment target, sparing him a great deal of discomfort in the years to come. As the two men said this, they emphasized their point by taking turns squeezing down on the teen's sack as he gasped and gritted his teeth.

Whether a source of pain and frustration or not, the boy had no desire to be "relieved" of that "hardship".

What made everything worse was that each morning Sam had no idea if this would be the day that his balls would be taken. He worked the ranch knowing that at any moment a handler might come to escort him to a surprise vet appointment.

Frustratingly, this knowledge only seemed to make Carrot hornier. His giant shaft was constantly greedy for relief, as though aware that there were only so many orgasms left remaining.

For their part, the ranch hands seemed extra randy as well, with at least a dozen coming by to use Sam every day. Would they still be this eager to exploit him when he was a mare, he wondered?

At the same time, the work never relented or slowed as the stallion was forced to keep productive during these final weeks of virility.

Oddly, both Mark and Cody had left the ranch at some point in the recent past. And because Sam was only a pony, no one bothered to explain why two of his most active handlers had left, including whether it was a temporary leave of absence or a permanent departure.

Despite himself, Sam found himself a bit sad at this realization because as unsympathetic as the buck and coyote's treatment of him had been, he'd grown used to their presence and had become accustomed to their demands and expectations.

And besides, as much as the pony wanted to deny it, both men were incredibly sexy and his forever-horny body certainly appreciated the sight of them tugging down their pants as the insatiable cowboys readied themselves to make use of the pony slave yet again.

Even Mark, with his harsh attitude and insulting words looked GOOD as he stroked himself to erection while telling the "dumb slut" of a pony exactly how the boy was going to provide service.

It wasn't so much that the stallion enjoyed being bullied. But if he was going to be yelled at and insulted, it might as well be by someone hot enough to be a model.

But then again, maybe that was just Sam's heavily modified balls talking. It was hard to think clearly when he was always borderline desperate to get off.

And it was with that thought that the pony was both dismayed and secretly thrilled as the badger who had spilled the beans on future castration approached the mouse with a gleam in his eye and a hand already tugging at his belt.

"Heya there, cutie. You look like you're hungry for a thick sausage and some gravy. Why don't you show me how deep that throat goes, yeah?"

Sam knew better than to refuse. And he didn't want to. He was so, so horny. He wanted to suck cock and fuck mares and prove to Mr. Brandt that he could be a good pony that didn't need to be gelded.

Couldn't the ranch hands see how hard he'd worked for them? Couldn't they understand that he would do anything -- anything! -- if only they would leave his balls alone and let him live out his simple pony in peace?

But the badger didn't know or care what was going through the stallion's head as he let his pants fall around his ankles and gripped the back of Sam's neck, pulling the boy down towards his partially erect shaft.

"You going to be good, boy? You going to take me all the way down?"

Naturally, the pony would. He'd been trained every day for nearly two years to do as he was told, no matter how challenging or humiliating. He would give this man who had never bothered to introduce himself the very best blowjob he could.

Because maybe, just maybe, if he worked hard enough to please the free men of the ranch, Mr. Brandt would change his mind and decide he didn't deserve to be gelded and turned into a mare after all.

It was a very faint, incredibly distant hope, but it was all Samuel had.

Pushing his dark thoughts and hopelessness out of his mind, the former would-be college boy sucked the cowboy's cock to the very best of his formidable ability.

The badger murmured in satisfaction as he pulled the pony's head further down, uncaring whether the teen was ready for more or not. The stallion was well trained by this point and the ranch hand was more than happy to take advantage of how obedient and accommodating the simple minded beast was.

Clueless as to how hard the teen was pushing himself to impress him and equally unaware of the pony's motivation in trying to convince the man to speak out on his behalf and spare him his fate, the badger closed his eyes as he relaxed into the blowjob.

The man loved his job and his life on the ranch. He wasn't sure where Mr. Brandt found these boys but he sure enjoyed how eager they were to please.

He just hoped the next pony was as good at going down on him as Carrot was. But even if he wasn't, it's not like the new mare would be going anywhere.

The mouse had many years left of work ahead of him on Sunset Ranch and the badger was looking forward to feeding many more loads of cum to the hungry, soon to be sackless pony.

"That's right, pony. You like that dick? Prove it. Work that throat and earn that cum."

The man grunted in approval as the stallion responded to the encouragement and worked even harder to service his arousal.

Yes, Carrot was going to make a fine gelding, the cowboy considered. He might even make a better mare than he had a stallion. Usually it took the ponies losing their balls to strip the last bit of stubborn defiance from them. But this pony was already so eager to please.

Letting the mouse's head go, he watched as the stallion fucked his own throat on the badger's twitching shaft. He'd have to remember to keep dropping by to pay Carrot an occasional visit even after the new stallion arrived.

It would be a shame not to take full advantage of the cute, skinny pony.

He was about to compliment the boy on what an excellent mare he was going to make but that thought was swept away as the badger let out a low groan of pleasure. Carrot sure was something else he told himself, and the man was sure the pony would be popular for as long as he was on the ranch.

The cowboy struggled to get himself back under control, not quite ready to cum yet. Blowjobs this good shouldn't be hurried. It wasn't like there was any rush to finish up.

Meanwhile Sam felt the unseen tick of every second that passed by. He needed to show these ranchers that he could be good and obedient. He needed to convince them and Mr. Brandt that they didn't need to geld him. To take permanently and forever take away his ability to find pleasure in sexual release.

Every blowjob needed to be perfect. He needed to be obedient, hard working, and grateful for every correction. He had to show them that he had accepted his place. That of a horny animal who understood that every free man was better and more deserving than himself.

Ignoring the aches in his increasingly sore throat, the pony slave focused every ounce of his attention and effort on providing the badger unforgettable service. He had no means of escape and at this point rescue was profoundly unlikely, to say the least. The truth was, there was no escaping the ranch or getting away from Mr. Brandt.

All he could do was accept his current circumstances and show the staff what a good stallion he was. That there was no need to make a change. He could be their loyal, hardworking, horny Carrot. He could breed the mares and satisfy the ranch hands and whatever else they wanted.

And so the nineteen year old sucked like his life depended on it. He needed to make this good for the man. No, better than good. He needed to make this great. Unforgettable even.

What Samuel had no way of knowing was even at that very moment Mr. Brandt was hard at work picking out the ranch's next stallion. Or that the businessman believed he'd already found a promising lead and was discretely reaching out to his contacts to follow up.

But the boy, not understanding that he was already being replaced, worked his mouth and throat around a badger who had never even shared his name. Because in his view, why should he introduce himself to a pony?

============

Mr. Brandt suppressed a smile as the nineteen year old with the fake ID took up a seat next to him at the rustic themed bar. Not that he was one to judge, considering his own fake ID and temporary alias he'd been using for the evening.

"Hey there, mister. You must be new here. I'm Andrew."

The older man glanced at the far younger horse out of the corner of his eye, careful not to seem too interested.

"Well met, Andrew. I'm Thomas. And yes, I suppose you could say I'm new. But that's because I'm just passing through the area."

Andrew grinned at that, clearly not put out by the possibility that this was at best a one-night stand.

"No harm in getting to know each other just for one night then, right?"

This time Mr. Brandt allowed himself to smile.

"No harm at all. But aren't I a little old for you? You're, what? Twenty one?" the dark furred equine asked, already knowing Andrew's exact age down to the day of the week.

"Good guess!" the younger man replied. "But the truth is, I have a bit of a thing for older men. And since you're smiling, I'm guessing you don't have a problem with that."

"Have a problem with a handsome stud like you hitting on me? No, Andrew. I don't have a problem with that. But here, let me buy you a drink."

"You sure you don't mind? I'm not just trying to mooch off you."

"Not at all. Greater age tends to come with a few perks, one of which is a more substantial bank account."

"Looks like I stumbled upon a true gentleman! Lucky me."

Flagging down the bartender to buy his new companion a drink (paid for in untraceable cash) the horse silently agreed that Andrew was indeed lucky. Lucky by Mr. Brandt's standards, anyway.

The younger, lighter furred horse was going to look so perfect on his ranch. Hauling apples. Plowing fields. Mounting mares. Yes, it was going to be an ideal life for the "twenty-one" year old.

Mr. Brandt felt himself growing thick in his pants, already imagining the teenager without arms. Wearing pony gear. Getting plugged as he silently brayed. And taking every inch of the businessman's thick, impatient cock.

The two men made small talk for another half hour or so and the older man was just getting ready to ask Andrew to join him when the half-drunk horse said something that caught Mr. Brandt's ear.

"You ever just... wish you could escape from all the bullshit?" the nineteen year old asked in a half mumble.

"...The bullshit?" Brandt asked, intrigued by the question.

"Yeah. You know, the bullshit. The grind. The money chasing, capitalistic treadmill. The stuff that doesn't matter, all in the name of the all-holy dollar."

Peering into his half-empty whisky glass the mature horse nodded, agreeing easily.

"Oh yes. I've thought about it. What about you? Any plans on how you'd get there?"

It was a purely academic question because the man had largely already decided the boy's future. But he was still curious about the other equine's response. If for no other reason than this might be the last real conversation they'd ever have.

All their future interactions would be more... carnal in nature. And would involve very little talking, especially from the soon to be mute teen.

"Honestly? Not a fucking clue, man. But I want to. Escape, that is. I want to find some place where I can live honestly and maybe work the land or something. Getting back to nature, yeah? You know, like our ancestors did. But maybe have lots of great sex too, which I'm thinking most of our ancestors didn't get to do."

The sublime irony of the statement very nearly made Mr. Brandt laugh out loud -- something he hadn't done in several years at this point. But he managed to hold his mirth in as he nodded his approval.

"I like how you think. Here, let me buy you another drink," the horse said, raising a finger in the air to purchase the last alcoholic beverage Andrew would ever enjoy.

"Aww, you don't gotta do that, big guy," he replied, even as he seemed pleased at the gesture.

"Nonsense. From one horse daydreaming about grander things to another. My treat."

"Well... Thank you kindly, sir. I gratefully accept."

Ten minutes later and Mr. Brandt was ready to move the game along. Adopting an air of casual interest that belied his growing obsession with his soon to be newest stallion, he placed a warm hand on the younger man's shoulder and said, "It was a treat getting to meet you, fellow daydreamer. I don't suppose you have anywhere else you need to be this evening?"

Andrew licked his lips and met the other man's gaze, a hungry look in his youthful eyes.

"If you're the one asking, then I suppose I don't. Why? What did you have in mind?"

"A good time and a surprise. Come on, follow me."

Without saying another word the man placed cash on the bar and headed out the door towards his temporary car that came with fake license plates. Predictably, Andrew followed like an eager lad who was confident he was about to get lucky.

"A sexy man of mystery wants to buy me drinks and show me a good time? I'm right behind you, big guy."

As they got on the long road out that headed out of the small town, the silence stretched on long enough that the younger horse felt compelled to speak up.

"So, I have to ask, how did a humble small-town guy like myself catch the eye of a well dressed man like you?"

Mr. Brandt debated telling him the truth. That he'd seen the teen's one and only amateur jerk off video that he'd uploaded to the internet before deleting it just minutes after. Except, one of the wealthy man's headhunters had managed to save the video and forwarded it to his boss for his review, knowing that HorseStud69 checked a lot of the boxes the well paying man said he was looking for in his next pony.

Soon that headhunter would be a couple million dollars richer, having had the good instincts and fortune to find exactly what Mr. Brandt was looking for. Because the businessman always made a point of paying well for high-quality work.

But the man thought there might be a bit more fun to be had before he needed to use the needle in his pocket to knock the boy out, and so the truth wouldn't do.

Instead he said, "Don't sell yourself short. Honestly, I feel quite drawn to you. So instead let's call it fate. You were the right guy at the right time. Plus, I think you had the right idea."

What Mr. Brandt didn't say was that he liked how Andrew grunted like an animal when he came. Not that the boy would be grunting anymore after he was muted. He also appreciated how the boy had sprayed cum everywhere as he climaxed, uncaring about the mess he was making.

It was clear to him that Andrew was a horny beast that needed a man like him to keep those big balls of his under control. Balls that would soon be cumming only with Mr. Brandt's permission and only on Mr. Brandt's pre-approved schedule.

"The right idea?" the lad asked, his muddled mind still intoxicated from the several drinks the man had bought him. "You mean, all the nonsense I was spewing about escaping the grind of modern life?"

"I don't think it's nonsense at all. In fact, I think you struck the nail right on the head. Later, perhaps tomorrow, I want to talk to you about a job opportunity that might be a good fit for you. One that occurred to me while we were talking. But let's leave business for tomorrow. Tonight, let's just enjoy ourselves."

"Sounds promising. But now that you mention it, where are we going?"

The man had originally been planning on heading straight to the drop off point but now he was intrigued by the possibility that his latest stallion might willingly offer up his hole. This meant that Mr. Brandt wouldn't be able to fuck him quite as hard as he wanted but the novelty was more than enough to make up for that regrettable limitation.

"I know this perfect patch, out under the stars. Let's call it the first step in getting back to nature."

Andrew chuckled at this, thrilled that his evening was going so well.

"And actually, since we're out on a country road with no one around, why don't you strip out of those clothes for me? Toss them in the back seat. You won't be needing them."

The 'ever again' was left unsaid.

Horny and eager to make a good impression, Andrew happily stripped out of his clothes. Having seen the boy's secret (and subsequently "deleted") jerk off video, it wasn't anything the man hadn't seen already. Though it was enjoyable to see it in person.

They still had a twenty minute drive ahead of them so Mr. Brandt followed that up with, "Stroke yourself. I want to see you play with your own cock."

The horse normally didn't approve of his ponies engaging in self pleasure of any variety but he made an exception since he was feeling generous. Plus, it was entertaining to think that without arms or hands Andrew would never get this chance again.

The only problem was that the drunk lad was taking the invitation to masturbate himself a bit too enthusiastically. And since he didn't want to waste any time this evening punishing the stallion's balls for cumming without permission, the horse was going to take a firmer tone with the teen.

"No. Slower. You don't cum without my permission, understand?"

Biting his lip and blushing, Andrew nodded as he got himself back under control. This pleased Mr. Brandt. Ponies should always obey orders quickly -- without attitude or hesitation. Being horny was no excuse for bad behavior, as the boy would soon learn.

"Focus more on the balls. Use your other hand to tug on them and pinch them."

Once again Andrew did as he was told, though Mr. Brandt didn't think the youth went nearly rough enough on his own sack. Then again, that's what he paid handlers for. Perhaps it was unreasonable to think that a stallion would willingly abuse their own balls.

The man resisted the urge to reach over and squeeze the inebriated boy's testicles.

"That's enough. You're done touching yourself," he said several minutes later, meaning the words in the most literal sense. "From now on, that cock only receives the attention I decide it should have. If you need a distraction, just think about how good I'm going to be fucking you a few minutes from now."

"Heck yeah. Anything you want, daddy-hoss."

"Good attitude, my pretty stallion. Stay by my side and I promise you an unforgettable night."

"And then?"

"And then I'll show you what it truly means to 'get away back to nature'. You see, I own a beautiful ranch not far from here that I think you'd be perfect for. But as I said, that discussion can wait until tomorrow."

Andrew's grin was as large as it was brilliant.

"Wow, you really know how to flatter a guy, mister."

"It's hardly flattery if it's true. You're exactly what I'm looking for," he said, already wishing that the other horse didn't have arms so that he could reach over and pinch the boy's nipples roughly and without interference. Mr. Brandt wanted to squeeze and twist them until they were raw and swollen. He wanted to see the boy try and fail to pull away as he mercilessly crushed the sensitive teats.

"I think I'll call you Colt."

"Pet names already? You really are a charmer. Makes me glad I took a chance on sitting next to you at the bar."

Mr. Brandt nodded his agreement but found that he was already getting tired of hearing the younger man speak. Ponies weren't meant to engage others in conversation. They were animals who spent their days working, fucking, and getting fucked. Andrew's -- or rather Colt's -- opinions and perspective didn't matter. Only his sweat and obedience mattered.

"I'm glad too, Colt," he said as they arrived at the clearing far down a stretch of rarely used road.

It was time to enjoy his new stallion for the first time, under the stars.

Being careful not to issue orders to the teenager as was his natural inclination, Mr. Brandt grabbed the lube and a blanket and gestured for the naked horse to join him.

He knew that soon he wouldn't need to hide his intentions or desires from the boy. Soon it would be made clear to Colt that he existed solely to satisfy the older man's needs as he took Colt as the pony was meant to be taken: Hard, rough, and uncompromisingly.

Bred deep without limits or safewords. Fucked so thoroughly that the teenager would be left with no doubt as to who owned him. He'd make the boy take his cum even as the teen's own cock was left to wag in the wind, untouched and ignored.

Mr. Brandt looked forward to seeing the stallion glisten with sweat as he worked the fields, his medically enhanced cock and balls growing larger by the day. The ranch staff would work with the boy until he finally gave in to his animal nature and learned to obey all instructions without thought for the future.

Forever living in the moment, occasionally brought in to give all four of the mares what they desperately needed: Their stallion's thick, potent cum.

Guiding Andrew onto the spread blanket and down on his knees, Mr. Brandt stared down at his new stallion and issued the command that he'd given to many ponies in the past.

"Worship me."

Pushing his tip past the eager equine's parted lips, he let Colt taste him for the first time as the nineteen year old made up for his inexperience with sheer enthusiasm. The man felt his cock pulse and surge in the other horse's mouth as he considered what lay ahead for the young, soon to be modified (and in the man's opinion, vastly improved) stallion.

A life of honest effort as he worked the fields of Sunset Ranch. A life of service where he was taught to embrace his animal nature. A simple life with no phones, television, or modern expectations.

The quiet, unassuming life of a pony.

============

Many weeks later Mr. Brandt smiled as one of his handlers forwarded him another encrypted image of Colt tethered to the apple cart. The stallion looked good all geared out. But what made him especially handsome was the thick, needy erection that stubbornly refused to go away, despite how much it clearly embarrassed the young horse.

Given the daily teasing and injections the pony was forced to endure, along with the complete lack of sexual release, the teenager's near constant hard-on was to be expected. The large plug pressing up against his prostate was likely also a contributing factor too, the owner considered.

Colt's transition from person to animal hadn't been without "big feelings" on the part of the now non-verbal beast but that's why the handlers were well trained in the art of ball cropping. Like his predecessors, the large equine soon learned that being obstinate or fussy would consistently result in his cum-heavy sack getting swatted around by deft flicks of the wrist.

Mr. Brandt had yet to own a stallion that actually enjoyed having that particular part of their anatomy abused and a fairly applied carrot-and-stick approach did wonders for getting even the most ornery pony to obey the most important rules of the ranch.

The boy formerly known as Andrew seemed especially responsive to that form of correction and seemed willing to do almost anything to avoid the regular ball croppings that some of the harsher trainers seemed hungry to provide.

What Colt didn't know yet was that his weeks of abstinence were set to conclude shortly, and in spectacular fashion. Baton, Spunky, Cream, and the newest mare, Carrot, were already being prepared for the newest stallion's debut as a stud.

The balless (but still hugely endowed) mouse would have the honor of being the first mare to take the stallion's oh-so-needy shaft and the horse was looking forward to remotely tuning in to see how Colt responded to finally having the opportunity to get off.

The ranch owner had already conveyed his desire that the handlers impress upon the stallion how important it was that he put on an especially impressive show, in the moments before he was placed before Carrot. They would explain that if he didn't rut the other pony like the horny, mindless animal he was, that his balls would undergo the sort of lengthy attitude adjustment that a pony didn't soon forget.

"Timid", "soft", and "respectful" were not valid descriptors for a stallion's inaugural public breeding. Even sans arms the pony was an impressive specimen and Mr. Brandt wanted to see the horse put those muscles and that size to good use.

Considering how consumed by fuck-lust the modified and enhanced stallion must be by this point, the businessman thought it unlikely to be a problem but it never hurt to properly set expectations from the beginning.

More likely the first real hurdle would arise from the requisite four repeat performances. It was one thing to cum twice in a row when teased and edged as much as Colt had been. Expected, even. But three times? Or far more unreasonable, four? "Challenging" wasn't the right word for it. Ball-achingly draining was more apt, in multiple senses.

But then again, that's why the last round was so critical. Stallions needed to understand right from the start that breeding sessions weren't just about fun and selfish pleasure. Regardless of the circumstances, ponies worked. It was fundamental to who they were. Intrinsic to their nature.

So as Colt was forced to breed over and over, without breaks and reduction in established pace, he would come to understand that breeding was just another form of work. Just as he had to keep striding forward even as his muscular pony thighs burned and ached, so too must he continue to thrust and fuck even as his balls likewise throbbed.

The stallion might be the most "catered to" pony on Sunset Ranch, but by the same token the expectations were equally high. Daily sex and being allowed to (temporarily) keep their balls was a privilege, yes. But such generous privileges came with obligations.

Glancing at his phone, Mr. Brandt gave in to a rare impulse (and some might say playful) desire as he texted the handler back.

"I want Colt edged for the rest of the day, leading up to his debut. Slow and careful is fine. Avoid any accidental spillage."

Only a few seconds later, Frank -- the newest handler, a cheetah in his early thirties -- replied.

"Roger that. One extra horny stallion, coming up."

The horse didn't normally micromanage his staff to this degree but he'd been enjoying the stallion's wide-eyed, expressive reactions as the ranch hands stroked, pinched, and teased his sensitive shaft.

The naive teenager seemed genuinely shocked that someone might bring him right to the edge of release only to leave his cock throbbing uselessly in the air. Mr. Brandt had found his reactions so amusing that he'd requested that the youth be subjected to periodic, randomly timed dick teasing multiple times each day.

Colt, silly stallion that he was, had tried to take matters into his own "hands" by sucking himself off one evening, after the day's work had been finished. But the handlers had been ready for this and showed the boy that attempting to engage in self pleasure was a very bad idea.

This was good because Mr. Brandt considered it a hard rule that stallions only relieved themselves inside a mare. Of course Colt didn't know about the mares yet and so the beast was likely worried that the ranch hands didn't intend for him to ever achieve release. Which wasn't an unreasonable thought, considering the fate of the mares.

Twenty minutes later a few more pictures arrived on the man's phone, showing an anxious stallion staring down at his own massively erect pole in disbelief as not one but three pairs of hands gently rubbed it, spreading generous helpings of lube up and down the shaft.

Again Mr. Brandt gave in to the desire to interject himself.

"Looks like he could use a distraction. Give his balls a good slap."

To his credit, Frank complied instantly, even going so far as to send the wealthy man a quick video of the act that included Colt's shocked reaction to the sharp impact. It was clear from the way he stomped and shuddered that a firm smack to the testicles had been the last thing he'd been expecting.

But such was the life of a pony. It was a given that they had to roll with the punches and that explanations would rarely, if ever, be provided to the beast. If Frank wanted to slap or even punch the teen right in the sack, the pony had no recourse but to bear it.

Forcing himself to set his phone aside, Mr. Brandt returned his attention to his email box, confident that Frank wouldn't let the equine shoot prematurely. And with more than three hours before the evening's breeding session was scheduled to begin, Colt was likely to achieve a level of desperation that he wouldn't experience again until sometime in his second year on the ranch, after the daily injections had been given ample time to reach their full effect.

Mr. Brandt smiled again when he thought about what Carrot was likely in for when the stallion was given the chance to take what he so desperately thirsted for. But then again, it wasn't like the mouse didn't have plenty of practice taking pitiless, aggressive horse cock. Though eventually Colt's size would far exceed the owner's own length and girth.

The older man didn't think he'd be quite as generous with the dosage as he'd been with Carrot considering the new stallion already came equipped with a fairly impressive tool. On the other hand, it had been quite amusing to witness how frantic Carrot was to cum

Likely a side-effect of the drug but perhaps the mouse had known what was coming and was desperate to embrace every last orgasm before he lost the possibility for good. Not that the reason behind the former stallion's behavior genuinely mattered.

When the breeding happened later that day, Mr. Brandt was pleased to see that Colt performed admirably. Perhaps it was a given considering the hours of relentless edging that occurred just prior to the public event, but the man was satisfied with the final result.

And oh, how loud Carrot's emotions had been as, in a twist, he'd been made to face his own replacement, bent backwards over the breeding pole as the younger boy pounded into him relentlessly. Though it was a pace destined not to last more than a couple minutes, so urgent was Colt's need.

Mr. Brandt felt satisfaction and vindication as he watched Colt abandon pride, dignity, and even personhood as the larger male slammed his cock deep into Carrot, the teased stallion almost frothing at the mouth in his all-consuming need to spill his seed.

Observing from his private office, the equine congratulated himself on finding another fine young male that made for a far more interesting (and entertaining) animal than the boring person they would have otherwise grown into.

Andrew might not have volunteered for this non-traditional role, but given the slightest opportunity the stallion proved his suitability by acting like the horny, rutting animal he was. A warm, lubed hole was presented to him and what did the teenager do? He fucked his way into Carrot like his life depended on it, uncaring about the potential moral or ethical implications.

Not that Mr. Brandt was in a position to pass judgement, considering how many times he'd already had his way with Colt. But it was always gratifying to see a new pony turn their brain off and breed a fellow pony slave without regard for their comfort or consent.

Which made perfect sense to the owner. It was exactly how he fucked Colt himself and he didn't see any reason why the stallion would treat another pony with more respect. Ponies didn't deserve any sort of special consideration. So despite this being their first meeting, even Colt seemed to intuitively understand that Carrot was just a warm hole for him to push into.

What the newest stallion didn't understand was that by implicitly agreeing that Carrot was an animal that existed for his use and pleasure, he was also acknowledging his own lack of personhood. By fucking the mare, Colt was silently consenting to a lifetime of getting fucked himself.

Not that the man required the stallion's consent but it was entertaining to strip ponies of every ounce of moral authority as they learned their new routine on the ranch.

"That's right, show that mare who's boss," Mr. Brandt said, pouring himself a glass of wine as the stallion fucked weeks' worth of cum deep into the stunned looking mouse.

Immediately after, Colt wasn't given time to relax as Frank gripped by his spent sack, pulling him out of the mouse's cummy hole and using his hold on the pony's vulnerable privates to maneuver him into mounting the bound and waiting elk.

From there it just took a straightforward firm slap on the stallion's ass to get the dazed beast to resume humping.

That the stallion was noticeably less enthusiastic about repeating the performance was a given. But the staff had plenty of experience dealing with reticent, mulish ponies who would much rather lay down than keep working. Once Colt realized that he could and would be punished for a flagging, lackluster performance the animal managed to reach deep and find the energy reserves to keep going.

Predictably, the second breeding was tricky while the third was moderately strenuous with Colt looking unhappy the entire time he was made to fuck. The silly pony still probably thought of sex as a recreational pastime rather than hard work that needed to be taken seriously and seen through to the end.

And the fourth?

The fourth forced mating wasn't really fair, in the strictest sense of the word. But the horse didn't tend to employ workers who were overly concerned about fairness and equitability. Mr. Brandt himself didn't care about fairness so much as repeatable results.

Many past stallions had proven that a fourth breeding was possible and, just as important, that it could be consistently achieved. Colt would be held to those same standards, no matter how much his balls ached and protested, falsely insisting they had nothing left to give.

And so the elk, wolf, and squirrel each got their turn though Cream had to endure a great deal more pounding before Colt managed to produce the last (admittedly meager) load of the evening. An orgasm that seemed more than a little uncomfortable based on the stallion's expression as his hyper-stimulated shaft was eventually stroked past the point of no return.

But this was fine as no long term damage had been inflicted upon the squirrel. It would be a shame if something happened to the mare before his final two years on the ranch were up. Expertly trained ponies sold well as long as they were no older than their "mid-twenties". Twenty-eight was pushing the limits of maintaining a minimal impact to resale value but that's why Mr. Brandt didn't keep any pony for longer than ten years.

He was a businessman at heart, after all. And while he didn't truly consider ponies to be investment vehicles, he wasn't so blasé about turning a profit that he'd turn down a near-guaranteed windfall for each animal at the end of their term of service.

As for Colt, the handlers would see to it that the performance repeated the coming evenings with different mares being swapped in for the fourth slot. Mr. Brandt didn't really care which of the other ponies shouldered that burden on a given night. He paid people to deal with operational details that small.

Besides, each of the mares had, at one point, been the stallion who had needed to breed some other poor mare for an extended duration to squeeze out a last climax. That they were now on the receiving end of some other stallion's sex drive rather than being the star of the show was fair play. They'd each had their time in the sun, their heavy balls swinging around for all to see, proclaiming them the singular stallion of Sunset Ranch.

Still, Mr. Brandt wasn't entirely heartless.

"How is Colt holding up?" he texted Frank.

"Tired but good," came the reply. "Walking him through the orchard now to shake out the post performance jitters."

The horse thought it cute how seriously the cheetah took the stallion's mental state but he hoped it didn't go so far as to develop into a problem. Some handlers grew so attached to a particular pony that the idea of gelding them or selling them off distressed them.

So while it was fine and good to care about a pony, Mr. Brandt hoped that Frank wouldn't be like some of those past employees who ended up pleading with the businessman to spare a stallion's balls. Not only did such persuasion attempts not work, but they revealed that the ranch hand had a fundamental misunderstanding regarding the purpose of owning and breeding ponies.

But some of the man's concerns in this area were laid to rest when Frank's follow-up message arrived.

"Been making a point of playing with his post-orgasm cock. The stallion needs to learn not to turn or pull away when free men are handling him regardless of his mood."

Mr. Brandt nodded to himself, satisfied by the cheetah's initiative. Caring about ponies was acceptable as long as that sentimentality was balanced by exceptionally high standards.

Which reminded the man, he hadn't yet complimented the handler on how smoothly the debut went.

"Well done on initial breeding. And on taking the opportunity to train Colt further afterwards. Sunset Ranch is lucky to have an experienced professional like you."

The near immediate response confirmed the equine's instincts that validation would be appreciated.

"Appreciate you saying so, sir!"

Then, noticing that the breeding session had affected him, Mr. Brandt sent, "Have Colt lubed, spread, and waiting for me in his stall in thirty minutes."

"You got it. Our good boy will be ready for you."

Colt's hole had gotten quite the workout recently as the horse had spent the last two weeks or so at the ranch. Mr. Brandt knew he'd need to leave the out of the way property in three days time so he was going to take full advantage of the stallion's plug-stretched hole at every opportunity.

The businessman occasionally enjoyed using the mares as well but fucking the stallions always brought a special joy as Mr. Brandt introduced the ponies to their owner's cock time and again. He loved the barely audible gasps they made as an eighteen or nineteen year old boy took his middle-aged shaft down to the root.

He loved nibbling on their necks, playing with their nipples, and tugging on their balls. The man loved telling them what a good pony they were as he rubbed their shoulder stubs, emphasizing their helplessness as he speared them deep. And he loved ignoring their needy animal erections as their body responded to his use and control.

Like Carrot, Colt seemed highly responsive to Mr. Brandt's attention. Then again, the former chatter-box of a youth had admitted he had a thing for older men. If Colt was lucky, the situation at Sunset Ranch was pressing multiple buttons for the boy as he fulfilled his wish to "get back to nature."

Not all ponies got off on being treated like the animal they were, but the lucky ones either discovered or developed that kink as they settled into their new life. To the wealthy man, it hardly mattered if the pony got off on being bossed around and made to work. This ranch didn't exist for the animal's pleasure but rather for the free men who enjoyed them. Though it was always amusing to come across a stallion who got off on being used hard and pitilessly exploited, like Spunky.

Thinking about past stallions caused Mr. Brandt to experience a moment of nostalgia as he thought back on decades past.

The current batch of ponies was hardly the first and in fact the tradition had started back when he was a boy. Back when his father had owned and managed the ranch.

While the man -- the "Mr. Brandt" of the time -- hadn't been quite as fabulously wealthy as his son (who had inherited and expanded upon his father's fortune), in many ways it had been he who had planted the seeds of what his successor would continue to nurture and grow.

Starting out, Mr. Brandt's father had only owned three ponies at a time and to this day Charles had no idea who they'd been or where they came from prior to arriving at the ranch.

What he did know was that his usually kind-hearted, ever-patient dad had been merciless in teaching those armless teenagers the way of things. That thinking was a thing of the past and that they now existed solely to work, breed, and be bred in turn.

Charles, who had only been eighteen himself at the time, had been both stunned and fascinated to see his dad teach boys his own age to worship his cock and work the land. And if one of the initially surly teenagers put even a hoof out of line his father had taken their sack in hand before proceeding to slap some discipline into them.

Less than half a year later all three of the "ponies" had been eating out of his dad's hand, desperate to please the man who controlled their lives so completely. His father hadn't been shy about using the ponies in front of his son and it had been quite the sight to see all three teens fall to their booted knees and orally worship their owner as a well coordinated trio.

Of course, no status quo lasted forever and soon two of the ponies had been relieved of their balls, becoming mares. Rather than take pity on his fellow ponies, the remaining stallion became eager to breed his fellow animals as this became the only source of release permitted to his impressively sized equipment.

All the while the initially modest sized ranch grew as his father hired staff and constructed additional buildings.

Sometime after Charles turned nineteen he grew out of his initial shyness and began taking full advantage of the ponies, both on his own and alongside his father. All three of the ponies were excellent cocksuckers but the future owner of the ranch always took special delight in making use of the fully intact (in some senses of the word) stallion.

Mr. Brandt had a crystal clear memory of stepping in front of the similarly aged boy who was both larger and more muscular than him. The teen had glared down at him, the look of defiance clear in his eyes. A look the stallion never would have been brave enough to send his father's way.

But all it had taken was reaching out and squeezing that stubborn stallion's balls to completely rewrite the dynamic between them. Resentful defiance melted into eager compliance as "Holster" took Charles' "pistol" down his throat and for the first time worshipped the son just like he had learned to worship the father.

It was that day that Mr. Brandt learned how useful pony balls could be in helping an animal adjust their perspective and priorities. Horny animals would do anything to spare their sack from punishment, including unconsciously, inadvertently reinventing themselves to be whatever their owner wanted them to be.

Even his gentle, kind father didn't hesitate to slap some sense into Holster's vulnerable balls anytime the pony was slow to obey or acting lazy. If anything, the man seemed to be looking for excuses to abuse the pony's sack.

Eventually, after Holster became a perfect obeyer, he too lost his balls. Mr. Brandt recalled that the pony seemed more shocked than upset, frequently staring between his own legs as though he had trouble believing that his once prominently swinging sack was just... gone.

At this point his dad prepared the ranch for the next stallion who arrived a little over a week later. A wide-eyed, bushy-tailed lemur that within a day was on his knees, sucking his dad off, in the desperate hope that the strict man would please, please, please stop cropping his swollen, sore balls.

To this day Mr. Brandt remembered what his father had said to the ranch's fourth pony as he pushed the boy down to his knees and tugged out his already hard shaft.

"Worship me."

The way the older horse had said it wasn't a request. It wasn't even phrased as a demand. It was an expectation. An edict from the pony's new lord, owner, and god.

And the scared, mute, and armless teen had done exactly that. He'd sucked his owner's cock like it was the single most important thing he'd ever done (or ever would do) in his life. No, it wasn't just a simple blowjob. It was genuine, fearful worship.

Then his dad had turned his head and looked over at Charles, his face now warm with affection that had been entirely absent when he'd scowled down at the stallion.

"You're up next, champ!" his dad had said as the pony took his father's erection down his throat. "Just breaking the new slut in for you."

Blushing slightly at the thought of having a conversation with his dad while the man was in the middle of getting a blowjob, Charles had chuckled awkwardly and deflected by asking, "Is that his name? Slut?"

The older man laughed at this and said, "You know what, it might as well be. Congratulations son, you've named your first pony! Let's show Slut how we do things here on Sunset Ranch, yeah?"

He then grabbed the pony by the back of the head and pushed in even deeper, making the teenager twitch and gag. But without arms there was nothing he could do as the horse began rough-fucking his mouth.

It was such a huge (and hugely erotic) mind-fuck to see his always kind and thoughtful father treating the other boy like he was nothing more than a sex toy. Like a possession or object. Or in this case, an animal. Because it was obvious by the way his dad was shoving his hips forward that he really didn't care about the lemur's comfort.

The ranch owner hadn't cared that the pony surely had friends and a mother and father of his own. Because the boy was just an animal. One that needed to swallow his owner's load. It was as simple as that.

"Good Slut. Worship your owner," the man said, his voice full of iron and authority as he commanded his property.

In the years that followed Mr. Brandt made many fond memories as he bonded with his father by sharing a pony between them while discussing business, family matters, or life on the ranch. Sometimes they would even discuss training plans for a pony, not caring that the animal in question could often overhear them.

As he grew up, the younger horse had been impressed by how his dad had made use of the two-legged animals, forcing the inevitably submitting beasts to accommodate his girth, length, and power. Showing them who was pony and who was the owner as they squirmed and noiselessly gasped as the older man's thickly-veined equine cock penetrated them roughly. The way his dad had always set and controlled the pace, irrespective of what the animals might find comfortable.

From the day the animals arrived at the ranch his father had made clear that they existed for his use and convenience, and never the other way around. In this way plenty of teenagers learned to accommodate the horse's thick shaft down their throat and up their ass.

When asked by his son why the stallions he brought in tended to be eighteen or nineteen years old, the man shrugged like the answer was obvious and said, "It's the ideal age. Mature enough to put in a full day's hard work. Young enough to still be fully in the mindset of being used to taking orders. And besides, it's hot to teach deep-throating to an eighteen year old. The look in their eyes when they realize what they're in for is hilarious!"

Mr. Brandt recalled that the ranch's latest stallion had been standing right there, blushing furiously at his owner's words. The naked, armless boy's blushing only grew more intense when the man leaned over and whispered something the son couldn't hear into the pony's ear. Then his dad had laughed while slapping the boy on the ass, good-naturedly.

It was the son's privilege to take over from his father (who unfortunately passed away sometime during Charles' early thirties) and to keep the tradition going as young men continued to be brought to the ranch to discover a way of life they could have never imagined if left to their own devices. There Mr. Branch took pleasure in claiming and taking each of them just as his father would have. Deep, hard, and without compromise.

The horse was just thankful that he'd inherited his father's impressive endowment. Seeing new stallions squirm and gasp as he pushed in always put a smile on the man's face as it reminded him of his dear, departed dad. The man had been uniquely talented at eliciting the best reactions from young animal slaves who were struggling to come to terms with their new reality.

Through father and son's guidance, every one of the ranch's ponies eventually settled into the slow-paced yet highly demanding life of an animal. Ten years of service was more than enough time for even the most stubborn of animals to fall into the rhythm of ranch life. Especially when crops were so liberally applied to ponies who tried to settle for mediocrity.

Mr. Brandt's father had always said, "Show me a stallion with a bad attitude and I'll show you a pair of well-cropped balls." The son had taken that lesson to heart and felt it had served him well over the years when dealing with new acquisitions. The same logic could also be applied to mares who still possessed any number of highly sensitive areas to punish. Though there was no doubt that an intact sack made this type of training easy.

The equine remembered his father's advice in this area with the man explaining, "No need to go easy when punishing a stallion's balls. It's not like they're going to be allowed to keep them beyond a couple years so long-term damage isn't really a concern. Besides, a teenager's sack is far more durable than you'd expect. You'd have to fairly well be trying to castrate him to do any permanent damage."

The ranch owner had little to fear in regards to unintentional damage, his dad having shown him countless times the right and proper way to crop a stallion's balls. Not to mention many years of personal experience. And now Mr. Brandt had a display shelf full of the exquisitely preserved sacks that had been used to help train many stallions during the ranch's storied existence -- Slut's large sack on prominent display amongst them.

He flashed back to a memory of working the unhappy teen's balls over with his crop, his unsure swings battering the animal's sack back and forth. His father had been standing just behind him, offering up patient advice on how to angle his elbow and when to move his wrist. They must have practiced for half an hour, the lemur having no choice but to keep his eyes forward and legs spread as father and son bonded over discussing the best way to help Slut embrace his life as a pony. Then, after they were done, they both treated the grateful stallion (or at least, grateful for the father-son mentorship session to finally be over) to a stomach full of horse cum.

Mr. Brandt recalled that he sold Slut to a particularly kinky porn studio after his time on the ranch was finished. Buried somewhere on his encrypted hard drive, he even owned a copy of one of the films where they placed the mare in a fenced-in field with six huge fully intact zebra stallions -- with predictable results. It had been nice to see Slut put to use the deep-throating skills that Charles' dad had taught him. But based on the loud expression the lemur made when the first zebra shoved into him, the film studio hadn't been keeping him consistently plugged like he'd been while at the ranch. Not that the thickly endowed stallion seemed to care.

If memory serves, the title of that particular video had been, "Young, Dumb, Hung Stallions: Male Mare Breeding, Part 5 (The Zebra Farm)". Chuckling at the title, Mr. Brandt thought that perhaps he should give it another watch one of these days. Or maybe even track down some of Slut's other videos. Considering how long ago the videos came out, he could probably buy the entire collection at a discount.

As for Carrot, he himself had eight more years in paradise to look forward to before he needed to worry about what the future might hold. But being the savvy businessman he was, Mr. Brandt planned on getting every bit of value and entertainment out of his property as he could during this time. Just because the former stallion lost his balls didn't mean he'd lost his work ethic.

At least, for his own sake he'd better not have.

He just wished his father was still around so that they might enjoy the cute pony together. Mr. Brandt smiled at the thought that his dad wouldn't have cared about the lithe mouse's smaller size as he embedded himself in deep with one smooth thrust. If asked, the man would have said that it was a pony's job to accept their owner as they were -- size difference be damned.

And so the ranch's current owner always tried to live up to his father's high standards whenever he felt the temptation to go easy on Carrot or any of the other ponies. Besides, it was fun to see the mouse's hooved legs quiver and flex as he pushed in hard and fast, using his grip on the boy's hips to pull the animal in should the pony try to pull away.

With that thought Brandt decided he'd have to visit Carrot in the next few days, before he left the ranch to follow-up on his business endeavors. He'd show the mouse how a real horse fucks. And if he was feeling particularly playful, he'd pinch and stroke the bare patch of skin where the well endowed mare's balls used to hang. It was always good to remind a pony who it was that held complete control in their relationship.

Because everyone and everything had their place on Sunset Ranch. And it was Mr. Brandt's privilege, pleasure, and responsibility to show them where they belonged. He just hoped that wherever his dad was, that the man was proud of him.

Maybe he'd name the next stallion Slut II, in honor of his father and the first stallion they'd shared between them. Perhaps it was time for another lemur? Maybe an especially tall and lanky teen, like a swimmer or a track runner. The more anxious and body-shy, the better. An eighteen year old who would blush at the mere thought of walking around without their shirt on.

But one thing he was sure on: Slut II needed to have a prominent, low-hanging sack. The horse thought it would be enjoyable to reconnect with his younger years by practicing his cropping fundamentals on a pair of horny, naughty lemur balls. Followed by some especially thorough deep-throat training, of course.

Just like Mr. Brandt's father would have wanted.

============

Epilogue

Cody learned that "good at plowing him into the mattress" wasn't the same as trustworthy when he started slurring his words shortly after drinking from the open bottle of beer that Mark had handed him.

The buck had just finished fucking him like the large man had something to prove and now that the coyote's tongue was starting to feel thick and unresponsive in his mouth -- along with the rest of his muscles -- he could only gurgle his surprise at the man he'd left Sunset Ranch with.

"Sorry, yote," the older ranch hand said, not sounding really all that apologetic. "You were a fun fuck and I enjoyed the company, but the money being offered to hand you over was just too good."

Cody could only grunt at this as the mostly full beer bottle slipped out of his hand.

The coyote felt his mind beginning to slow down too but the effects weren't nearly as pronounced as the loss of control over his body.

A large part of him couldn't believe that Mark had done this to him. Sure, they weren't dating or anything and the coyote was sure the buck would have laughed had he even mentioned the word "boyfriend". But they'd been sleeping together for over a couple years and that had to count for something, right?

The large, antlered man must have read something in Cody's face because he said, "I'm sure you'll have feelings or whatever about this after you wake up. Just know that it wasn't personal. That and, I really do think you'll make a cute puppy. Oh, I guess that's worth mentioning. I hear your new owner is going to turn you into an animal slave."

To say that was shocking news would be an understatement. The former Sunset Ranch employee tried to work up enough control to spit at Mark but it was too late for that.

"Hey, think what you want but I'm not a complete monster. I wouldn't have sold you off if I didn't think they were going to take care of you. But let's face it, Cody. You may be cute but you're a bit of a naive derp. Having an owner looking out for you and keeping you out of trouble can only be a good thing, yeah? It's certainly good for my bank account."

Cody's increasingly sluggish mind was barely following along but 'puppy' and 'animal slave' were painting a dire enough picture that the coyote he was trying to rally enough to do something. To do anything. Maybe call emergency services with his phone? Except he couldn't get his arms to cooperate.

"I suppose this is goodbye. I won't be around when you wake up and I'm guessing the next time you're awake, you'll be on all fours and unable to talk. Thanks for all the good times and best of luck with your new life as... well, probably some rich guy's well fucked bitch if I'm being honest."

Cody wanted to plead. To threaten. To remind Mark that they hadn't just been strangers, or acquaintances, or coworkers. They'd been friends too, right? Hadn't they? It had certainly seemed that way with how much the buck enjoyed fucking him, often and roughly.

The coyote's last image of the buck was of Mark standing naked in front of him, his own untainted beer in hand, his soft but still impressive cock smeared with the load he'd just fucked into the drugged canine's ass.

"You go ahead and sleep now. I'll get you cleaned up and packed away, then see about getting you to your new home. Be a good boy and don't embarrass me too much in the years to come, ya hear?"

But Cody barely heard the words as the room spun and dimmed as he passed out.

When the coyote slowly woke some unknown weeks later, he found himself on his side, strapped to a table. Not that he felt strong enough to get up and resist but the straps made doubly sure of that.

He sensed someone standing nearby and sure enough, an older brown-furred mouse was smiling down at him. The man was wearing round glasses and a white lab coat giving him the look of a doctor.

"Good morning, Yip. You'll be pleased to know that the puppification procedure was a complete success."

The mouse sounded immensely pleased by this but all Cody could think about was that Mark had well and truly fucked him. Trying and failing to move from his strapped down position, the coyote had no idea how he was going to get out of this mess. But already he worried that the simple answer was, people far richer and more powerful than him had already decided that he wouldn't. That there would be no escape.

As the now quadruped struggled to pay attention and start considering his options (if any), the doctor kept speaking, clearly not expecting a puppy to actively participate in the one-sided discussion.

"Please note that while you were out we went ahead and took the liberty of equipping you with your permanent chastity cage, as requested by your owner. Sadly you were a bit too slow waking up to enjoy the last bit of touching and stroking your naughty shaft received prior to the caging getting underway. But we do have a schedule to keep and I'm afraid we couldn't wait around before putting you in your forever-cage."

While unable to shift his position to look between his hind legs, Cody was suddenly very aware of a sense of tightness around his shaft. He definitely didn't like the sound of a "permanent forever-cage" but when he tried to ask questions or complain, the only sounds that came out of his muzzle were incoherent whimpers.

"Now, now. Don't be sad, puppy. At twenty-nine years of age, you're much older than the typical puppy I work on. I'm sure you've had many opportunities to take full advantage of your pizzle. Unlike that eighteen year old akita puppy I saw yesterday, who likely barely knew what his cock was for before I placed it in its forever-cage. Can you imagine? Eighteen years old and destined never to experience another erection."

As the mouse continued talking, he reached down and began petting and stroking the increasingly nervous coyote's sack like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had every right to touch Cody however he pleased.

"Some disagree, of course. Some argue that it's kinder to permanently cage a puppy as soon as possible, before they fully understand what they're giving up and missing out on. I tend to take the opposite perspective. That akita, Bumbles, will have few if any memories of slipping his thick, hard cock into a mouth, ass, or pussy. Whereas someone your age will have many fond recollections to look back on, even after five, ten, or even twenty years in your forever-cage."

The mouse was gently tugging on Cody's sack as the former handler realized just how "forever" a forever-cage was supposed to last. He was speaking like he fully expected the coyote to live out the rest of his life never experiencing another erection.

To Cody this sounded like complete madness. But then again, so did getting kidnapped and turned into an animal slave. Because he wasn't some mindless animal slave! He wasn't like Carrot or Spunky or DP! He was a person, damnit! A person with thoughts, feelings, and rights!

"Yip", who was perhaps not a particularly deep thinking or self-aware person, didn't see the irony of spending years of his life putting ponies through their paces -- "encouraging" them to try their best each and every day -- only to then be stripped of his personhood and turned into a "mindless" animal.

For the newly transformed puppy, the difference was so self-apparent that it didn't bear thinking about. Carrot was a slutty, simple-minded animal that had no right to object and needed to do as he was told. Whereas he was a person with dignity and this was a gross violation of his rights and a supreme miscarriage of justice!

The coyote also failed to spot the irony that it was a mouse demonstrating complete control over his genitals, considering the countless times the handler had cropped, slapped, squeezed, and tugged on Carrot's sack.

But the man, Dr. Vector, was both unaware and uncaring about Cody's growing sense of umbrage. The man had been practicing in this field for many years and seen all sorts of reactions from puppies learning that their joy-stick was forever decommissioned and inaccessible.

Anger. Frustration. Tears. Even (less commonly) joy or gratitude. But regardless of their reaction, Dr. Vector didn't truly care. It didn't matter how a puppy felt about their pizzle being locked away. Only the owner's opinions and feelings counted.

Though the doctor did enjoy giving puppies one last (unfinished) handjob before he locked their iced-down, unhappy shafts away. Getting that akita to the very brink of cumming only to inform the pup that they were out of time had resulted in the delightful sight of the teenage canine barking and whimpering as his frustrated cock leaked precum on the polished examination table.

Though the mouse acknowledged that he too might be a bit upset if he went from just about to cum to having an ice pack slapped on his erection. Or in Bumbles' case, his last erection.

Dr. Vector would have been fine having fun with this patient too but sadly the coyote puppy woke up just a bit too late. And at the end of the day, time was money and he did have a schedule to keep.

"Anyway, enough about your locked-away shaft and accompanying bitch-balls. Let's get your first injections done so I can hand you off to my assistant for follow-up care, including feeding, exercise, and rest."

Cody's ears twitched at the word "injections". Surely these would just be routine vaccinations and the like, right? Just because Carrot and the previous stallions had to put up with daily ball injections didn't mean that's what the mouse was implying. Right?

But Yip got his answer when he felt a much too thick (in his opinion) needle press into his left testicle. The canine immediately set to howling in outrage as the stainless-steel jabbed a full inch into his ball.

"You might feel a small pinch and a slight sense of pressure," Dr. Vector said, sounding vaguely bored. His mind was already drifting off on thoughts about what he might order for lunch. Perhaps a soup and sandwich combo? Or maybe a pasta dish?

Meanwhile the man used his thumb to slowly depress the needle's plunger, making the coyote thrash in his bonds as what seemed like a shot glass worth of liquid was unceremoniously pumped into his tender ball, rather than the 2 millimeters that it actually was.

Dr. Vector simply ignored him, used to dealing with unhappy, vocal puppies who didn't appreciate this quick and efficient method of administering certain types of medicine.

The doctor could have informed the puppy that he should make his peace with these injections because he was likely to be receiving them on a daily basis for at least the next couple years. The mouse might have also mentioned that the purpose of this slow-acting compound was to gradually inhibit the puppy's orgasms, making it increasingly difficult to orgasm no matter how well his hole was fucked or his prostate pounded.

He could have even mentioned that the drug wasn't one-hundred percent effective (despite the manufacturer's best efforts) and that even with the drug and the forever-cage, the puppy might still manage to cum on rare occasions if he tried hard, relaxed, and focused on the big dicks making a playground of his slutty hole.

But the mouse was already mostly focused on his upcoming lunch. That and he was of the firm opinion that "real men" didn't need to bother themselves explaining things to puppies. Because puppies, almost by definition, didn't make decisions and were only along for the ride. And if Yip was curious about why his balls were getting injected with medicine? Well, that was just too bad.

"Shhhh," the man half-heartedly comforted as he took the second sterile needle in hand and stuck it fast and sure into the other, not yet swollen testicle. "Almost over now," he mumbled while checking his watch.

Since the aggrieved canine was unaware of what his poor balls were being treated with, he was likewise clueless of this latest layer of irony. Whereas Carrot's balls were injected with a compound that made the stallion NEED to cum (among other effects), the coyote's orbs were treated with a compound that inhibited orgasms. Though a natural side-effect of this would be Cody's increasing desperation in the months and years ahead.

Yet despite such similar treatment and obvious parallels, it would be a long time before Cody regretted his actions regarding Sam, whose real name he never even knew.

But in that moment, just minutes after waking up, Cody was outraged that this man was daring to treat him like some animal slave rather than the person with rights and bodily autonomy that he knew himself to be.

If the handler were a better person, he might have used that moment to think back to the times when he'd taken Carrot's freshly injected sack in hand only to say, "Are you going to work hard today or am I going to have to crop these tender nuggets of yours? Because I have zero issues slapping them around with the end of my crop."

Even if someone had somehow managed to bring his attention to this past behavior, Cody, who still had the attitude and mindset of a free person, would have argued that it was only natural to use a stallion's balls to get the very best work out of them. That he was only doing as he'd been trained and that Carrot was (obviously) only an animal. That if the pony didn't like having his sore and swollen balls cropped, the answer was obvious: The stallion just had to stop being lazy and work harder.

"Yip" would eventually come to have second thoughts about this hardline policy regarding animal slaves, but being only minutes into his new life, he wasn't there yet. He was still very much focused on his own needs and pain.

Setting the emptied syringe to the side the mouse said, "Now, one last thing before we go."

That's when Cody saw it. A huge plug that wasn't merely intimidating (though it definitely was) but also familiar. And the reason it looked familiar was because it looked nearly identical to the plugs the coyote used to shove so carelessly and pitilessly into Carrot -- just minus the flowing pony tail attachment.

Suddenly the coyote started getting a very bad feeling as his stomach clenched in fear and dread. Surely his former boss wouldn't have...? But, that couldn't be, right? Not after he gave years of loyal service to Sunset Ranch! Hadn't Mr. Brandt regularly thanked him for doing such fine work?!

The mouse's next words ripped Cody's hurried and flimsy denial to shreds.

"Your new owner -- a handsome gentleman by the name of Mr. Brandt, if I recall -- insisted that you be plugged with this as soon as possible."

There was little finesse to what happened next as Dr. Vector smeared lube over plug and hole alike as he lined the tip of the plug up and began to push.

Unlike Carrot who hadn't been able to vocalize at all, the coyote barked, yelped, and yes, yipped as the plug was slowly pushed into him, inch by inch.

"There we go. Look at that pretty ring stretch. You're going to feel this one, aren't you boy?"

Cody felt like he might split in two as the unreasonably sized plug reached its widest point. Then, finally, it slipped the rest of the way inside with a "plop" sound as the puppy's insides were forced to accommodate the plug that was specifically designed to prepare him for his owner's future attention.

"Done. Whew, that was trickier than I thought," the doctor said, patting Yip's side and stomach comfortingly. "Let's get you to the exercise yard so that you can start getting used to that monster. I swear, if that thing was any larger I would have refused out of safety concerns."

If those words were intended to comfort the puppy, they failed to have the desired result.

After undoing the straps Dr. Vector lowered the table using the nearby switch, then helped Yip to his paws. All four of them.

Ass stretched obscenely wide, the coyote began the effort of learning to move around in his new largely helpless body. Nearby stood a floor-to-ceiling mirror in case Cody wanted to take a closer look at his "animalistic" form but he made a point of ignoring it, not yet ready to fully acknowledge what had been done to him. More accurately, what Mark and Mr. Brandt had done to him.

Attaching a lease to his collar, the doctor gently but insistently pulled him along, looking forward to handing the puppy off to his assistant so that he could enjoy his lunch break. As the mouse guided Yip out of the examination and procedure room, he offered some final thoughts.

"Your owner said that he'll be by in a few days to pick you up. In the meantime, he requested that you spend a couple hours each day strapped into the breeding mount. It goes without saying but that's going to make many of the uncaged, breeding-capable puppies very happy. You're going to be quite popular during your stay here, Yip."

Cody, who was familiar with breeding mounts from his time at Sunset Ranch, shot the doctor an aggrieved, betrayed look. Walking a half-step ahead of the canine and not looking down, Dr. Vector didn't notice.

The coyote wanted to passionately argue that he wasn't some animal slave to be mounted and bred by some rich assholes' horny pets but he was quickly reminded that he was incapable of forming the words.

"If I'm lucky, perhaps I'll be able to observe as you experience your first caged orgasm. Would you like that, Yip? Would you like to be fucked so well that your forever-soft puppy-hood gives up its load?"

The handler blushed hotly at the comment. Surely this day couldn't get any worse? Surely this was just some awful nightmare that he'd wake up from soon?

"In fact, if you manage to be a good slut and cum while caged, I'll reward you by feeding you a batch of free man cum. Would you like that, boy? I bet you would. I bet you can't wait to show me what that puppy tongue of yours can do."

The one-time pony trainer could only stare up in shock as the mouse handed the leash off to one of his assistants, a bored looking donkey who was more interested in his phone than the puppy whose leash he'd just been given.

"Thanks, Darrel. Make sure Yip gets fed and then take him outside for some yard time. If he gets noisy or too agitated, feel free to use a muzzle. You know how new puppies are."

"Right-o, doctor," the much younger donkey said, nodding his head towards the shorter mouse without actually looking at the man. For his part, Dr. Vector just rolled his eyes. Quality help was hard to find and long ago he'd learned to settle for "good enough".

Then, with a tug, the early-twenties assistant escorted Cody down two short hallways and into a nondescript side room.

Only then did the man put away his phone and look down at the puppy.

"So, like, you need to be fed, right? Then why don't you suck on this."

Before Cody fully understood what was happening the donkey had tugged down his pants, pulled out his cock, and was using the puppy's collar to maneuver the stunned canine's mouth over his flaccid but swiftly growing shaft.

"Come on boy, let's get you fed. Don't make a fuss or I'll have to fetch the ball paddle, okay?" Darrel said, not sounding like he was joking in the slightest as he used his grip on the collar to pull Yip's head down, grunting as his cock slid across the canine's warm, wet tongue.

Only now that the transformed, plugged, and permanently caged man was forced to suck the pushy, impatient boy off did it finally begin to sink in that this was really happening. That he was an animal slave. A puppy. And animal slaves didn't get to say "no".

As a former handler, Cody understood that truth better than most.