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"Tight-end? Tight-end, wake up now"

The doberman groaned and shook his head. Or rather he tried to, because he could neither make sound nor move an inch due to the heavy-duty straps fastening him to the veterinarian's table.

The pony opened his eyes and glared at the large hippo, who smiled right back down at the boy as if unaffected by his rage and resentment.

"Ahh, there you are," Dr. Marcus encouraged. "You passed out on me while we were giving your pecker a little shock. Since we'd been going for a few hours, I thought I'd give you a little rest. But break time is over now and we really must continue on."

As the doctor spoke, the man obsessively rubbed his hands up and down the pony's chest and stomach. Tight-end hated the man's touch but there was nothing he could do about it. Even if he wasn't tied down, he no longer had arms. And even if he had arms, the giant hippo was far larger and stronger than him.

The former highschool quarterback knew he should feel used to being powerless as he'd been held captive on the ranch for over three years now. These men had taken his voice, his arms, his future, and as of just a few days ago, his balls. He'd known that particular loss had been coming for years.

The canine had seen the other geldings when he arrived and the handlers had repeatedly explained how life on the ranch worked. And yet, part of him had always denied that reality. Despite the permanent damage already inflicted, part of him had thought himself to be invincible, even as they ruined and altered his body, piece by piece.

So when the day came that Dr. Marcus strapped him down and cheerily told him that it was "time to lose a little weight", Tight-end couldn't believe it. Because he wasn't some weak-kneed fag like those other ponies who seemed to enjoy playing dress up and prancing around. He was a straight male jock with a rockin' bod, a big cock, and amazing balls. All the girls he'd fucked around with at highschool had told him so.

The former stallion couldn't imagine a world where castrating him made any sense. The 'free men' perverts on the ranch regularly complimented his sack. So taking it away didn't make any sense. Especially since Mr. Brandt and the handlers enjoyed using his tender bits to punish him. But in the end, the veterinarian had set about removing them, heedless of the many reasons for leaving Kyle intact. The hippo relieved Tight-end of his 'retired bits' while humming merrily to himself. The hippo had even positioned a mirror so that Tight-end had the option to observe the entire procedure, from start to finish, should he choose.

Tight-end wasn't typically one to beg and cry, but he begged that day. Strapped down to this very same table, the jock did everything he could to convey to the doctor how important it was to him to be allowed to keep his balls.

The doctor shushed him, even though he wasn't making any noise, told him he understood, then suggested they "trade blowjobs".

"A last orgasm is the best I can offer you, I'm afraid. Here, you suck me off and then I'll do you, okay?"

The dog hadn't wanted to suck off the beer-bellied hippo but he hadn't really been given a choice. The doctor had adjusted the table, gagged him, and then mounted his face like it was a sex toy. Tight-end recalled watching the hippo's sack swing back and forth as his throat was pummeled, the grunting man promising to 'feed him good'.

It was hardly the first time his mouth and throat had been used by the doctor but something about the vet's cavalier use of him and bubbly personality always set the canine's teeth on edge.

As promised, the man had returned the favor but it had been quick and perfunctory. The doctor was clearly uninterested and unpracticed and worse yet, his blunt teeth kept catching on the former jock's sensitive flesh. Ironically, the boy's final climax was produced by the worst blowjob he'd ever received, performed by he detested most. Tight-end did manage to cum but only because it had been days since his last climax by that point.

The doctor then collected his jizz into a vial and told the boy that he'd preserve the output as a souvenir. Writing on the bottle's label so that the doberman could see, the man scribbled out, 'Tight-end's Last Orgasm'

"This one is getting added to my collection as soon as I get home. You know, Tight-end, I must say that it is an honor to be in a position to give boys like you a bit of mercy, right before your de-balling. I'm very glad that I could be here for you, in your moment of need."

As the man talked, he rubbed and petted the very sack he was about to permanently remove with his scalpel and sutures..

Then the doctor got to work, pausing occasionally and encouraging Kyle to 'take a look' at the progress. Half an hour later, the deed was done and Tight-end's world was forever changed.

Now, only a few days since he'd been transformed into a gelding, the doctor was working on him again. This time in an attempt to 'improve his attitude.'

The hippo, still smiling down at his patient, considered the boy and said, "You know what, let's give that dick of yours a break and move onto a different part of the body. I have a new rebreather mask that I've been eager to try out. I say we combine breath control with filling up your cute tush with cinnamon-infused enema water at the same time."

Tight-end, who was still quite fit and strong despite his lack of arms, fought once more against his bindings as the doctor chuckled at his silly antics.

"Now now, don't be that way, puppy. You know this is all for your own good. The sooner we break down that poor attitude of yours, the sooner we can discover the obedient little obeyer-boy inside you, just waiting to come out. Both Mr. Brandt and I are looking forward to meeting that puppy. Perhaps one day soon, yes?"

The hippo then paused a moment, eyed the doberman hungrily, then approached the pony so that the boy's face was inches away from the doctor's now tenting scrubs.

"Unless... you'd like to extend your break a bit longer? I can think of a couple things to do that would be far more enjoyable for you than getting turned into a water balloon or gasping into an oxygenless mask."

For once, Tight-end was deeply conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted to tell the fat-ass hippo that he could shove his ugly cock up his own asshole. Or at least get that message across with whatever means he had at his disposal. On the other hand, the doctor had been working on him for hours now and the former stallion didn't know how much more he could take.

His whole body was sore and the vet never seemed to run out of tricks and techniques to make him silently shout and curse. So far, burning liquid had been smeared on his cockhead, his asshole, and inside his nostrils. The doctor had shoved that way-too-thick metal rod down his cock and damn well nearly fried his dick off with electricity. The man had even forced him to stand, tied up against a pole before putting on boxing gloves and working his torso over with brutal jabs.

Between these tortures the man had pampered him, giving him cold water, wiping off his forehead with a damp cloth, and telling him how good he was doing. Then the hippo would take out his fat partially-erect cock and rub it against the pony's face, asking him if he was 'ready for a break'.

Tight-end had always spat in the man's face, refusing to play along with the vet's sick games. But rather than get angry, the doctor had always just nodded and said, "I understand. You're not ready to trust me yet. Let's continue on with your conditioning and see if we can't break down some of those walls you've built up your ego."

And then the torture would continue on, with the doctor finding new ways to punish the dog.

Now the doctor was back again with the same offer. He could be a good little obeyer and suck hippo cock... or gasp for oxygen that wasn't there while the doctor pumped his ass full of burning water.

The jock was stuck. Both choices sounded impossible. He couldn't just give in and be this evil man's obedient pet. Not after everything that had been done to him. But... he couldn't deal with another hour of mind-breaking pain. He just couldn't.

Tight-end felt himself being to tear up, his body shaking at the psychological agony he was facing.

Seeing this, the vet stroked the boy's head and petted his ears and neck.

"Shhhh, there there, boy. It really won't be that bad. I just want us to be on friendly terms because of how special you are. Here, I have an idea. Why don't we start out with something small? You can suckle on my fingers for a few minutes. Then, if that wasn't too bad, maybe the two of us will think of something else you can suckle on. Okay?"

Tight-end couldn't decide. He was frozen, locked in indecision.

"Or... maybe we should put a pin in this and revisit the topic after your enemas? I'm thinking we start off with six fill-and-empty cycles and then pause to see how you're feeling."

No! No more! The jock couldn't deal with any more pain. Especially not for his ass or dick.

Unwilling to meet the hippo's eyes, the doberman let his mouth fall open, ever so slightly.

"Look at that. Is the puppy open to the idea of letting me into his mouth? What wonderful progress. Here, we'll start out with just a couple fingers. No biting, now."

The dog wanted nothing better than to bite the man's fingers clean off. But even as he was considering that option, the canine jerked in his bindings as he felt the tip of his semi-permanent erection being gently chewed on by the doctor.

The hippo scraped his blunt teeth softly over the doberman's cockhead for a few seconds before warning, "And remember, puppy. No biting or I return the favor. Good pony-puppies don't let free men feel their teeth, understand?"

Tight-end didn't respond.

That's when the teeth suddenly got far less gentle. The doberman would have yelped were he capable of it.

"I asked if you understood. Or do we need to break out the sandpaper again? I always get such a fun reaction when I rub it back and forth over your doggy piss-slit."

Once more trapped with no options, the former stallion nodded.

And yet, when the hippo offered the doberman his fingers, the boy could not force himself to take the proffered fingers into his mouth. To do so would have felt like a betrayal of his now years-long resistance to his circumstances.

He had been a quarterback for his highschool team, leading them to the championship in his senior year. He'd been respected by all for his size, determination, and dexterity. College teams had sought him out, offering full-ride scholarships and the perks of modern on-campus apartment life.

But it had taken only one night of careless partying to lose it all. Tight-end, or Kyle as he'd been known then, had gotten drunk at an acquaintances house, tried to stumble home late into the night, and passed out under a shady tree off that lonely side road.

When he had eventually come back to his senses, he was already bound and in motion, trapped in the feral horse trailer which would take him far away from everything he had ever known.

And now there was this fat hippo asking him to be a good little boy and obediently suck on his fingers. Tight-end couldn't do it. He wasn't ready to forget the star quarterback he used to be.

The vet saw the dog's renewed resistance in the youth's hardening expression. The hippo sighed, withdrawing his fingers from the pony's lips.

"I understand. We will keep going with the attitude adjustment procedure, then. I feel we are close to a breakthrough. Perhaps a day or two more of this and you will be voluntarily tasting parts of me you did not expect to, yes? My fingers. My balls. Perhaps even my tongue."

Despite his courage, Tight-end trembled in fear as the vet set about preparing the next soul-crushing tortures. The doberman watched with haunted eyes as the man poured powdered cinnamon into a water jug and shook the container until the cinnamon was spread evenly throughout.

The former quarterback tried to stay brave when the doctor approached him with the enema hose, but this stoic composure wasn't to last as the hippo began pumping the doberman's stomach full of the awful, burning liquid.

Tight-end screamed soundlessly as Dr. Marcus fitted the rebreather mask onto his face.

"I know, this is all very hard on you. But it is necessary. Mr. Brandt wants you to have a happy life as one of his geldings, spending your days working and getting bred. However, this is not possible while you insist on thinking of yourself as a person. You're just an animal, Tight-end. The sooner you understand that, the happier you'll be. It's your refusal of the truth which is causing you such pain."

The new gelding found it difficult to focus on the man's words as his lungs began to burn. And no matter how hard or how fast he breathed into the mask, the lad couldn't seem to get any air. Every inch of his body screamed for oxygen. He needed air! The well-muscled jock strained on the table which just made his stomach ache worse as it was slowly pumped full of enema water.

"My beautiful puppy," the doctor said with compassion, wiping the doberman's brow with a handkerchief. "It pains me to see you suffer like this. Here, let Dr. Marcus give you a little pleasure to take the edge off. After all, this type of pleasure won't be possible anymore after I ring your little soldier."

The hippo leaned down and, with a greedy look and a hungry murmur, took the doberman's half-hard member into his mouth and began enthusiastically sucking on the partially knotted meat. The blowjob wasn't anything like the ones he used to get when he was the highschool quarterback. The last one given to him when he was still a free man was provided by a petite cheerleader an hour before the championship game.

Tight-end closed his eyes and desperately tried to pretend it was the cheerleader sucking him off and not this massive, insane hippo. A task made impossible by the doctor's hands rubbing his expanding stomach and the constant sounds of delight and satisfaction the vet was making as he sucked and tasted his bound patient.

It took Tight-end another panic-fueled minute before he passed out. Even as he slipped into merciful unconsciousness, the doctor continued to work his straining, turgid shaft. Underneath the passed-out doberman's tail, cinnamon-infused water pumped deeper and deeper into his expanding, bloated bowels.

The doctor didn't mind if Tight-end passed out during this enema. They had many left to go.

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

Tight-end was returned to his stall late that evening, his entire body aching. The other ponies looked on with curious eyes as he was escorted past their own stalls, their eyes full of unspoken questions about what happened to him and where he had gone for so long.

Each pony noticed the large metal ring that now dangled ostentatiously down from the doberman's plump cockhead. Without needing to be told, each gelding knew what the ring meant.

It meant that Tight-end, who had been the ranch's one and only breeding stallion for the last three years, had fucked his last gelding. The silver ring meant that penetrative sex was now an impossibility. The doberman would never be able to get his impressive cock into another person, now matter how horny he was or how hard he tried.

It meant that from this day forward, the former stallion's equipment was now purely ornamental. Gone were the days when Tight-end would be called upon to use his cock to breed nearly every single day, and oftentimes multiple occasions in a single day.

Now the semi-erect flesh was little more than eye candy. At best a convenient leash for the handlers to drag him around by or tether the pony to a wall or pole. Through drugs and chemicals and injections the member had been turned into a formidable breeding tool -- impressively large and uniquely sensitive. But now it was just a sackless pendulum that would swing in time with his steps, marking off time as he strode in hooved boots that never left his feet.

The ponies tried to read Tight-end's expression as he walked by, to try to get a sense of how he was coping with such a traumatic loss. But, as always, the doberman's expression was nearly unreadable. The same mask of stoic resentment that he always wore.

And then the moment had passed and the newest gelding was stowed away in his stall, forced to stand on rubber hooves as his straight-boy ass adjusted to the dildo plumbing his depths.

Sometime passed as ranch life continued on around the bound ponies, soft country music playing quietly overhead as the young men let their imaginations wander as they tried to pass the time before lights-out.

Then one of the ponies stiffened as he heard a distinct set of foot falls. Carrot knew the impact and cadence of that walk as he'd long ago dedicated it to memory.

It was master! Master was here, the excited mouse knew.

Sure enough, the always well-dressed Mr. Brandt turned the corner and found himself face-to-face with the first pony, Carrot.

Smiling at the lithe gelding and leaning on the outside of the locked stall door, the equine remarked, "Well, howdy there my little Carrot. Don't you look to be in a fine state. The handlers treating you well, boy?"

Barely able to contain his enthusiasm, the mouse nodded excitedly on his pole. His erection likewise bobbed up and down. The boy desperately hoped that Mr. Brandt was here to finish what they'd started back at the manor. Carrot knew it wasn't very likely -- Mr. Brandt was an extremely busy man and surprise evening inspections always tended to be brief affairs. But the boy couldn't help but hope for the desperately sought relief regardless of the slim odds.

The equine saw the hope in the youth's eyes and smiled. It pleased him mightily that Carrot was always so excited to see him. But the man didn't have the heart to tell the mouse that he'd likely be waiting for that orgasm for a while yet. A long, long while. Perhaps for the rest of his days.

"Sorry, lad. Not tonight," Mr. Brandt said, his voice full of sincere sounding regret. "But I promise you and I will spend some time together back at the manor real soon. Maybe even as soon as a week or two."

A week! Or two! Carrot's mouth opened in dismay. No! He needed to get off now! He'd waited so long! So long that getting bred by the stallion only served to take the edge off his need.

The mouse wished he could explain to the large horse that the handlers hadn't given him release in months! Or had it been even longer than that? The gelding was sure the owner was assuming that he was being taken care of down here in the stable but that wasn't at all true.

It wasn't at all like it had been before. Nowadays, his cock strained and strained and strained, but was rarely touched.

The handlers, as nicely as they treated him, never gave Carrot the release he so desperately craved. No matter how he waggled his cock at them in an attempt to make the men understand. It was like his cock had suddenly turned invisible one day and Carrot just couldn't understand why.

But Mr. Brandt didn't understand that, the mouse thought. He lived up in his nice manor, away from the stable. The horse only saw the ponies a few times a week, and typically just for a few minutes. Even during race day, the estate owner just watched from a distance in his air-conditioned box.

"Alright, I need to be moving on now," the owner said. "Be a good pony for me and don't give your handlers any trouble."

Carrot's heart sank in his chest as the man winked, nodded, turned on his heel, and walked away. And so the mouse was once more left alone, his needy and ignored erection flexing before him, reaching out towards the man who had already left.

Mr. Brandt moved onto the next stall.

"Bandit! My favorite little thief. Well, former thief. I imagine you haven't had much opportunity to pick pockets given your current aerodynamic form. But you should be glad I took your arms from you. After all, they only ever managed to get you into trouble, yes?"

The bunny blushed. It had ended up being the stupidest decision of his life to try to lift the horse's wallet out of his coat pocket. The quick-on-his-feet pickpocket had assumed that the equine was just another clueless tourist, like all the rest. How terribly wrong he had been.

Now Bandit spent every day of his life being punished for that attempted crime, with Mr. Brandt serving as judge, jury, and likely eventual executioner.

Bandit smiled at the man because he knew the equine enjoyed seeing him 'happy'. But in truth he was deathly afraid of the estate owner. The bunny knew from experience and from years of observations that the horse had few if any limits. He'd seen how the horse punished his 'property' when he was genuinely angry. The smart play was to do whatever it took to stay on the man's good side. A smile was a small price to pay to avoid getting his sensitive bunny ears clamped and dipped into hot wax.

"The handlers tell me you've been steadily improving your race times. That's very good. I recall you had a bad streak a few months ago. And you know how much it pains me to see the same pony punished week after week. But those punishments must have done you some good because look at you!"

The gelding kept smiling and nodded as if in agreement, but he didn't believe a word the man said. He didn't think it bothered the horse in the slightest to have him punished. Not when Mr. Brandt had so often volunteered to handle Bandit's punishment personally. Bandit had been witness to how hard the wealthy man had gotten as he made the bunny gasp and shudder. The bunny recalled the times when the horse would pause his punishment sessions to make Bandit suck him to messy completion only to resume the punishment after, right where they'd left off.

"You know, I'm going to be very sad when it comes time to sell you, Bandit. Rarely have I seen a pony who's able to maintain such a good attitude, even while being corrected. And as a reward for your hard work and obedience, I'd like to give you a reward. You name it -- anything you want. The sky's the limit!"

Bandit didn't survive so long on the streets of his home country by being stupid. He immediately knew this was a trick.

If he spoke even a single word and revealed that he'd never been muted like the other ponies, the equine would hang him and bury him out in the plains, just like the man had sworn to do all those years ago.

The gelding's smile faded and he shook his head 'no', truly scared. No, he didn't have any wishes. No, he didn't want any reward. No, he was fine. Everything was okay. Everything. Fine. He was fine.

Mr. Brandt gave the scared gelding a moment to consider his offer before holding up his hands.

"Well, I tried. I thought for sure you'd ask to be freed and that would be that. I guess you'll never know if the offer was made in earnest. And, sorry to say, you'll probably never get another offer like that again. As they say, opportunity doesn't knock twice."

Bandit almost spoke then but it was too late. The man was already gone. The equine had departed and now Bandit was left alone with his tears.

Next up was Lusty. Mr. Brandt had always had a special place in his heart for the beautiful fox. The youth was special among all the geldings. Because unlike Carrot, Bandit, or Tight-end, Lusty still had his balls. Not that the boy even knew it.

Rather than have them removed like all the other geldings who had passed through this ranch, the equine had instructed the vet to relocate the slutty fox's testicles so that they would reside hidden away within his abdomen. Except, of course the 'gelding' was never told and so the fox had lived the last several years believing he'd been unmanned just like the other ponies.

Mr. Brandt had been quite conflicted about the decision when he made it, but now he was glad that he'd gone through with it. After all, Lusty had been such a talented escort and had used those balls of him to please so many men.

In short, the equine considered the fox's orbs to be too useful to remove. They were a key component of the pony that made the slutty whore so good at attracting and pleasing men. Traits he'd maintained even as a pony.

The horse could attest personally to that fact, having fucked the amorous fox in countless locations and positions over the years, all over the ranch. The fox had always responded well to his touch, giving himself to the moment as his armless, voiceless body was used to help Mr. Brandt achieve satisfaction over and over.

Even now he could see the look in the fox's hungry eyes. The pony simultaneously craved and feared his touch. And Mr. Brandt credited the boy's secret hormone-secreting tescticles with fanning the flames of passion which fueled his powerful lust.

And the best part was, Lusty didn't even suspect that he remained as fully intact as any stallion. Though, the key difference there was that no stallion went days without cumming. Let alone years.

"Ahh, Lusty. My favorite beauty-queen escort. You know, I still think back to those vacations we took to that secluded beach resort. Us walking arm in arm on the fine sand. Me, getting you drunk on all those fruity cocktails. You, slipping under the table cloth at that expensive restaurant, going down on me in front of dozens of oblivious people. We had such fine times together, didn't we?"

The fox didn't immediately respond because he was swept up in a flood of memories. Back then, he'd been living the best kind of life. Exotic vacations, expensive gifts, attentive "boyfriends". The escort had made a fine life for himself. Back before it had all been taken away.

Mr. Brandt had actually been one of his favorite clients, before Lusty had tried to break things off. He hadn't even had a particularly specific reason to cancel their recurring meetings. Only a vague sense that perhaps the equine was getting a bit "too into him". The kind of intent focus that bordered on obsession. Julius had thought the horse might have a secret dangerous side. How right he had been.

That and the horse had been gradually developing a taste for riskier and riskier public sex and Julius had grown increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of getting caught in the act. They'd almost been spotted on that Ferris wheel but when Julius tried to pull up from the blowjob to tell the man, the horse had pissed off the escort by easily holding his head down and instructing the fox in a no-nonsense tone of voice to 'finish what he started'. The fox remembered that the equine hadn't been asking. He'd been instructing.

The youth recalled feeling a touch scared of the man at that time, surprised by the sudden change of demeanor as the horse forced him to suck him to completion. What he hadn't known at the time was that he hadn't been nearly scared enough. Because even back then Mr. Brandt had already gotten his ranch up and running, fully staffed and with armless, mute, perpetually erect pony boys scampering around for his twisted pleasure.

The boy wondered if the man had already been imagining what the fox would look like without arms, even when he'd had his head down in the man's lap on that slow ferris wheel ride. When he blew his load down the escort's throat, was the equine already considering making the youth one of his ponies? There had been that time that Mr. Brandt had bound his arms behind his back in that leather back-prayer and made the fox spend the entire weekend without the use of his arms.

Julius had tried to break it off gently with the horse and at first, the man had seemed very understanding. But apparently that had been an act to lull the fox into a false sense of security because just a few days later the boy had been drugged and loaded up in a horse trailer.

Once at the ranch, Mr. Brandt, his now-owner and former client, explained to the stunned fox that he'd be earning a living much like before -- by having a great deal of sex. Except, instead of rich older men, his sexual partners would now primarily be other kidnapped boys. That and unsophisticated ranch hands and other minimally compensated employees. 'Poor people', the fox remembered thinking at the time with distaste.

The gagged fox had tried to plead for his life, to beg for forgiveness. But the horse wasn't interested. It won't long after that Julius lost his voice, his arms, and eventually his hope for rescue.

Mr. Brandt still regularly checked in on the fox, which usually involved the boy getting fucked hard and deep by the well-endowed equine. Driven to desperation by the drugs the man's handlers regularly injected into him, Julius craved an orgasm he was convinced would remain forever beyond his reach now that he'd been gelded. The former escort remained unaware that his fertile balls hadn't been removed but rather relocated out of sight. And that the drugs he was regularly injected with weren't intended to mimic a sex drive like they did for the other geldings, but rather to keep his orgasm response firmly suppressed.

Mr. Brandt wanted the escort-turned-pony to live a blue-balled life of ironic chastity, now that his term as stallion was up. For three years Lusty fucked, and pumped, and came. And now Julius would spend the rest of his tenure at the ranch being the resident slut, craving a climax he'd been misled to believe was biologically impossible.

Unlike with the other ponies, the horse entered Lusty's stall and approached the fox. Running his hands possessively over Julius' body, Mr. Brandt eventually focused his hands where he always did -- At Lusty's achingly erect pleasure center between his legs.

"This must have been such a hard week for you, Lusty," the horse softly whispered to the inaudibly gasping pony. "Accomplishing your work while getting punished each day. All while free men continue to use you for their pleasure. You work so hard for your master, don't you, my lovely former escort."

Mr. Brandt was openly stroking the shuddering fox now but he was not worried that the slutty 'gelding' might cum in his hands. The medication Lusty was dosed with made achieving orgasm nearly impossible. It had been three years since the former stallion became just another pony and Lusty hadn't orgasmed in all that time. Three full years of uninterrupted chastity. Mr. Brandt found himself growing hot at the thought of how needy his former lover must be.

And the equine thought it likely that it would be many more years before the fox was granted release. Lusty would spend those years believing himself to be ball-less just like Bandit, Carrot, and now Tight-end. Only the estate owner, vet, and a couple other trusted handlers knew the truth of the fox's condition.

Caught up in the moment with his former-lover-turned-kidnapper, Lusty leaned forward in his bindings and tried to kiss the horse. But the man pulled back even as his hands continued to work and tease the fox's sensitive, throbbing flesh.

"No, my dear. The time for romance between us has passed. Which was your choice, if you'll recall. Now you are just another one of my ponies who must sweat and toil for his daily food and shelter. Work hard for me each and every day and maybe one day, a good long while from now, I'll grant you the relief your body so desperately craves. But to earn this reward, you'll need to be perfect for me, Lusty. Absolutely perfect. Can you do that for me, my beautiful little mare? Can you sweat and toil for your master every day without end until I am convinced you know your place?"

Breathing heavy, Lusty nodded desperately. He was so close to cumming. He knew it was impossible but his body was convinced and the fox so badly wanted it to be true.

'Yes! Yes, I'll be your mare! Yes, master, I'll work hard for you, every day!' the pony wanted to shout to the man who controlled his future.

"Good. Very good. I can tell you're getting close now. But...no, not today." Mr. Brandt said, letting the fox's twitching member slip out of his grip. "You have many more days of service and obedience ahead of you before you're eligible for that precious gift. Work hard and maybe one day I will fuck you to an orgasm like I did back when we used to vacation together."

Julius cried tears of intense sexual frustration then as he tried and failed to push himself over the edge. He'd been so close! As the young man wept, Mr. Brandt kissed him on his forehead and made his departure.

As the estate owner shut the gate to the stall he said, "Rest well, Lusty. When tomorrow comes, I want you to channel all your sexual frustration into energy for ranch work. And I don't want to see you losing any more races, understand? Be my perfect mare and one day, when you've proven that you've learned to be truly loyal to me, you'll earn the sexual relief you used to feel whenever you wanted, back in the time before you turned your back on me."

Alone once more, the armless fox wept bitter tears of regret as his years-denied member bounced and strained, unseen in the dark.

Continuing on with his inspection, Mr. Brandt adjusted his bulging package as he approached the next occupied stall. Tight-end the doberman. Tight-end the resentful. Tight-end the ever-rebellious. Tight-end the straight jock turned stallion. And now, Tight-end the stallion turned gelding.

The estate owner had encountered 'problem ponies' in the past, but none had risen to the levels of obstinance exhibited by the doberman. For the most part, it had always been a fairly straightforward problem to solve with new stallions. Stallions, by definition, still had their balls. And Mr. Brandt and his handlers had never shied away from exploiting that fact.

Almost all stallions arrived with a bit of a rebellious streak. It made sense, after all. They'd just been plucked from their care free, easy going life as a free boy. And they just been dropped unceremoniously into the harsh, demanding life of a ranch stallion. Of course new stallions would be confused, angry, and resentful. It was only natural.

But typically things settled down after a few weeks of attitude adjustment and behavior correction. With a liberal dose of ball torture thrown in, just to get the message across.

Crops. Paddles. Needles. Hot sauce. Melted wax. Boxing gloves. Stinging slaps. Weights. Pressure plates. Threats of early castration. Finger flicks. Leash tugs. Leeches. Yanking. Squeezing. Pinching. Purposely unsteady straight-edge shaving. And that was just for starters.

A stallion's sack offered an endless series of possibilities for getting the pony to 'toe the line' with their new rubber hooves. And Mr. Brandt's staff was not shy about pushing up against a stallion's limit, even going so far as to risk real and permanent harm to a stallion's semi-precious orbs.

After all, they'd be gelded sooner or later anyway. There was no reason to treat a boy's sack as irreplaceable when it had a maximum shelf-life of three years. Far better to take advantage of the sensitive orbs as educational tools while they lasted.

And Tight-end had, at one point or another, experienced every single ball punishment the ranch had to offer. Oftentimes multiple unique punishments all in the same session or day.

For the most part, they had seemed to work. At least, for a time. Tight-end would spend an afternoon silently screaming as his balls were squashed between transparent plates or tugged down towards the ground with a teeth-clenching amount of weight.

Following such a correction, the canine would generally listen to handlers and obey instructions for the next week or so. But always that obstinacy would return like a rash that refused to be permanently treated.

And so Tight-end found himself in a repeating cycle of poor attitude, brutal correction, begrudging acceptance, only to soon start questioning why he was putting up with these people's demands. And so the cycle would repeat. Week after week and year after year.

To Mr. Brandt, the answer to that question was obvious. Tight-end must fulfil the role and responsibilities required of him because the youth simply had no other choice. It was absurd to think that a mute pony had a voice in how it was treated or what it would be doing that day.

But evidently the former champion quarterback felt differently. Not even losing his arms and voice quelled the canine's rebellious spirit. If anything, the permanent improvements made the stallion more resentful of his situation.

Ironically, despite his generally poor attitude, Tight-end performed perfectly adequately as a stallion. The always-randy boy energetically bred the geldings that were put before him. He even learned to tolerate getting tied down in the breeding stall where he would spend his evenings getting double-teamed by free men stuffing him from both sides. Though, a ring gag was always required for the staff's safety for those wishing to use the jock's muzzle. And the jock had such a rugged, handsome face, who wouldn't want to dump a load over the stallion's tongue?

And so everything continued on this way, more or less smoothly, until the count-down clock was set up in the doberman's stall. Mr. Brandt had always done this for ponies who were nearing the end of their term as ranch stallion, as a sort of courtesy. Three months out from their long-scheduled gelding date, a digital display clock would be mounted on the stall wall of the soon-to-be-retired stallion. This digital count would show the number of days left, typically starting at somewhere in the nineties.

The estate owner wanted the stallion's to keep this number firmly in mind as they went through the coming weeks. Both so that they could mentally prepare themself for life as a gelding but also so that the stallion could maximize their enjoyment of their soon-to-be-removed sack.

The equine didn't know why the countdown display should make such a difference in Tight-end's behavior. Every stallion was told that their tenure and their sack had an expiration date of around three years. A fact that was reiterated repeatedly in the months that followed. During this time they were encouraged to breed and enjoy themselves. To take full advantage of their time as an intact male pony who could seed their herd.

And yet, somehow Tight-end seemed to believe that he was the exception. Perhaps he thought his football champion jock-balls to be magically special? Somehow irreplaceable and uniquely valuable? Mr. Brand found it difficult to adjust his perspective to that of a simple-minded, horny stallion.

But whatever Tight-end's flawed logic or reasoning, the boy seemed astonished and infuriated to see his vet appointment date confirmed so explicitly. Discipline and good order were thrown out the window in the days following the countdown clock being installed.

The stallion's behavior was counterproductive and nonsensical as far as Mr. Brandt was concerned because all his poor attitude bought him was a pair of sore balls in the weeks leading up to his castration. If the pony weren't such a short-sighted beast, he would have focused on trying to maximize his pleasure during those final months instead of guaranteeing that he'd spend those precious last days in pain as his balls were regularly worked over by expert disciplinarians.

Tight-end's final days as a stallion had been particularly bad, including an ill-advised, poorly planned, and sloppily executed escape attempt. Such a severe breach of trust and protocol necessitated an equitable response. And due to the unfortunate timing of the attempt, rather than getting to spend his last day as a fully intact male putting on a show for Mr. Brandt and the rest of the ranch staff, the doberman spent his last day in the vet's office getting his balls pulped, pressed, pulverised, and generally pummeled..

The soon-to-be-gelding's castration was scheduled mere minutes after the conclusion of his hours-long punishment session. Dr. Marcus marvelled at the extent of the testicular damage the handler's had wrought and thought aloud, "I'd say this pony is lucky we're relieving him of these swollen bits. I don't think he'd enjoy the months of slow, painful recovery that would have been required to salvage them."

Ignoring Tight-end's frantic expressions and head movements, the men present agreed the procedure was for the best and, after some calming music was put on to make the doberman more comfortable, the gelding got underway. Local anesthesia was used to allow the pony to remain awake for the procedure and one of the handlers was kind enough to hold up a mirror so that Tight-end could watch the doctor work.

A few minutes later, the deed was done and the new gelding was permitted to rest, aided by a powerful sedative. Unbeknownst to Tight-end, both his sack and balls were carefully cleaned and then preserved in a cube-shaped plastic mold. Afterwards this cube was moved to Mr. Brandt's work desk where it served as a unique and attractive paperweight. The equine always thought that the canine had a wonderfully proportioned and attractive sack and was glad that the vet was able to accomodate his request to preserve it.

This had all occurred a few days ago and Tight-end still had not fully accepted what had happened to him or his position as the ranch's latest gelding. Dr. Mathews had been kind enough to volunteer in helping the pony come to grips with his new reality and the estate owner had gratefully taken the hippo up on his offer.

These sessions with Dr. Marcus must have been quite draining because the dog was already asleep on his post when Mr. Brandt stopped by. Rather than disrupt the pony's likely much needed sleep, the equine quietly observed Tight-ends impressive chest rise and fall as he slept.

Despite his poor attitude, Mr. Brandt had to admit to himself that Tight-end was a very handsome dog and had made a decent stallion. He was confident that the gelding would eventually come around. Especially considering that it would only be a few weeks before the pony became thoroughly addicted to the new stallion's attention. In the end, all geldings became total complete sluts, desperate to be bred. It was a combination of simple chemistry and a quirk of biology. Addiction was quite the powerful motivator.

Tight-end was hardly the first straight pony to come through this ranch, but even straight boys would eventually learn to crave and submit to their stallion's cock. It was as inevitable as it was beautiful. Mr. Brandt enjoyed watching straight ponies press their ass back to meet their stallion's thrusts, their armless bodies shuddering in pleasure as they were seeded. It was just further proof that this ranch truly had become their home and that the ponies were where they needed to be. Watching a straight boy learn to crave cock never failed to turn Mr. Brandt on.

Finally, the equine arrived at this final stop for the night. Clopper's stall.

Unlike Tight-end, Clopper was still very much awake and was instantly aware of his kidnappers presence. Unable to help himself, the lion began silently mewling as his feet pulled uselessly against the poles holding him in place.

"Don't mind me, Clopper. It's just been a long day and I need relief. Be a good mare and relax for me."

Mr. Brandt took his clothing off in front of the lion, not minding in the slightest whether or not a pony saw him naked. In fact, he thought that the sooner the new stallion became comfortable with his owner's body, the better.

"Shhhh, boy. Don't resist. This is what you wanted back at the gas station. There's no point in denying it. Just embrace your new life as this ranch's stallion and as my mare you'll be far happier for it."

Seeing the horse's large and growing erection, the wide-eyed teenager realized what was about to happen. His struggles re-doubled as Mr. Brandt came up behind him, pulling out the thick horse-sized dildo that acted as a stabilizer.

Now fully naked, the estate owner wrapped his arms around the boy as he pushed his cock against the youth's backside and his nose into the lion's mane.

"Mmmm, your mane smells so good. I've never had a lion mare before."

Nothing more was said as Clopper felt something large, hot, and wet press up against his hole. In the seconds that followed, a tremendous pressure began to build against his sphincter. But pre-stretched by the dildo as the hole was, a single earnest hip thrust was all it took to spear the lion on the older man's cock.

Mathew's face contorted as he felt the breath pushed out of him. Mr. Brandt didn't bother to wait for the young man to recover before he began thrusting in and out of the pony in a steady, powerful rhythm. He took his pleasure one stroke at a time as his hands gripped the pony's shoulders.

As the equine fucked him, Clopper was made to understand that there was nothing he could do. If this was some kind of competition of wits or battle of wills, he'd already lost. The horse's massive shaft straightening out his insides was proof of that.

In the dim light of the stable, master bred pony as Clopper resented himself for his body's enthusiastic response. His own arousal bobbed in the air, unacknowledged and untouched. Yet it dripped enthusiastically as the lion was turned into another of the man's mares.

"I'm getting close now. Squeeze down on me or I'll start twisting your nipples until you do."

Mathew tried to clamp down just to get the abuse over with. But apparently it wasn't good enough because the equine reached around to his chest and damn near twisted his nipples off. The lion roared silently as his tits were practically crushed under the horse's grip.

"Good. Yes, so good! My obedient, lovely Clopper... I'm... I'm cumming! Yes, take my load up your cunt! Take it all, my kitty slut."

Clopper didn't have any choice. He felt a sudden and growing warmth within his body, but also down his thighs as the man's splooge spilled out of the boy's ravaged ass and down his legs.

The man kept fucking for a good while even after cumming and for a moment Mathew was worried the man might wish to use him a second time. Mercifully though, Mr. Brandt pulled out as his own stallionhood began to lose its iron rigidity.

"Yes, that was just what I needed. My pretty mare. Hmm, looks like I've made a bit of a mess out of you. Well, one of the handlers will be by in the morning to clean you up. Until then, I'll pop this dildo back into place to keep the dripping to a minimum."

Mathew grunted noiselessly as the sizable dildo was pushed back in, then locked into place. He blushed in shame as he realized that this meant he'd be sleeping the whole night through with his kidnappers cum inside him. A horrible thought popped into his head that this meant a good amount of the equine's seed would be broken down and absorbed into his body. That, in some sense, the man had just claimed him.

"Goodnight, my mare. Remember that I expect great things from you. I strongly advise you not to disappoint me."

The naked man stood in front of the teenager for several long seconds, wanting to give his newest possession to burn his visage into memory. Mathew could see the cum-streaked horse cock and felt a degree of shock that the huge battering ram had just been inside of him. And then the man was gone. Returned to his ornate and air conditioned manor while Clopper was forced to sleep standing up without a bed.

In the dark, Mathew's mind raced and wandered for a long time before he was able to sleep. He thought about the other ponies he'd been forced to fuck. He thought about all the people who lived and worked on this estate. And he thought about his admittedly terrible odds for escaping or being rescued.

But mostly he thought about the man. Mr. Brandt, his kidnapper and self-proclaimed owner. He thought about how the man had claimed him and would never, ever give him up until one day, many years from now, when the horse decided his once pristine and exciting toy was now boring and all used up.

Mathew realized he had to escape while he still had the will to do so and arms to help him. Then the lion's heart sank when he realized that this must have been the same exact thought all the previous new arrivals had, when they were in his position.

Yet, even as the stallion's hope withered in his heart, the pony's erection continued to bob and flex. It whispered to the boy that escape didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was breeding. Fucking. Cumming.

And as the boy fell asleep standing up, an unguarded thought slipped into his mind.

"I hope Mr. Brandt lets me fuck that cute fox again tomorrow."