'I hope its not Pondlen,' Turquoise thought with a distant sigh. 'I would hate to be the only Dancer on a ranch. I need to be around quadrupeds like me, around real ponies.' She imagined what Sirius would be like at Pondlen's - all sad-eyed, staring at the ring that would silence his cock. I'd still love him, she realized with a start. Isn't that romantic? Not that he would care, much. If he didn't quit the pony life, he would spend a couple months feeling sorry for himself and then devote himself to the track.
She stomped about her stall, agitated.
No, he would still long for me, wouldn't he? Even more, maybe. She imagined Sirius as a gelding, trying to mount her. It was an absurd picture, except for his lovely face. What the hell good to me is a pony with no forelegs and no cock? Forget him.
Except for his lovely face.
The imminent sale of so much of the barn seemed to have made the grooms sentimental. They had built a fire out in the barnyard, and David had got out his guitar to play cowboy songs. Emily came in to get the whiskey, and it must have been flowing very freely, because at one point Hannah returned to the barn to pour a half-inch of whiskey into all the pony's water buckets.
"Man," Ingrid was saying, "Do you remember Cassiopeia?"
"Hell yeah," said Emily, but this was Ingrid's story.
"I remember when Henry went to brand her. We were holding her down on the wagon, outside, 'cause it was Summer. She hadn't had her hooves on for ten minutes, right, and she sees Henry coming at him with that branding iron, and she put a hoof-print right in his stomach, by god!" The crowd dissolved with laughter, even Hannah, who had recent experience with being kicked in the stomach. "Eh? Dropped him down, and then someone - I forget who - someone else grabs the iron and goes for her, and she kneecaps him! And this was her first day, her first ten minutes, eh?"
"Yeah, that's why her brand was on her ass." Said Emily.
"Which is against consortium rules."
"Ah, fuck the consortium. They're a bunch of freaks. Is it consensual? Is it traditional? Is it consensual? Is it traditional?"
"You know, I ran into Cassiopeia last summer." Said Pondlen's buyer, a young man named Jonathan Carpenter, who had a sort of lanky, swaggering good looks. The kind of man who has had too many women to remain humble, and never found one that humbled him again.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah, or whatever her human name is. She's married, she's got a couple of sons, she got a veterinary degree at Tufts, does some kind of work with endangered birds."
"No shit? I'm surprised she works. She must have been a ponygirl for nine, ten years."
"Yeah, well," Turquoise could hear him shrug. "People get addicted to working, you know. It's like they're brainwashed. But she seemed to be having a good time. Listen, I got a song."
"Play us a song, baby," said Emily, who was obviously in her cups. He strummed out a few bars of Willie Nelson.
|
Mamas, don't let yer daughters grow up to be ponygirls
Don't let 'em wear bridles and tails and tack Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and that Mamas, don't let yer daughters grown up to be ponygirls. They never keep a lover and they're always getting covered Even by studs with no love Ponygirls don't sing, they don't play the guitar They'd rather haul coaches than drive in your car Dirty feed buckets and old oiled saddles, each night begins a new day And if you don't sell her and she don't retire She'll probably just ride away. Mamas, don't let yer sons grow up to be ponyboys Don't let 'em wear bridles and tails and tack Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and that Mamas, don't let yer sons grow up to be ponyboys They never have one lover; they've always got another Even the mares they don't love Ponyboys don't drink, they don't surf the web They'd rather be hobbled than sleep in a bed Dirty feed buckets and old oiled saddles, each night begins a new day And if you don't sell him and he don't get gelded He'll probably just ride away. |
There were gales of laughter and applause. Turquoise even heard kissing, although who would be kissing whom in that crowd, she couldn't imagine. Crazy humans. You give them a bottle of whiskey and they act like animals. The phone rang in the office, and Emily staggered in to answer it, leaving the door open so the barn was bathed in the bonfire's red light, and the distended shadow of Jonathan and his guitar.
Emily and Jonathan came back in and put Chessy away. They seemed to be a little high. Sirius thought he could smell the wicked weed on the night air. Crazy humans. Emily was kissing his cheek, and he was leaning on her, and they were sitting down at the coffee table.
"Emily…"
"Yeah…"
"Yeah?" He laughed.
"You want some scotch?" She said suddenly, standing up again.
"Sure."
She ambled off to get it, raiding the cabinet.
"Glenmorangie. Courtesy of Maxon." She poured two heavy tumblers full.
"To you."
"To you." But Emily also toasted the ponies in their respective groups of stables. "Hey, guess who's coming tomorrow?"
"Who?" Said Jonathan, in a tone of voice that added come with me to my boudoir and tell me all about it.
"Doctor Julian Kepler. Doctor K. Is on his way. What do you say… to that, huh?"
"Let's not talk shop, baby." Jonathan was giving her the slippery-slope massage, and Emily was happily letting him. "Let's go upstairs."
"What's upstairs?" Said Emily, who had finished most of her scotch.
"A mattress."
A mattress. The ultimate human invention. A huge, one-hundred pound sex toy that they can't live without. Bastards.
"We don't need no mattress." Emily drawled. Score one for ponykind, woman, Sirius thought bitterly. "Anyway, I was talking about the Doctor." She waggled a finger admonishingly. "He might outbid you. He wants Turquoise back."
Sirius froze. No. Being sent to Pondlen's was bad enough - was unthinkably horrible, in fact - but being sent there without Turquoise, no. She's doing this on purpose, she's dicking me around. She just wants to scare me. No!
"I thought we had a deal, baby."
"Rub my shoulders."
"I am. I thought we had a deal. I thought we were doing business."
"Hey," said Emily, shrugging lugubriously. "I thought you didn't want to talk shop. Oh yeah, right there, oh god. I wrenched my shoulder whipping Chessy. There you go. Here." And, to Sirius' amazement, she dropped the straps of her overalls and slid out of her T-shirt. There she was in half-loosed overalls and a jog bra. Emily. Bitch goddess of the barnyard. He couldn't believe it.
"Baby, the ponies will see you."
"Jon, the ponies are all asleep," Emily moaned irritably, leaning her head down on the coffee table, one ear cradled oddly in the tumbler of scotch. Unbelievable. The night before they take Turquoise away, take me away to have a ring put through my cock, the very fucking night beforehand I have to watch two humans getting it on. And not just any two, but Emily, Emily and the buyer for the woman who's going to have me gelded.
He had her bra off now - it took him awhile - and he was stroking the sides of her breasts, fondling the dark nipples that Sirius had never seen. Looking for some cooperation.
"I thought you and I had closed the deal, baby."
"Did you sign something, Mister Carpenter?" Emily asked, with only a slight inflection of nastiness. He didn't respond. "Well, bullshit walks, kid. Look, I told you the Doctor's buyer is coming. Get on the phone tomorrow, maybe Sarah will give you a longer leash to run on."
"I fucking doubt it."
"Ok darling." She said slowly. "So you got cold-cocked. That happens. Now you do what a pony would do. You make the best…of a bad situation…and don't waste…the whole…trip."
He was sliding now, sliding off his bar-stool, sliding his hips between her legs, which opened and closed to grip them tightly. He lifted her off her stool and pressed to the outside wall of Jasper's stable. In the shadows, her overalls slid further down. Matte white underwear and silky white skin gleamed wherever the light fondled them. The buyer lifted her along the old barn-boards, and from their concurrent moans Sirius knew she was re-settled on his cock.
"Oh, baby." Moaned the buyer.
"Oh god." Emily responded. Oh baby? Oh god? They talk? But they did more than talk. The old planks creaked in time to Jonathan's drunken rhythm. He carried on a monologue as Emily moaned happily. Sirius watched all this with icy hatred, warmed only by his contempt for their mating ritual.
"Fuck, I'm inside you baby. I got you. Oh Jesus! Oh Jesus! Fuck!"
As he came, Emily moans slurred together, and the two of them slid down into a heap of arms and legs beside the table. They lay there for a long time, like a tangle of ropes or hoses.
"Did you come, baby?" Jonathan murmured.
"Uhuh." Emily managed, but whether it was affirmative or negative did not seem clear. They found a more comfortable sprawl, by trial and error, and lay there a long time. But humans do not sleep on the straw-strewn floor of a barn. After twenty minutes or so, Emily stirred.
She rolled off of Jonathan and sat up. He looked completely spent, asleep. She stood uneasily, naked in the soft, second-hand light of the office bulb. The air caught in Sirius' throat. There along the top of her right leg were a neat line of symbols. A spiral. A double "g." A crescent moon with little lines running off it. And the stylized branches of Broken Oak. Four brands. Four stables.
He could not believe it. He tried to imagine those slim calves sheathed deep in hoof-boots. Her tail would be blond, and flow down past her knees. A snaffle bit. Straps. Straining himself, he tried to imagine those tiny buttocks reddened with a good whipping. He tried to imagine her bucking under some massive stallion's cock.
It was impossible. Emily was so commanding, so unyielding. Yet it had to have been true. Four brands. She must have been a pony for years. Those fine breasts must have been pumped for milk at Gigi's; her backside must have been welted by a dozen grooms, her fierce tongue must have been silent except for moaning and nickering.
Unbelievable.
Because it meant - and this was what chilled Sirius to the bone - it meant that she knew what she was doing. The torment and frustration that she doled out so casually - she knew exactly what it cost. And now that he knew she knew, he could not even have the consolation prize of despising her. It was her final torture.
He had not managed to sleep until gripping fatigue was in his every cell. And then he dropped out like a stone, dreamlessly. He woke late in the morning, to find Hannah stroking his cock. Oh god, yes.
"You want to come one last time, big boy?"
She worked him slowly, sometimes stopping to gather up a handful of soapsuds from the bucket she had with her. He was grateful - she wanted to let him take his time, let him enjoy it. His cock was bright red, the glans rolling out from his foreskin like a cherry lollipop. He couldn't watch. He closed his eyes, letting his jaw hang slack, letting inevitability follow inevitability.
Yes. Yes.
"Come on, Hannah." Emily's voice said, "Don't tease the stallion. He needs to forget about it."
"All right." Said Hannah cheerily, and her hand abandoned him. He stood in the stall, forlorn, his hips shaking, thrusting hopelessly into the air. Worst of all, he could not even hate Emily for it. She knows. Maybe she's suffered through some tortures I can't even imagine. She wants this from me; it's hers…
Hannah was washing him again, dabbing the frustrated tears from his cheeks with her giant, fluffy, towel. She ran a sponge down the side of his ribs and he sobbed. Tonight, they would put the ring through his cock. He knew it. He had so hoped to have one last orgasm today. But if that was denied him, all right. He was a pony. He had gotten to come only days before, in Hannah's friendly palm. He had gotten to cover seven mares. He had gotten to mount the ponygirl he loved. That was more than any pony deserved, more than most ponies were allowed. He would be satisfied with it. He had no choice.
But then, like a miracle, he felt Hannah's hand on him again.
"I don't care if it is a tease." She whispered, stroking him faster and faster. "I want to see it." His hips were pumping against her, as fast as he could, a single note of desperation rising from his throat. "I want you to leave here with your balls empty." He moaned, so loud that Emily could surely hear, if she had not gone far.
"Do it now!" Hannah hissed. And Sirius came, as he never had. He spouted against his chest, against his face, warm and sticky. One last time. He made it worthwhile. As he trembled, Hannah pinched the tip of his cock, pulling out the last drops. Immediately, he wanted more. But there won't be more. No.
Hannah dumped a bucket of cold rinse-water over him, shaking him out of his trance - and hiding the evidence. He stood on the wet straw, thrusting, gasping with shock. She smiled, and toweled off his hair.
"Goodbye, Sirius." She said. "When you're famous, when you win the St. Angelique, I'm going to tell 'em all 'I was his groom, back when he was a stallion.'" She lowered her voice, "And the last time he came, it was in my hand." And she grabbed his chin and kissed him as if he were a human. And then she disappeared.
As morning dawned in golden slits through the barnboards, the night's images worked on Turquoise. She had known, of course, that Emily was a retired ponygirl. She remembered her well enough, the tiny blonde filly coming off the truck at Gigi's, all doe-eyed and helpless. The first and most obvious target of the stallion's cocks, whenever the grooms were looking the other direction. She remembered how Emily used to cry whenever she was milked, and how Lenora - who never tired of exploring the topography of cruelty - would always catch a few tears in the milk-pail, and say "that's what makes it perfect."
But even if Turquoise hadn't been stabled with…what had it been?…Nightingale for so long, she would have guessed Emily from the start. If you have been a ponygirl for the better of a decade, you can spot your former colleagues anywhere. In a business suit on Wall Street. Behind the plastic podiums of the TV news. In the slightest flick of a neck or shoulder, in the all-revealing way that humans get in and out of chairs. They never realize, the talkers, how much they express with their motions.
All the same, seeing Emily's branded thigh, naked in the dusty half-light, had moved Turquoise in some way she could not entirely define. Turq never thought about retirement. When she was ready, she would retire - that day had never come, or even seemed to be on the horizon. Not even in the hell Gigi had so carefully put her through, or - far worse - the sheer boredom that the Dutchman had put her through accidentally.
No, my best years as a pony are still ahead of me. And they are going to be with Sirius. Why? It went against everything she thought she understood about her life. Yes, yes, she was in love with him. That fire of passion burned all around her, and like so many other elemental annoyances, she had been able to stoically ignore it. She would go one way, he would go another, and that would be that. Ponies had no say in these matters. Love was just another way for their owners to torture them - and especially insidious one, perhaps. Deeper than the sliding phallus inside her, tighter than any bit or harness.
Emily, naked, rising up from her drunken roll in the hay. Marked by the stables of her past. She couldn't shake this image. It occurred to Turquoise, who was chewing her bit with nervous cogitation, that in all these years she had not actually seen two humans making love. 'Is that what I want? To fuck a guy with fingers, while I'm lying on my back? Is that it? No, of course it wasn't.' But the love - the potential for love - that was very attractive. Not that Emily and Jonathan were star-crossed lovers. More likely they were just hung-over and embarrassed this morning. So why did it affect her so much?
As Jonathan came in, and Hannah lead Sirius out of his stall, trembling, the realization came to Turquoise. WE are the star-crossed lovers. I want him. He wants me. We are ponies, we have pony-minds, but we have human hearts. I only want him! No matter what obstacles they set in our way, I'll jump them. I am a goddamn high-jumper. I've won the Saint Angelique.
With a wrenching snap of her neck, Turquoise tore free the knot her reins were tied in. She backed to the end of her stall and then raced forwards. It takes years for a human quadruped to learn how to handle their extra legs. Rapid acceleration is the hardest part - the Dancers never win a sprint. But Turquoise cleared the door of her stall with two inches to spare, and came crashing down into the corridor, to the astonisment of man and beast alike.
Now I'm going to move fast.
She charged past Emily, who was spluttering outraged commands, and barely managed to wing her with the riding crop. The barn gate was open, saving her a second hurdle, although she felt quite ready to leap that one, as well. Jonathan's Ford was backed up to the gate, its trailer bay wide open. In another prizewinning leap, she landed on the hood.
"What are you doing?" Emily shouted, running after her. She had dropped the riding crop and pulled out her taser. "You crazy bitch filly!"
You ain't seen nothing, Turquoise smiled. With a sharp cow-kick she placed a hoof-shaped hole through the Ford's window. Gauging Emily's distance, she gave the window two more kicks, until it collapsed, and then bounded down. That should slow him down a bit. Humans don't like to have the wind in their face.
"Fuck! What the fuck?!" Emily charged her, and Turquoise took off at full-gallop. Sorry, Nightingale. I know you used to run fast, but you're out of practice. She cut straight up the hillside and rejoined the driveway fairly high. Charging onwards in a cloud of dust, lust, and adrenaline, she left Emily panting on the hill. There's Maxon's house. All right. The door was shut, so Turquoise took the simpler, more pony-like expedient of shattering the picture-window, putting Maxon's iron horseshoes to good use. As she tore through the living room, he looked up at her - he was seated in an easy-chair, reading some heavy-looking book, smoking his pipe. For the first time since she had known him, Maxon looked slightly surprised.
Hallway. Staircase. Uh…master bedroom. Room full of stuff. Another room full of stuff. Why in hell do humans have so much stuff? She tore along the upstairs hallway, thinking I never had that much stuff. If I were ever a human again, I wouldn't have a house full of stuff. Crazy people. Downstairs, she heard Emily come screaming and panting through the broken window.
"Where is she?" She screamed. Whatever Maxon responded, he maintained his usual calm - Turquoise couldn't hear him.
Guest bedroom. Yes! She charged in. There could be no mistake. A bottle of Jagermeister sat on the end-table, and only Amos was sufficiently sick and twisted to drink that stuff. But he wasn't there. Goddamn it. I'm running out of time.
It suddenly, remotely occurred to her that humans had separate rooms altogether for bathing and toilet functions. Guest bathroom. Bam - across the hall. With a neat double-kick, she took the door off its hinges and charged in to the bathroom. It was huge. Maxon's guests shat in a room larger than his ponies' stables. Amos was in the shower. It was a large shower stall made of frosted glass, the glass curved to form a quarter-circle in the corner. It must have been fantastically expensive. She smashed it.
When Emily arrived at the door of the bathroom, Amos was standing naked, screaming his lungs out, in a puddle of glass shards and soapsuds. Turquoise was smiling happily, panting and licking at his knees.
"What…the..molly…fuck…is…going on?" She pulled out her taser. In his state of confusion, Amos must have thought Emily was coming for him with the taser, and he grabbed one of the shower's handle-bars (which was now quite separate from the destroyed shower stall) to defend himself.
"Stop!" He shouted.
"Stop what?"
He swung and hit Emily full in the stomach. But it wasn't a hard blow, and she handled it gracefully. Wrenching the aluminum tube from his hands, she brandished it in front of her. Amos screamed again, and Turquoise reared in a hail-Mary attempt to kick the taser out of her hand.
Sparks flew, and Emily fell to the ground, stunned. It took a moment to decipher, but apparently she had jabbed at Turquoise, and caught the aluminum rod in the electric arc of the taser. Turquoise gingerly lifted the weapon from her spasming fingers, carried it across the room, and dropped it in the bidet.
"Well, then. Turquoise." Said Amos, leaning against the wall. "Let's not get all carried away. What's going on, girl?"
She whinnied impatiently. Amos stepped carefully over the broken glass and threw on a towel and some bath slippers. He padded down the hallway, with Turquoise in the lead, clearly saying "follow me, follow me."
Maxon was still in his chair, reading.
"Good morning, Amos."
"Morning, Maxon. Your stablemaster is a bit worse for wear up there. And there's some damage…oooohh." Amos saw the picture window. Turquoise shook her braids proudly and stomped. Yup, that was me, too.
"The mare seems happy to see you again."
"Yeessss, I'd say so. Look, Maxon, why don't you get one of your chaps to call the glazier and just put it on my bill, eh?"
"Ah, you haven't bought her yet. I'll split it with you."
"As you like."
Turquoise led him out through the shattered window and down the driveway.
"You've really done it this time, girl. That glass is probably worth ten grand. You know what that comes to in whippings? A hell of a lot." She whinnied, as imperturbable as Maxon.
The barnyard was recovering from all hell having broken loose. She marched smartly up to Sirius, who was now tied alongside Jonathan's vandalized truck, and kissed him fully on the lips. It was what she had wanted to do for a year, and now she could save them both by doing it. Amos laughed and laughed, and sat down on his haunches. Turquoise ignored him, lost in the kiss. Here I am.
There you are.
We're together.
Yes.
"Oh god." Amos was saying. "Turq, you were always completely insane. All right, all right. I get it."
Hannah and Jonathan had arrived, quite confused.
"Are you are Pondlen's buyer?" Said Amos, his voice still crackling with laughter.
"Yeah…?"
"How much did she tell you to pay for this colt?"
"Well, we agreed on…"
"No, no," said Amos, authoritative although he was lying hilariously on the barnyard straw. "How high are you allowed to go?"
"Four eighty five," said Jonathan quietly, after a moment's consideration.
"Fine. I'm taking him for the Doctor. He's got good strong arms. We'll make him a proper Dancer and let him stud old Turquoise, eh? That's it. Hannah, you can bring around my truck and put them both in it. And write me up a bill." He rolled onto his back, laughing up at the sky. "Broke into my shower! Hah!"
"Uhmm, Emily usually writes the bill up…"
"Emily's in the bathroom, and I think she's taking her time. Also, put, oh, four grand on the bill for broken glass." Hannah and Jonathan started to inch away, unnerved. "Oh, also, kid, I want to give you some money for your windshield." Amos sat up, pulled a billfold out of his pocket, and tossed three C notes at the other buyer.
"You're paying for my windshield?"
"Of course not. Turquoise is going to pay for breaking your windshield, believe me. I'm just giving you some money to fix it. Oh, Hannah. I need their luggage. Oh! Another thing."
"Yes?"
"You tell Sarah that I love her movies, ok?"
"Umm. Yes. Sir."
The ponies kept kissing, the shallow, tender kisses that bits allow, for long, long, minutes. Then Hannah, still looking confused, came to put them into another trailer, which had a central divider of three steel rods, like a fence gate. She tied one of them on either side, and then returned with Sirius' suitcase and a tiny, faded valise bearing the initials "K.B." Turquoise looked at it and snorted, then returned to Sirius' endless gaze.
There was more shouting outside. Emily had recovered, and wanted blood. Maxon must have plodded down to the barn as well, because Turquoise could smell pipe-smoke, but she did not see him.
"She shocked me with the taser." Emily was saying, as if Amos was an idiot. "Before you bought her. So she was still technically under my disciplinary judgment."
"Em, you shocked yourself with the taser. I saw you do it."
"Yes, but…"
"Listen. I agree she's been completely out of line, and she should be punished. But today she's going to be in a truck for eleven hours and then get re-branded. She's booked up. I give you my word of honor she'll be punished tomorrow. If you have any suggestions, you just email me."
My protector! Turquoise almost banged on the trailer wall with glee, but decided not to push her luck. When the door of the trailer slammed shut, Turquoise just looked at her beloved stallion, beaming back at her in the half-dark. The truck began to roll forward. They climbed the long driveway, pulled out past the gates, and were on the open road. They kissed across their bits, nuzzling each other's cheeks, murmuring their undying affection without words, without needing any words. Turquoise reached up to the rail and deftly untied Sirius' reins with her teeth. He clambered eagerly over the barrier, making one last good use of a biped's advantage in climbing. Now they were free, after so long, to let their bodies cling to each other the way their hearts had. He explored her as if in a dream, nuzzling her breasts, her forelegs, her infinitely sensitive flanks. Amazingly patient, under the circumstances, he first opened the cleft below her tail with his tongue. He drew it up and down, savoring the taste he had imagined for so long, hearing the moans of joy he had dreamt of for so many nights.
When he mounted her, he moved slowly and surely, carried on the tide of the truck. The sides of her womb clutched his cock like hands clasped in prayer. Her back surged under him, carrying him into her, mile after mile. The only thing more perfect, she thought, would be if he was a Dancer. And in a day's time, he would be.
When Amos stops for gas, he'll find you untied. And if his old habits haven't changed, he'll tie you on the cold floor of the trailer, and whip your cock until you wish you'd gone to Pondlen's and been gelded. And when we reach Oregon, you'll find out how very hard it is be a quadruped, and I will find out how very expensive all that window-glass was. But that's all for later. Right now, it's only us…only us, forever, right now.
Hauling two ponies and their boundless love, the truck sped rhythmically along towards the South. Towards Lazy K. Towards their future.