Ponyboy

Excerpt

Ponyboy
AE Lister © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Shadows and dim lighting made the inside of the club appear deceptively edgy. The Stocks boasted a selection of the most overrated brews and clientele in the city, in my opinion. But this particular club was one of the few places I could go to try to find the kind of man I was looking for.

“Hey, Lipke, what are you doing here again?” Sandro smiled, clapping a hand on my shoulder and taking the stool next to me. “I thought you had the real deal? You know, a nice cozy apartment with your man.”

“We broke up,” I said, staring at the bar and trying not to let the fact I didn’t feel much disappointment about the end of my relationship bother me.

“Ah, shit, that’s too bad,” Sandro replied, but I saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as he motioned to the bartender. “Hey, a drink for my buddy here, Paulo.” He turned back. “What are you having, Owen?”

I shook my head and tossed the dark hair out of my eyes. It was getting way too long in front. I’d been meaning to get it cut, but I was so unmotivated to do anything these days. “Thanks, but I’m hoping for some action tonight.”

I never trolled for Doms with alcohol in my system. I’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

“How about a Coke, then?”

“Okay, sure. Thanks.”

He was trying to butter me up because he wanted to hook up. He’d tried with me before, but I had been in a relationship that didn’t allow for “extras” so I’d had an excuse to turn him down.

“A Coke for Owen, please. And a ginger ale for me,” he said, throwing a tenner on the bar.

“Thanks,” I said again, looking Sandro over and wondering if he could give me what I wanted.

He wasn’t a bad-looking guy; a little heavier in the gut, but it worked for him. He had a decent “Daddy” vibe going on and appeared to be pushing forty. Maybe he had the experience to give me something…more. Something solid and demanding and ruthless.

The Stocks was an underground fetish bar, where I’d come innumerable times to find the type of hook-up I was after. But anyone I’d ever gone home or played downstairs with, had disappointed. It wasn’t operating on the down-low. The club was literally underground, which made it even darker and dingier inside than most places—almost claustrophobic.

Everyone played games. That was often the point with fetish and BDSM, and a lot of guys were perfectly happy with that. But I was tired and bored with it all.

I’d had a connection with Simon, my ex, but even he couldn’t give me what I wanted in the end. I couldn’t define that particular desire but I knew I hadn’t fulfilled it—ever.

At night I’d dream about a Master who took total control, put me in my place easily and perfunctorily, without a thought to my comfort, yet took care of my needs like they were his own. This mystery man became a shadowy, elusive presence in my waking world. I’d never encountered an actual human being who could measure up to the Dom in my dreams. Maybe no one ever would.

Maybe I should make the most of what I could get, here and now.

Sandro handed me the Coke and winked. “So, you’re a free agent tonight,” he said.

I grinned. “Yep. Trolling for Doms.”

He laughed, looked away, and then back. “Wanna come home with me? We could have some fun.”

I picked up my glass and sipped the cold, sugary-sweet syrup, considering his offer. “You live close?”

Sandro nodded. “Down the street. Walking distance. You can leave your car here, and pick it up later, or in the morning if you decide to stay over.”

It was thoughtful of him to offer me the whole night. Such an invitation was rare in this environment, where most people simply wanted a quick fuck or a fun kink session and didn’t give a shit what you did with yourself after.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Really?”

I found his excitement flattering, if misplaced. I didn’t feel like anything special these days, but I was up for a quick screw.

“Sure. But let’s enjoy our drinks first. We’ve got all night.”

Sandro had fair-to-good conversation skills. He was intelligent, perceptive, and witty. I warmed to my decision over the time it took to finish our drinks. Maybe the evening wouldn’t be a washout after all.

Sandro sighed. “I wish there were more kink places in this city. I mean, this place is fine but it gets boring after a while.”

I agreed with his observation completely. There were several options across the river from Ottawa in Quebec that offered more hard-core entertainment, but in terms of convenience, this place was closest. And even when I had ventured as far as Gatineau or Montreal, I’d been largely disappointed.

“I hear Toronto is the place to be for this kind of scene,” I said. “Maybe I should move to the Big Smoke.”

“Maybe. I thought about it a couple of times. But my family is here, and my job.”

“I don’t know if I could sacrifice the green space,” I said.

The easy access to nature was one of the things I loved about Ottawa. There were a multitude of parks and treed spaces; bike paths, beaches, and water everywhere. And the Gatineau hills were right across the Ottawa River. I enjoyed hiking and camping more than almost anything else. Spending regular time in nature was essential to my being. I doubted I’d be happy in a concrete city like Toronto.

Then again, was I happy here?

“I heard about this place in the Muskokas,” Sandro was saying. “It’s a ranch, but not the kind of ranch you’d expect in that touristy area.”

“Huh?” I asked. A ranch? I had absolutely no interest in horses.

Sandro nodded. “It’s set up like a real ranch, but instead of horses, they get men to dress like ponies.”

If I had been a pony, my ears would have swung toward him. “What? No way.” Something in me thrilled to the thought of it.

He laughed. “Yeah, they put them in harnesses and bridles and make them do stuff. It’s all set up to make the experience as realistic as possible. At least that’s what I heard.”

I pretended not to be as interested as I was. “Hmm. Weird.”

“Yeah, well, I guess some guys get off on that stuff. Not me. I’m happy with the regular kink experience myself, although it would be nice to have a few more bars to go to.”

Men in harnesses and wearing bridles? A ranch for pony fetishists? Why hadn’t I heard about this before? My balls ached at the thought of it. I’d never explored animal role-play, but the thought of being a pony at a fetish ranch rang every one of my bells. Maybe a fetish ranch was the kind of immersive experience I needed. Sure, it was still a game, but maybe they did it so well you forgot it was a game and became fully invested in submission and objectification.

I drained the rest of my glass. “Ready to go?”

Sandro beamed as his gaze raked over me. “Absolutely.”

*

The next morning, I snuck out of Sandro’s bed and gathered my clothes so I could get dressed on the main floor of his townhome without disturbing him.

The experience had been interesting. Not the domination I was looking for, but Sandro was a decent guy and had a big dick, so the evening wasn’t a total loss. He pretended to dominate me for a little while until he lost interest and only wanted to worship my body. He’d gotten me off a couple of times, but it was all too “nice.”

I’d had “nice” and my experience in my relationship with Simon had been less than fantastic. To all outward appearances, Simon Defalco had been a decent, upstanding, sweet man. He was good-looking too. For the first few months of our relationship, I’d thought I’d found Mr. Right. Not that I was looking for marriage or anything permanent, but I’d thought I’d found the right guy for me—laid-back and confident with modern attitudes about sex and relationships until we’d lived together.

I was becoming more and more interested in kink and Dom/sub dynamics, and he seemed to move the other way, wanting a predictable intimacy with practiced moves and conventional guidelines. I hadn’t realized how conservative he was at heart until it was too late, and I had developed strong feelings, and we’d started making a life together.

My friends had warned me not to move in with the guy after only a few weeks, but had I listened? Nope.

The situation had been tolerable for a little while. But much too soon my passion had dwindled and died and I’d posited the idea of expanding our romantic relationship to include the occasional casual hookup or a visit to a kink club. And he’d gotten angry and acted like I was a deviant for not wanting a standard vanilla partnership with one person—him.

I didn’t want nice. I didn’t want sweet. I wanted rough and hard and relentless. I wanted someone to control me, to place me the way they wanted me, to use me. But in a sexual way.

Otherwise, I wanted to be free. I’d gotten out of a confining relationship, and I wasn’t looking for something permanent. For fuck’s sake, I was only twenty-seven.

The guys I went home with invariably turned out to be one extreme or the other. Either they were too careful, like Sandro, or they were complete assholes who didn’t understand that domination was an art, not a function. There were a lot of people in the scene who didn’t seem to comprehend the finer points of consent-based and risk-aware kink. They were pricks who wanted to hurt someone for kicks, without any of the subtle gradations of domination I dreamed of.

I’d gotten into sketchy situations with overzealous Doms and I was wary of hooking up with guys obsessed with power and control. I might not be sure what I wanted, but it wasn’t that.

I got dressed and found some paper and a pen so I could at least compose a message to explain my departure.

Hey, I had fun. Thanks for the drink and the bone. See you around. Owen.

It wouldn’t win any awards for kindness, but it summed up the experience for me.

I let myself out the back door quietly and walked to the club in the predawn stillness. Birdsong filled my ears as the sun peeked over the horizon. The day held promise.

I had my pack of Belmont Edge cigarettes out of my pocket before I even got to the car. Fucking disgusting habit, one I’d gotten into when my relationship with Simon bit the dust. But it was either nicotine or a prescription for antidepressants, and I felt like smoking was a safer option. I had a deep suspicion of all types of brain-altering drugs.

And I limited myself to five of these babies a day. Belmont Edge were slightly smaller than a standard cigarette, but they were damn expensive. They took the edge off, but I felt like I had it under control, and I was only waiting for an excuse to quit. This was a temporary measure while I dealt with the emotions from the break-up.

It wasn’t emotional fallout from the relationship that stressed me out, but the fact I didn’t have a clue what I was looking for. I knew it wasn’t what I’d had with Simon. I’d felt mostly relief during the weeks afterwards. Then I’d been filled with a sense of failure and confusion, as if I should have been able to make it work with him, should have wanted to make it work, but for whatever reason hadn’t been satisfied.

I put the butt between my lips and flicked the lighter, inhaling as the cigarette flared and burned, closing my eyes with the familiar taste and sense of relief. Sandro was a decent guy, but nothing about him excited me or even made me want to consider a friendship. I was starting to think there was something wrong with me and that I’d never find a guy who’d make me want to abandon the single life for something more permanent. But that was okay.

I didn’t mind being single. In fact, I enjoyed the freedom of being able to live my life the way I wanted. Fuck the guys I wanted to fuck. Suck the guys I wanted to suck. Explore my admittedly unusual sexuality with no strings. I was only twenty-seven.

As I keyed open my car and started the engine, my thoughts returned to the fetish ranch Sandro had mentioned. I couldn’t get it out of my head. I needed to find out more.

*

A few hours later, once I’d had a shower and some breakfast, I texted my friends in the scene. Had they heard about this place? Did it really exist or had Sandro made it up to pique my interest and persuade me to come home with him?

Tamara got back to me first.

Tam: Hmm. Let me do some digging. If it’s out there, I’ll find it.

This was true. If the ranch Sandro had described existed, Tamara would locate it. She was relentless. If she were a gay male Dom, my life would be perfect.

Lawrence replied that he’d never heard of such a thing but to let him know if I found it. And Dig called me a perverted ass, but that was expected. Not sure why I mentioned it to him except to piss him off. He wasn’t into the kink scene.

I waited on tenterhooks for Tamara’s reply. In the meantime, I got out my sketch book and played around with a pencil. It wasn’t until I was half done that I realized I was sketching a man in a harness and bridle. Fuck, I was a perverted ass. But I needed—desperately wanted—someone to stick a pony tail in my ass and lead me around on a set of reins, something I’d never thought about until Sandro had mentioned it the night before.

I’d heard about pony play and puppy play, of course, but I’d never explored anything similar. The puppy thing didn’t appeal to me; the idea seemed silly, to be honest. But for some reason, maybe because horses were bigger, more intrinsically dignified animals, the idea of a pony play fetish ranch ticked all of my boxes. Domination, objectification, leather, bondage, humiliation.

The concept of immersing oneself in a total kink environment seemed ideal. If the place actually existed.

By the time Tamara got back to me, I’d finished my sketch and applied the finishing touches on the shading. I put down my pencil and picked up my phone.

Tam: I found it.

I felt lightheaded. I knew those three words would change my life.

Me: Tell me more.

Tam: I found one for women first, so I thought you were out of luck initially. But then it seems there is one for gay men run by the same organization.

Me: Interesting.

Tam: Yeah, it’s pretty fucking interesting. Winky face.

Me: Tell me more.

Tam: So your source was correct. The Braided Crop Ranch is in the Muskokas in Northern Ontario. On Skeleton Lake, near Huntsville.

The Braided Crop Ranch. Everything about this was ticking my boxes. Thank you, Sandro. Even though I’m not that into you, you did me a solid.

Tam: I can link you to their website. It’s hidden but I found it.

Me: Of course you did. You’re an angel! And yes, please.

She sent me the link and asked if I was serious about making enquiries.

Me: I think so. I want to.

Tam: Go for it. I think it’s something you might enjoy. You’re the kinkiest of all of us!

Me: Do I get a trophy?

Tam: Sure. A big dildo.

Me: I’ve already got lots of those.

Tam: Ba dump dump. Keep me posted, Owen. You know I live for this shit.

Me: Lol. I will. Love ya.

*

Well, well, well.

Sandro’s fetish ranch did exist.

The private link Tamara sent took me to a fancy website with a welcome page that showed a group of cheerily painted farm buildings in the middle of an expansive green landscape edged by thick forests and blue skies—a decidedly idealistic setting for a traditional western adventure. Except a warning popped up explaining you had to be eighteen or older to access the site.

I clicked it and the page changed:

Welcome to the Braided Crop Ranch

A fetish farm for pony play enthusiasts

*Please proceed to the following link to access the site for our sister ranch, the Pretty Pony Palace.

*

I inhaled sharply as I perused the collection of photos under those words. They were of men—attractive, muscular, young men—naked except for leather body harnesses, wide collars, cock cages, boots, and leather armbands that kept their arms pinioned behind. Some of the men had been photographed in a large indoor arena, others outside in fenced paddocks. There were about a dozen photos—some close-up, some from farther away. All of the images intrigued and aroused me.

I looked for a contact section, found it, and clicked.

An electronic form popped up: If you are interested in our program, please fill out the following questionnaire. An agent will be in touch shortly.

I blinked, wondering if I should fill out the form now or think on my decision. Except I was placing an inquiry, not signing on for six months. And what was there to think about? This place was a revelation. I’d always wanted to visit the Muskokas. The fetish angle was icing on the fucking cake.

It also meant I’d have to give up these goddamn cigarettes. I’m sure the BCR didn’t allow smoking on its premises. More and more, smoking was becoming a forbidden activity, every-fucking-where.

The questionnaire asked for my contact details—name, age, address, email, phone #—the regular stuff. Then it asked why I was interested in the BCR.

I thought for a moment, then typed: I am very interested in exploring the world of animal role-play in such a professional and comprehensive setting. I am experienced in the world of BDSM and pride myself on being willing to experience new things.

I had to upload a recent full-body photo so spent about thirty minutes trying to locate one. The men in the photos had been stunningly attractive in their pony gear. The BCR obviously had high standards when it came to physical attractiveness.

I’d certainly never had any complaints. I was in the prime of my life, kept fit and active, and came from good-looking people. My genes were decent, and I felt like I could, maybe, compete with the men in the photos if only in a superficial way. I wasn’t at all sure how good I would be at playing pony. I figured they’d have to teach me. That was the point, right?

I finished filling out the form and hit Submit.

Then I bookmarked the website and closed my browser, wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.

*

Two days later I received the following email:

Dear Mr. Lipke,

Thank you for your interest in the Braided Crop Ranch. Generally, new applicants are put onto a comprehensive waiting list and notified when a spot opens. However, we have had a cancellation for our summer session. If you are available to attend the ranch from June 25 to August 6, we can add you to the session.

I realize this is very short notice but you had indicated your availability to be fairly open. If you can’t attend the summer session, we will add you to the waiting list, and you should be able to visit the ranch within the next six months.

Please advise ASAP as to your preference as we will need some paperwork completed posthaste for a June 25 intake. Thank you for your interest.

Sincerely,

Adam Marsland

The Braided Crop Ranch

341 Stellar Private

Muskoka, Ontario

I stared at my computer with wide eyes and an uncomfortable boner for ten minutes. June twenty-fifth was only two weeks away, but if I didn’t take this spot it could be months before I’d have a chance to find my inner pony. Could I arrange to go on leave from my job at this late notice?

Yes. Yes, I could. If they didn’t let me take the time off, I’d fucking quit. I could get another IT job in a second.

After several moments, I typed:

Mr. Marsland,

Thank you for the offer to attend the summer session at the Braided Crop Ranch. I will book the time off work so I will be able to do so. There won’t be any problem, even at this late notice. I appreciate you accommodating me so quickly, and I look forward to completing my intake information.

I am very excited about the opportunity to spend six weeks at your ranch.

Sincerely,

Owen Lipke

I sent the message, and by dinnertime I had the paperwork to fill out. I paid my membership fee, and it was a done deal. In two weeks, I’d embark on the biggest adventure of my life.

*

Later that evening, I texted Tamara.

Me: So, I’m going to the ranch in two weeks. They had a cancellation.

Tam: Don’t mess with me, Owen.

Me: I’m dead serious. I’ve filled out the paperwork and everything. It’s…pretty comprehensive. I had to check off my hard and soft limits. It asked if I was okay with anal toys and anal play.

Tam: Shocked face emoji. Did you check off All The Toys and All The Play?

Me: Uh, yeah. Of course.

Tam: Wait, what are your hard limits?

Me: Actually, it’s stuff they don’t do anyway. They had a list of activities, and I had to check off what I was prepared to do and what I wasn’t prepared to do. There wasn’t anything on that list that I wasn’t prepared to do. In fact, now I’m really, really, excited about going.

Tam: Squee!!! I will need daily updates from you. They have cell service, right?

Me: They do but we hand over our phones and they keep them locked at the main house. We theoretically have access whenever, but they encourage us to only use them once a week and we can’t take them out of the main building. It’s better to disconnect as much as possible from the real world. It’s mostly so they can keep us from posting photos, which I understand.

Tam: Well then. I’d better get weekly updates, Owen. I’m so excited for you!

Me: Good. Because my car finally died yesterday and I’m going to need a ride. It’s about four and a half hours away.

Tam: ME ME ME ME ME!!!

Now I’d have a road trip with Tamara to look forward to and a six-week leave of absence from my job to explore my kinky fetishes in a safe and exciting place.

*

It was easy to book the time off work. The job I’d had for five years would be waiting for me when I returned. When asked, I said I was going on an all-inclusive vacation at a resort in Northern Ontario. That was all they were getting, and it was mainly true. I didn’t go into the details of exactly what was included and nobody asked, likely assuming they were the standard things: meals, drinks and accommodation.

Once my payment cleared and my intake papers were accepted, Mr. Marsland emailed me:

Mr. Lipke,

Welcome aboard! We look forward to seeing you on June 25. When you arrive, buzz in at the gate and come on through. We provide free parking on-site for the duration of your stay. My office is in the main house and that is where you need to report when you arrive. I’ll take things from there.

Cheers,

Adam Marsland

I thanked my lucky stars and the universe for hooking up with Sandro that night, because if I hadn’t, I’d never have found out about this place. For the first time in years, I felt excited about something.