Recalcitrant Pony Boy 3: The Trainer

Title: Recalcitrant Pony Boy 3: The Trainer
Series: Recalcitrant Pony Boy #3

There’s a new racing pony in Master Iain’s stable, and it’s up to Landon to turn him into a champion. But gaining Mink’s trust proves harder than he expects. Can Landon train his pony to the track, or will Mink’s past keep him from racing to his full potential? An erotic story of a trainer and his pony, set in a fantasy world of toys, pony play, and a master/slave dynamic.


Also in this series: Recalcitrant Pony Boy, Recalcitrant Pony Boy 2: The Show, Recalcitrant Pony Boy 4: The Groom

I knew I was lucky, to be a slave yet have the respect my skills and abilities deserved; luckier still to have a master who I respected in turn. I’ve known Master Iain for close to thirty years now, and time has reduced the gap between our ages. We were even, perhaps, friends, as much as a master and slave can be.

It was the quiet time before the evening feed. The ponies were resting and the grooms were cleaning tack or scrubbing down the wash stalls. My footsteps echoed down the row of stalls. I’ve lived here since Master Nicholas bought me as a young groom, and I can’t imagine not waking to the smells of fresh straw and polished wood, well-used leather and the earthy scent of the soap we use to wash the ponies.

I stopped at a familiar stall. He saw me at the door and made a pleased sound that was almost a whicker. He rose from the straw where he’d been resting and leaned against the stall door next to me.

I bit off a piece of the apple I’d brought with me, taking it from my mouth to hold to his lips. He took it carefully, chewing slowly, licking the juice from my fingers when he was done.

His hair had gone to gray now, catching up with mine, and the lines on his face were carved a little deeper each year. But he was as beautiful to me now as he was then, when I’d been a young groom and he a young pony. It was startling sometimes to realize just how much time had passed.

I fed him half the apple, bite by bite, eating the other half myself. He nuzzled his lips to mine when it was done, and I tasted the tartness of the apple. I would have liked to have lingered, perhaps whiled away some time in his stall—it had been months since I’d last been with him, with one thing or another, and I could see that he’d missed me.

But self-indulgence is a game for younger men. I left my Beauty with another kiss and the apple core in his feed dish to chew on later.