Chapter 6

He was my age, maybe older, with thick blond

hair that fell across his brow with a wanton carelessness. A

practiced shake of his head flipped the bangs from his piercing

blue eyes. He had high cheekbones and smooth skin and full, pouty

lips that hovered at the edge of a smile. If pre-Raphaelite artists

had had someone like thisto paint, they would have never

bothered with women in the first place.

A grin finally broke through one corner of

those perfect lips. “I’m Phillip,” he told me, holding out a hand.

When I didn’t take it, he grabbed one of my hoof-shaped gloves and

shook it. “Phillip Ross. Listen, I’m really sorry about what

happened back there. This is your first time, right? We’re not all

like that.”

I watched him stand, leaning back to keep him

in sight, turning when he step out of the stall so that I wouldn’t

lose him. He wore leather breeches and a supple, sleeveless

shirt—black, of course, the color of the day. The breeches were

tight enough to show off sculpted buttocks. Entranced, I watched

their movement as he crossed the stable to take a first aid kit

from the wall. Then he grabbed a handful of supplies from a table

before coming back to me. When he knelt beside me again, his

motions were as fluid as water poured into a glass. He dumped the

supplies in front of us. A towel, a bottle of something marked

Hoof Lotion, a soft-bristled brush, the first aid kit.

Opening the kit, he took out a small tube of ointment and squeezed

a little of the clear gel onto his fingertips. “You’ve got a few

cuts,” he told me, touching the cool gel to my shoulder. The

ointment burned. When I pulled away, his other hand instantly found

my face to stroke my cheek. “Shhhh, it’s okay. Let me take care of

you. It’s okay.”

His fingers rubbed along my cheek, my chin,

below. I found myself leaning into his touch, letting my head slip

back like a pampered pet so he could stroke my neck and chest.

Between my legs, my cock began to stir for the first time all day

as those fingers danced over the straps of my tack and massaged my

nipples, lower, my abdomen, lower. They brushed over the

fabric of my jock that now strained across the beginnings of an

erection and moved down one thigh to the knee, over to the other

leg and back up again. The second time they found my crotch, all

pretense disappeared, and Phillip closed his fist around my now

aching dick as he concentrated on the cuts and bruises on my

back.

“You like that?” he murmured into my ear. I

nodded, eyes closed against his ministrations. He worked me hard,

his fingers sliding over the jock as they followed the shape of my

shaft, easing a few times between my thighs to rub at my sheathed

balls. “How could someone be so cruel to you?” he wanted to know.

“You’re just a skittish little colt.”

My eyes flew open. So we were still playing

thatgame. But if it kept him touching me, I’d be a pony.

I’d be anything he wanted, anything at all, if it meant his hands

on my body, his breath on my cheek.

“Were you even groomed properly?” Phillip

wanted to know. The bit in my mouth kept me from answering, but I

didn’t think he wanted a reply. Reaching for the bottle of lotion,

he asked, “Can you get on all fours for me? Don’t worry, I won’t

hurt you.”

I could stand on my head if he asked. I

settled for getting on my hands and knees and waited to see where

he wanted to go with this. The stall wasn’t big enough for me to

move around much, so we’d have a short ride if he decided to climb

on my back. But the thought of him straddling me, even if there was

nothing remotely sexual about it, made my dick sing.

“Good boy,” Phillip whispered. He slathered

lotion between his hands and began to rub it onto my back in long,

slow movements. Over my shoulders, down my spine, working around

the leather straps of my tack. Into my sides, my hips, down my

thighs and back up again. More lotion on my shoulders, down each

arm. Then, standing above me, he leaned over and rubbed both hands

across my chest, his breath hot against the back of my neck. Sit

down,I prayed as he worked his way back to the ache in my

groin. I wanted to feel his ass cradled in the small of my back,

see if there was a hardness in the front of his breeches that

matched the throb of my cock. He scooted down a bit, hands on my

stomach now, slipping over my skin. Just shy of my crotch, he stood

up for more lotion and I almost howled in frustration. I wanted

this dumb outfit I wore out of the way so that I could just roll

over and offer myself to him, I wanted him that badly, I

neededhim, and the tease of his grooming was torture.