“Cesar, pet, come in here and attend to me.”

The boy had just climbed out of the shower and already these people were after him to perform for them. The fourteen-year-old Mestizo boy looked over on the counter where he put the bitless halter, belt with a horse’s tail, and knee pads before stepping into the shower.

Should he put those on before going into the bedroom, or not? He was on shaky ground here. He’d taken Marin and Felix to the edge the previous night with his outburst—wanting more space, more time for myself, being able to get away by himself for a while—asking to be permitted to visit his grandmother in La Ceiba and asking for his own handheld Gamer V gaming system and time on his own to play with it. He thought it had come to them as a shock—they had pulled him out of the Honduras slums and given him a life of comfort, in their view—but it shouldn’t have.

The men had met this outburst from the boy by ignoring it. They had put him between them in bed last night, both of them petting him, both of them fondling him, both of them fucking him. Like that was going to make it all better.

Before he could decide whether to put on the pony gear, the big, black, twenty-eight-year-old Jamaican, Felix, magnificently and muscularly naked, had come into the bathroom, taken the gear from the counter, and handed it to Cesar. After the boy buckled the pony gear back on and knotted a bath towel around his waist, he came to the door between the bathroom and the bedroom. Martin, British, somewhat effete, rich, fiftyish, fighting hard to remain fit and almost succeeding, was sitting on the foot of the bed, naked, legs spread, fingering his erection.

“Drop the towel, sweety. Show me you want me.”

Cesar unknotted and dropped the towel to the floor. Of course he was half hard. He was young and virile and constantly horny. He also had embraced the fetish that had swept the colony of expatriate wealthy gay men on the resort coast of Honduras—pony play involving young, handsome fourteen-year-old Mestizo boys, who were legal in Honduras, in which the age of consent was fourteen. That’s why Martin and his boyfriend, Felix, had Cesar here, serving their coffee and drinks, cleaning their pool, making their bed, lying in their bed, entertaining them, flicking his tail as a pony for them.

“Come here, pet,” Martin cooed. No, don’t walk. Go down on your knees, swish your tail, and crawl to me.

With a sigh, Cesar went down on his knees, Felix lifted a muscular leg over his hips, and the big black, shuffling along on his feet as he straddled the pony, rode Cesar to the bed. When Cesar reached the bed, nuzzling into between Martin’s thighs, Martin pulled the boy’s face into his crotch and Cesar took the man’s cock in his mouth and gave it suck. At length, Martin pulled Cesar up into his lap and onto his cock. After a full rises and descents on the cock, while Felix watched, the Jamaican crouched behind Cesar. Martin grasped the boy’s buttocks and spread and lifted them. Felix positioned his cockhead, moving the boy’s horse tail to the side, forced himself in, his cock sliding in on top of Martin’s, and the two men rode their pony together.

It wasn’t long until Martin pulled on the reins connected to Cesar’s halter, nudging the boy off the cocks and to the side. Cesar rolled out from between them and lay there on his back beside them, legs dangling to the floor, leaning back toward the surface of the bed, supported on one arm, while he stroked himself with the other hand and watched Felix lace his arms under Martin’s thighs, spreading them, nuzzling between them, penetrating Martin’s ass, and establishing the rhythm of the fuck.

Cesar as ponyboy wasn’t a goal in itself for Martin and Felix. It was foreplay for Martin being fucked by his big, black Jamaican bull fucktoy.

Cesar watched for a few minutes and then rolled off the bed, padded to the door into the corridor, and then to his own sometimes-occupied bedroom. He looked around from just a few minutes before picking up a beach towel, and still dressed in his pony gear, leaving the house and going down to the beach overlooking the Gulf of Honduras.

Martin and Felix’s pony play hadn’t been for Cesar, their pony. It had been for each other. He’d had to take care of his own needs. He didn’t mind being a pony, but he wanted a man to ride him to his completion. If Martin and Felix wouldn’t take care of him, there were men who could. The area around the seaside town of Corozai was an international enclave for men wanting fourteen-year-old boys, which was legal in Honduras, and riding boys as ponies was a current fetish here. If Martin and Felix wouldn’t ride him to release, there were men here who would. And Cesar was in a rebellious mood.

Not far up the beach was a section, among high, grasses-covered dunes, where people went nude and where men met men for brief encounters. Cesar could still see Martin’s beachside villa from here, in the far distance. The boy was still within certain bounds.

Cesar found a spot in a low-lying area, within the glimpse of the higher path in the dunes for those knowing what they were looking for. Although near where the waters of the Gulf of Honduras broke onto the shore, the area was out of sight of the water’s edge. He spread the towel, slip off his pony gear, and laid down on his back, legs spread and bent, feet flat on the sand, his hand slowly stroking himself, and waited for a man to cover, penetrate, and ride him to release.

He don’t have long to wait. He was young, dark, lightly muscled, willowy—very youthful. He’d never had trouble attracting men—and I don’t have trouble now. As soon as he had lain down, the chosen pathway for men, most of them nude, to traverse the seashore became down through the depression where he lay rather than along the top of the dunes. Most of the men—most old and wrinkled—just smiled and ogled him as they passed by. Increasingly, though, they became bolder, and several walked by him more than once. As soon as one had been brave enough to stop by him and squat and talk to him, there were others doing the same.

Then, when one reached out and took Cesar’s cock in hand and stroked it as he murmured to the boy, there were men in evidence everywhere, walking more slowly, stopping and ogling—at the edge of the depression and down from the walk across the dunes.

The first couple of men just gave a few friendly strokes and went on. But one, who had returned, squatted for longer, and while he stroked Cesar, the boy reached over and took the man’s cock in his hand and stroked him. The man was younger, in better shape, than most who had walked by. The man leaned in closer and down and took Cesar’s cock in his mouth. Leaning to the man and giving a low moan and moving into a sixty-nine position, Cesar licked the man’s cockhead and then took the shaft inside his mouth. The circling oglers moved in closer.

An older man was standing close to the sixty-nining pair. He was better looking and in much better physical shape than most of the old men who have passed by. He had a mane of gray hair, a trimmed gray beard and mustache, a slightly hirsute body, the hair on his chest and his pubes shot with darker-colored hair than that on his head. He was of a substantial guild, but his skin wasn’t wrinkled. He obviously still dedicated attention to his body, working out regularly. His eyes were a startling light blue and he had a deep, overall tan. A tattoo swirled around the contours of his chest, his breasts not yet sagging, but, despite the tattoo, he looked like a man in command and with money.

He was in erection, with a shaft somewhat oversized and plump balls, and he had that in hand and was stroking it as he watched the younger man and the boy sixty-nine. The younger man and Cesar took each other to an ejaculation, and, when they were finished, Cesar laid back on the sand, with a satisfied sigh of having picked his own partner for a release, as the younger man rose and strutted off.

The older man remained, standing below the stretched-out, luxuriating body of Cesar. The older man slow stroked his erection and looking down at Cesar with a lust-filled expression. Thei eyes met and held. Cesar extend his arms, welcoming attention from the man, signaling that Cesar was in control, that all decisions were his.

This was not the man’s style, though. Coming down beside Cesar on his knees, the man flipped Cesar over on his belly. He reached over, picking up the pony gear from the sand beside the boy’s towel, and manhandled Cesar as he geared him up as a pony. Cesar didn’t resist. This was what he wanted, a man to control and ride him.

When Cesar was fully outfitted as a pony again, the man put an arm under the boy’s waist, lifting him up on his hands and knees. Cesar set himself in the pony position. The man mounted him, penetrated, and rode him hard to mutual ejaculations.

When the man had come inside the pony, breeding him, he pulled out, stood, and extended a hand to Cesar. The boy docilely put his hand in the hand of the man, who pulled Cesar up and guided the boy to the top of the beach, a hand cupping Cesar’s bare buttocks, like the boy was some sort of stray he was taking home until he could find who owned him, where the pony was stabled. His villa, even more luxurious than Martin’s was, was nearby, on a cliff above the beach.

The man, identifying himself as Reinhard, an Austrian, lay on his back on a beach lounger while Cesar swam laps in his pool. When the boy came out of the pool, Reinhard said, “Here, come to me, Cesar. No, on your knees, please. Crawl to me. Be my little jockey now. Ride my cock.”

With a sigh, Cesar went to him on his knees, lowered himself over the man’s thighs, took Reinhard’s cock in his mouth, and gave him head. When the man was ready, Cesar saddled himself on Reinhard’s hips, facing him, and rode the man’s cock to his ejaculation. Cesar held his palms over the swirl of tattoo on the man’s pecs, and Reinhard twisted and pinched the boy’s nipples as Cesar groaned and breathed heavily, taking the man’s mastery and his cum.

Later, Reinhard’s Filipino houseboy served dinner on the terrace as they watched the sun set over the gulf. Then Reinhard took Cesar to his room, to his bed, and fucked him through the night. He put the halter on the boy, and guided him along to his bed, fucking him first beside the bed, with Cesar holding in the pony position, ass waving in the air, cheek and chest plastered to the carpet, and Reinhard mounted high on his hips, fucking him vigorously.

There is no sign that Reinhard would give Cesar his own bedroom in this villa larger than Martin’s was. Cesar would be stabled in Reinhard’s bed.

The next day Reinhard took Cesar shopping for clothes. He had some at his villa already to fit the boy well enough, so Cesar didn’t have to go shopping in a pony halter and a beach towel around his waist. The nearest town, Corozai, was in walking distance of his villa, and Reinhard, despite his age, was a vigorous walker, as he is in other ways. Cesar wasn’t wearing his pony gear, but Reinhard was always there, close by, usually lightly touching the boy somewhere, so Cesar felt the control. The town was big enough to have a good men’s clothier who can tailor clothes quickly, so Cesar was outfitted in a jockey’s uniform as well as some other good-quality casual clothes. Reinhard didn’t tell the boy why he needed a jockey outfit. They stopped in a pharmacy, where Cesar was supplied with toiletries and Reinhard bought condoms. This surprised Cesar, as the man had barebacked him up to now. Reinhard’s explanation at Cesar’s quizzical look was “For tomorrow.”

The boy didn’t pursue that point, as the two said very little to each other and Reinhard didn’t seem to think Cesar needed to know what they’d be doing from minute to minute. As they moved around in two, he guided the Honduran boy with his hands, and often registered surprise that Cesar could talk when Reinhard said something. Reinhard didn’t speak Spanish and Cesar didn’t speak German, but they were able to converse in English. Everyone tried to learn English. Hondurans took it in school and Reinhard apparently was a wealthy international businessman, so English was necessary to him.