“Well, we certainly think so,” said Mr. Marsland. “And I’m pretty sure at least a couple of our ponyboys will get a kick out of being tended to by a real cowboy.”
Home, home on the range. Where the kinksters and the ponyboys play.
I smiled weakly. “Well, if you’re not prejudiced against real cowboys, I guess I’m not bothered by not looking after real horses. At least, I can try the job out.”
Was I nuts? Was I really going to do this?
I looked at the photo again, feeling my cock swell more and my brain explode.
Yes. Yes, I was.
Mr. Marsland looked like a huge weight had been lifted from him. He sank back in his chair and let out a relieved laugh. “Okay, I need a goddamn drink.”
“Me too,” Connor said, standing up and heading for a cupboard in the corner of the office.
“Same,” I said weakly.
“Scotch?” Connor said as he peered into the cupboard.
“The good stuff, Connor.”
When we each had a glass of Mr. Marsland’s Macallan in hand, Mr. Marsland raised his, clinked it with mine, and then Connor’s.
“To our new employee, Jensen Moriarty. May he find looking after our ponyboys to be as rewarding as tending to the beautiful Arabians of his imagination. And much more stimulating.”
I almost choked on the potent liquor as my mind swirled with images of handsome, rugged men in nothing but cock cages and scuffed Doc Martens.
Chapter Two
“I want to explain the business model behind the ranch. It’s important for you to know because we all have a place and you’ll see how the BCR makes money.”
“Okay.”
The pleasing burn from the aged scotch tickled the back of my nose as Mr. Marsland, who had told me to call him Adam, explained how the ranch was set up.
“I manage the ranch. I’m an employee under the owner, who visits occasionally but not often. We keep in touch through email and an occasional phone call. I employ four trainers and four stable hands—you’ll make a fifth until Brian leaves for his master’s degree. We’re paid a yearly salary. I believe I already quoted you a level.”
I nodded.
“We are employees of the Braided Crop Ranch. The ponyboys, the men who come here to be treated like animals, are actually members of the BCR. We operate as a private club. We have service members—the ponyboys—and guest members.”
“I mean, I have seen some of this stuff online. I never thought I’d actually…”
“Encounter pony play in reality? Jensen, this is going to blow your mind.” Adam looked me over, taking in my traditional cowboy get-up. “If your mind is open enough to take it.”
I smiled weakly. “Here’s hoping.”
I knew my mind was open enough, but I worried my body would betray me every step of the way. Now the shock had worn off, and the scotch had mellowed my nerves, the appeal of the job began to come into focus.
I’d hoped to be privy to the benefits of watching some hot cowboys working around the ranch and getting down and dirty with some honest labor. But those faceless men of my imagination had been clothed and not voluntarily submitting to the treatments offered here at the BCR. I didn’t know what those activities were exactly, but I could guess.
The situation was so strange and unexpected. I was a little surprised I took this stuff in so eagerly and adapted so readily to the thought of this new reality. Go figure. I keep surprising myself.
“Our guest members pay a yearly fee based on how often they want to visit. There’s a well-appointed resort with twelve large suites facing the lake. The resort is open daily, but the ranch and stables are only accessible to our guest members on weekends. It’s enough to attract a regular clientele who enjoy being pampered during the week and experiencing the unique nature of the ranch on weekends.
“If they only want to come twice a year, they pay the lowest fee. If they want to come for four weeks per year, they pay at the next level. Our blue-ribbon members can stay up to eight weeks per year, meals included. We pride ourselves on offering both a unique and elite experience,” Marsland explained with pragmatic frankness.
I blinked, trying to wrap my head around the idea. “Okay. So, when they are here, what can they do?”
