This story contains graphic content and potential trauma cues for sensitive readers. This is purely a work of fiction, by and for consenting adults. Any resemblance to real people or entities is unintended and purely coincidental.
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Chapter 1: Gain the Horse's Trust.
The rope slipped from my hand as the horse reeled on its hind legs.
"Mom!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, "Why are we bothering with this? Why can't we just pay someone to help?"
My father had died in the prior year, leaving my mother and I without any help to manage our small Kentucky stable. Our family was known for raising some of the best racehorses in the country. But since my father's passing just a year prior, and with a mountain of medical and funeral bills, we couldn't afford to hire any help. It was up to my mother and I to raise and train these powerful, magnificent animals.
My mother, who was teaching me to lead the horses, didn't answer immediately. I could tell when she was angry based on how she called me. She used my full name, 'Oliver Lynn Anderson,' when I was in trouble. But when she adopted her more usual, caring persona, it was just 'Olly.'
"Olly," she began, "You're right that it's just you and I now. And the next few years are going to be extremely tough. But you don't need muscle to get these horses to obey you. Your father went over this before he passed. Tell me, Son, how do we break a horse?"
I sighed. My father had made me memorize the process of breaking an animal's spirit, domesticating it to use for humans' goals. It was a hard thing to do to an animal, and I understood why animal rights activists were against it. But I was raised in that culture, and too young (and too stupid) to question it.
I recited the list to my mother. That list that my father drilled into me since boyhood.
(1) Gain the trust of your horse.
(2) Use unrelenting pressure to stop bad behavior.
(3) Reward good behavior.
(4) Create habits.
(5) Teach in small, incremental steps.
"Good!" My mother looked elated at my recitation. I later realized that she was exercising the third tenet of horse breaking when she looked so elated for me, and the fourth tenat when she made me recite them.
My mother continued, "Now take the reins again. Use gentle, but unrelenting pressure. You don't have to be big and strong to control a big and strong animal. Just follow those tenets."
For the next several years, I became more than proficient at breaking and training horses. So much so, that our horses boasted a string of successes. Eventually, my father's residual medical and funeral costs were paid off, we were able to rehire employees, and business started booming.
I skillfully applied the tenets of breaking horses. Any one of these animals could have launched my wiry frame into the air with an effortless kick. But I was firm. I was confident. I was clear about what behaviors would be rewarded. I was patient. Thus, I learned to control animals much larger and much more powerful than myself.
When I put my will toward mastering an animal, it often became an obsession. In a way that I didn't understand until later in life, I would latch onto the beast emotionally until I bent it to my will. Strangely, it became a power trip to dominate something larger and more powerful than myself. Later, this obsession toward dominance would seep into my sex and romantic life.
When I graduated from high school, I decided to attend a local university to earn a business degree. My mother was sad to see me go. But I planned to come back to our growing ranch after I graduated and continue running the family business. I hoped that, eventually, we could afford for my mother to retire and for me to manage the business affairs full time. She had worked herself to the bone supporting the business while raising me, and I felt that she needed the break.
I also knew that, physically, I wasn't built for continued manual labor. Despite years of stable work, I was covered in thin, wiry muscles at best. At 5'9", my scrawny frame weighed 135 lbs. at most. I was not built to carry massive bails of hay for my entire life.
To complicate matters, my mother dreamed that I would find a wife in college that I would take home to support and to grow a family with. And she wasn't shy about this dream. Whenever I hung out with a girl with whom I developed a friendship (most of my friends seemed to be women), my mother would drop conspicuous hints about someone to settle down with her 'handsome boy.'
I didn't know how to tell her that I wasn't interested in women.
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During my first week of university, I became friends with Cindy, a girl from my Intro to Business course. Cindy was a boring, basic cheerleader type. At first, I had little interest in her vapid life story. But she had an unintentional skill of making me laugh with her ridiculous remarks.
I was surprised that she never caught on to the fact that I mainly hung out with her to privately laugh at her and because I was interested in the boys who chased her. When a twink like me tells you that "Oh my god, I'm
obsessed
with you," it's not a compliment.
Shortly into the school year, Cindy brought me to a party at her sorority. Did I judge her for her involvement in that circle, along with its ridiculous obsession with arbitrary arrangements of Greek letters and chants? Yes. Was I disgusted by the vapid frat bros who were only admitted to the university based on their sports prowess or familial connections? Yes. But did I desperately want to fuck most of those boys? Also, yes.
I was standing with Cindy and her friends, holding a cheap, fizzy drink when
he
approached.
He
was a stallion if I'd ever seen one. He was easily 6'3" tall, maybe taller. He was built like a linebacker; I could see his chest and abdominal muscles rippling through his much-too-tight shirt. His jeans were ill-fitted, but I could see an impressive bulge undercutting his fly. His dishwater-blond hair was tastefully disheveled. And I felt like I could get lost in his hazel eyes.
He approached Cindy with the confident swagger of a stud horse. I could almost visualize his massive member swinging in his pants as he sauntered through the crowd.
"Hi there!" He reached his hand toward Cindy for a handshake. "I'm Brock. Are you new here?"
