by Peter Loaf
The shore deserted, our private isle
The sulky pulling, in pony style
My breath is showing
Tired muscles slowing
His whip is cracking, another mile
My hoof boots marking, the virgin sand
Digging for traction, Master’s demand
Sprinting for stable
Fast as I’m able
The cracker snapping, my cool down planned
A warm up session, most every morn
My pony getup, is always worn
Hoof boots and rigging
Nipple weights digging
Three miles of beaches, paid for by porn
The seagulls screaming, fighting for food
Subbie lust creaming, I’m in the mood
Bare tits and pussy
Dripping and juicy
Tail in my colon, coated with crude
The sand is hardest, closest to foam
Dreaming and scheming, sprinting for home
The trail is turning
My muscles burning
Cobblestone causeway, the distant dome
Spit-of-sand castle, out on a rock
Crossing the draw bridge, my thoughts of cock
Clippy clop drumming
Subbie lust humming
My morning mating, in for a shock
Cameramen waiting, “Quiet the set!”
“Lights camera action, she’s nice and wet”
High hot and ready
I’m working steady
Pony Girl Follies, the job to get
