From the author: Her master demands that she live as a horse, and she lives to obey. But she can only earn her master ultimate trust, and learn the secret of his true identity, once she commits past the point of no return. (Warning: erotica.)
[CONTENT WARNING: This story is erotica and contains explicit sexual situations.]
He moved his hand beneath my chin, grasping my bridle and forcing my head up. "Are you ready, girl?"
I inhaled, the stable's scent of old wood and new hay curling into my nose, mingling with the bitter taste of the bit on my tongue. I said nothing. Ponies don't talk.
He let go and walked around me for a final inspection. His hands ran over my body as he moved, over the white spandex that covered my skin—tightly so over my hands and feet, balling them up and forcing them into hooves. He reached beneath the saddle to my butt plug tail, tousling the sprout of horsehair, then grasping the base and pulling playfully. I gasped but held it in. Good ponies keep in their tails.
Anticipating his desire, I moved to my hands and knees, bracing hooves and knee pads against the floor, eager to accept his weight.
But then he took off my saddle.
I looked over a shoulder. Bareback? But he only knelt there, stroking me, warming the silky spandex beneath his hands. "Do you like being my pony, girl?"
I whinnied yes.
"More than anything?"
"Would you stay in my stable forever?"
Yes again. It was a rhetorical question; I was already staying in his stable forever. I slept here, ate here, shat on hands and knees in the pasture outside; accepted him as rider and master; got up on two legs and pulled his cart around the estate, prancing proudly in my feathers and bells.
"I'm going to make you my white pony, girl. The others already have their horses, and they're outside, waiting."
Electricity poured through me. I shuddered and cried out; my spandex split, and cool air hit my skin. My head throbbed, and I instinctively shook off the bridle; my joints throbbed, and the knee pads somehow slid off. My whole body trembled in alarm. I tried to curl up, but danced atop the floorboards instead, hardened hooves pounding the wood. I cried out again, but this was not a noise from a human throat.
I reared in panic.
My body was gigantic, powerful, carrying me high and proud. I cut air with frantic hooves, and saw a vista of stable all around me with my new, wide-set eyes. When I dropped to all-fours, the floor boomed.
He immediately mounted me. His hard weight pressed insistently onto my back, forcing me down and reminding me of my place. I panted and stilled. Familiar fingers curled possessively into my mane, and when I looked over my shoulder, he was smiling and reaching back with his other hand.
"You still kept in your tail," he said. "Silly girl. You don't need a false one, now."
He pulled it out and discarded it onto the floor. I snorted. He laughed and faced forward again, and I noticed that he was now wearing a crown and carrying a recurve bow—and an empty quiver.
He squeezed his thighs in a stern command. I trotted from the stable, out into daylight, thrilling at the lightness and power in my new, perfect body.
Outside, three other horsemen were waiting: one on a red horse, one on a black horse, and one on a pale horse.
My master swatted my flank with a crop. "Come on, girl. The four of us have a lot of work to do."
This story originally appeared in the Circlet Press website.
From a mechanical forest that constructs itself to the streets of Kyoto 8,000 years hence, the sometimes whimsical, sometimes cutting short fiction of KJ Kabza has been dubbed “Delightful” (Locus Online) and “Very clever, indeed” (SFRevu). Collecting all of his work published before May 2011 (plus 5 new stories, notes on the stories, and an interview by Julia Rios), IN PIECES offers glimpses into other worlds—some not unlike your own.
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