FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Felix are you kidding?"

As his boot came down on the shovel blade, Oscar shook his head. The stall smelled enough of horse dung to more than earn their not-quite-minimum wage.

In Felix's hand was a vial of horse semen.

It was labeled 'Pecker 6/17/2016,' the yellowish fluid filling half the vial. Oscar hadn't been sure why the farmer had bothered to label it with the horse's name, Pecker was the only stallion, as farmer loved to regale, because he simply woke up one morning and found him using what gave him his name with his mares. He was almost jealous of the horse's legendary and tiny refractory period.

"Come on, fifty bucks, fifty bucks says you can't drink this stuff."

"Zero bucks says I won't drink that stuff."

"Come on man! Where's the fun in the money if we can't blow it on something?"

"You think it's so fun you drink it, you can pay yourself the fifty bucks and get a free horse STD."

Oscar thought he would to do it, just for spite. Then he saw a smile crossing Felix's lips, the kind of smile that reminded him of serial killer mugshots: "A hundred bucks."

Oscar shook his head. "You wouldn't, that's almost half your wage for the week."

"I would, hundred bucks, drink some horse jizz and it's yours."

He scoffed. "Show me the money."

Felix reached into his back pocket and pulled out a neat stack of twenties. He let his fingers run straight over the edge of the bills and splayed them out. One hundred. "What's a horse STD worth to you?"

Oscar stared. An extra hundred would have been very nice, but wasn't that big of a deal compared to the very real prospect of being fired if the farmer found out about it. Or aforementioned horse diseases.

Oscar grabbed the vial and popped the cork. He sighed and took a minute to breathe deep. "Money, in my hand, right now."

Felix's eyes widened and he shoved the wad into Oscar's hand. Oscar had his own wad in his mouth. A mix of salt, bleach and mucus assaulted his tongue. Very rarely had Oscar ever done something that was so clearly, immediately a bad idea. His throat rebelled against him, mixing some very faint bile. He managed to force all of it with an audible gulp.

Felix patted his shoulder. "Son of a bitch, you earned every cent, didn't think you had it in you."

Oscar sounded like a cat with a hairball. Felix laughed and shoved him back toward the piles of old hay and horse excrement. He feels a little strange, the fluid seeming to have coated his mouth with a heavy feeling, he wasn't entirely sure if that was something physical or mental. He'd been joking about horse STDs but for the rest of the day he prayed it was just a joke.

They met with the farmer, Carl Scoops of Scoops Family Agriculture. He was thin and straight out of Huck Finn with a brimmed hat over his eyes and overalls that were only blue around the straps for the collage of brown stains. "Well you both did well enough just from pokin' around, thank you kindly for your work." As said this he handed them both handfuls of straight cash and gave each a firm handshake.

Oscar didn't smile today, feeling a simmering in his gut. It was up to Felix to nearly laugh out "Yeah not a problem, any time."

Carl smiled back and nodded before noting Oscar's stoicism and letting his eyes wander a moment. The natural smile of his pepper chin fuzz dropped away "Neither of you... uh... Saw anything... Strange out there did you?"

He wanted to dissuade Carl, but he wouldn't move his lips for fear of either vomiting or the tingling, bitter taste of horse spunk growing stronger. Felix shook his head. "Nah, oh him? Don't worry, he just had something that didn't agree with him earlier."

The farmer laughed a little, "Oh, well, if yer not feeling up to makin' the journey home I have a spare bedroom'n the attic, the wife and the young ones'r out for the week so it'd just be you and me, but ya can stay as long as ya work."

Oscar thought about it, stirring in his gut and the prospect of riding with Felix for who knows how long and being teased about drinking horse cum. "That'll be fine, thank you very much sir."

Felix gave him a bit of a look but shrugged as he said his goodbyes and left. The farmer offered for dinner but the taste of horse emission on his lips helped him convince the old man he was turning in a little early.

Oscar's lips were tingling. His tongue felt heavy, a little dry and sticky. He rubbed at his cheeks to warm them. When he looked at his own face in the mirror of the bathroom just below the attic, he found his lips actually seemed a shade red. He didn't feel like he was going to be sick anymore, maybe.

He felt a little wave of disgust as he must have imagined his stomach growling was from horse spunk. He rubbed at his stomach and felt it bulge slightly, sticking out a little tense as he was wandering back upstairs. A small part of him spoke up: it wasn't that bad.

He shook his head. Better to just sleep, all this odd stuff will go away in the morning.

Oscar simply didn't remember waking up and putting on his clothes. It was as though he simply appeared in the living room. His back felt sore, a little stiff, but it was the strange lines in his skin. He didn't know how he'd slept so oddly. When he tried to rub one to relieve the tension it just pinched his shoulder.

He kept licking his lips too. They felt a little thick, dry, resistant against his tongue. It reminded him, very faintly, of the feeling of licking inside of a snorkel. He was staring over the breakfast Carl had prepared. It stirred his appetite about as much as a sign for an outhouse. Carl smiled up at him from behind his own fork.

"Eggs and bacon, m' own special brand, free of charge for Scoops Fam-ly Em-ploy-ees!"

Carl's smile faded as Emmanuel grabbed the milk. Not a glass, the pitcher. He tipped it back to chug in wet gulps that spilled over the corner of his thicker lips, running down his chin and fading somewhere into his shirt collar. He could actually feel the milk sort of drain into his stomach, as though splashing and pooling in plastic instead of flesh. When half of it was in his system he put it down with a 'clank' and went outside to his work.

While he was working the hay baler, Oscar noticed he didn't feel nearly as cold in the morning air. Even the cool milk didn't seem to chill him sloshing freely in his stomach, almost as though the organ had been replaced by a jug.

His arms were stiff at the joints, even cracking slightly at the elbows which he'd never experienced before. Working the bales took longer for him to lift even though they didn't weigh that much. His muscles didn't hurt, just felt weaker, like when he would pinch his thumb around his wrist for minutes at a time, just in his arms and legs.

He kept shaking it off, the logical explanation was simple: it was just fatigue from his new job. Give it a week of this and he'd probably be healthier.

He checks over the crop and waters a few of the smaller plots, feeds the chickens with all the care and dexterity of a scarecrow wrinkling it's nose, managed to let the cows out and herd them back in by actually moving slower than most of the bovines themselves, all while feeling nothing other than the hangers on of morning lethargy.

Oscar shook his head, trying to drive it out of his mind as he felt like he was being tugged toward the stables. He let the horses all out at once, no real point in doing otherwise as Pecker would just go crazy in the stall if he was left alone and the farmer let him have his way with the mares anyway. He patted the stallion's flank and said "Lucky bastard" as he picked up the pitchfork and shovel. He didn't even mind the smell.

Then there was the fridge. Just sitting there beside the stalls. Curiously contemporary in what could have otherwise been considered 'old timey.' He drew a little closer by inches.

Not that he liked the horse cum contained inside, but part of him wondered if that sticky taste stuck on his tongue was part of this, if maybe it was part of his numbness somehow, part of his ability to do farm work without feeling worn out. Normally it was laughable, but having experienced it himself he wasn't so sure anymore.

Before he could stop himself, his hand was on a vial. He thought of the milk he'd downed that morning. The tastes didn't seem all that dissimilar. He could actually feel his mouth salivating slightly as he imagined taking in more, just to try and make sure, maybe it would even help him out?

He tipped the vial back. It splattered on his tongue, the taste a little less strong this time. It almost tasted sweet, maybe from the numbness in his tongue. Somehow he felt much... better, in a way he couldn't quite describe, the closest analogy his dull mind could come up with was the Pavlovian hum of an older TV warming up.

He barely remembered returning to the farmer, mumbling a few words of thanks as the bills hit his hand. He tried shaking his fingers out a few times but they felt tingly and thick, practically useless. Maybe all that work was making him...

He had the word but it had left him entirely. He tried not to worry about it. He sniffed but his nose felt stuffed, not like he could smell very well anyway. He made it to the restroom, sliding open the door and seeming to strip off his pants. His insides felt a little strange so as he rubbed at his stomach and sat down. Nothing. No movement, it was as though nothing was connected. When he grabbed at himself his cock felt strange, a little too thin somehow, almost... brittle somehow? Like he was rubbing over a bone.

When he came back to the mirror he shook his head and zipped his pants up and, for some reason, decided not to wash his hands at all. Instead he stared at his face. His lips seemed... wider somehow. Maybe he'd been grimacing a little too much? His thoughts took a little longer to reach his brain somehow. His arms and legs felt weird, a little too stiff for all the work he'd done. He didn't notice his arms getting any more muscular either, and in fact his stomach seemed to stand out a little more, almost as though he were getting a little rounder. He did think he felt a little padded, his skin too thick, but somehow his thoughts were banished as he looked at his lips again.

They were darker on the inside. His mouth overall seemed less his usual pink and more a deep red. His teeth felt a little pressure from his gums. Clearly he needed to brush more. One of his fingers extended and started to prod the slightly swollen lips and pushed back into his mouth, feeling how it stretched and wobbled. For some reason, the sensation felt very good, just prodding and stretching himself open a little further, his jaw seeming to accommodate his hand. His eyes rolled up in his head, but he didn't care about seeing anything, just busily finding ways to fit his entire hand into his face.

"Excuse me!"

It was at that moment that Oscar realized that he was groaning against his hand. "Uh, yeah?"

"Are you doing okay in there? Need me to call a doctor?"

"Uh, no, no I'm fine, just, uh, give me a minute." When the old man seemed to go silent on the other side of the door he felt a little jolt of energy through his sluggish body, tip toeing his way up the attic like a he might have when he was twelve.

The tiny room that seemed kind of quaint the previous day seemed a little stifling today for reasons he couldn't quite articulate. Rather than fumble with the sheets or blankets, he landed like a wet sack on the bed and barely seemed to breathe, trying hard not to think of how his mouth was feeling, how nice it might feel to fill it with his fingers again.

It took some time for him to wake up. His hand felt slimy, fingers pushing hard into his lips. He felt the stickiness only because of the peeling sensation of his palm up against the rough texture of his face. He pinched hard at his cheeks and didn't feel anything.

His entire body felt like wearing a suit a size too small. He wasn't even sure if he'd even removed his clothes from the previous night. Just standing made his belly and his face feel loose while his limbs felt tight. He could barely flex his fingers and toes. He felt his mind buzzing to seek a rationalization, but the thought was caught in amber and forgotten.

When he went downstairs he didn't even speak to the farmer. He was finding it hard to remember the man's name. He just knew that he would give him money at the end of the day and that he had a tendency to stare at the lines in his skin and the rough texture of his face. He passed a man with a pink faux hawk, his name was... F-something. Famish? He said something and laughed but Oscar wasn't paying attention. Mentioning the way he'd kept himself busy for the past day or so, his hangover, seemed to squeak in and out of Oscar's ears.

"...and then she just started sucking me you know? Like out of nowhere all the sudden her lips were right around my dick, I mean wow I think she might be the one you know? Like-"

"She sucked your dick?!"

The guy nearly jumped and stared at him, as though somehow realizing he was there for the first time. "Uh, yeah, she did." He nodded and looked down to keep handling hay into the baler. The man with the faux hawk stared at him. "You okay Oscar?"

He didn't stop as he kept putting the prongs of the pitchfork straight into the hay and feeding it into the baler. "What? Who?"

Faux hawk guy was silent after that. He was kind of thankful, the sounds coming out of his mouth were fairly annoying. There were points where he would stop and stare at nothing and only seem to come out of it when there was a long, particularly sticky gob of drool would touch his shirt and make it slightly moist.

Once again led by a vague sense of certainty, he shuffled along his chores to taking care of the crops, which in this case meant spraying over them with a hose. Rather than checking the soil it was more muscle memory. He felt hunched over a lot of the time, his back sticking straight but his hips seeming to want to push him forward. For a moment it occurred to him that it might look odd, but it was comfortable. Bending over made him think of the story about the faux hawk man, about sucking.

When he started toward the stables he felt this warm, throbbing, constant pressure near his lips. He would try to ignore it for long stretches only to find his graying finger sliding up against his plush cheek and running the edges of his lips. It was an absolutely childish thing to do, not to mention unsanitary, but these were words beyond his state of mind.

He rubbed his abdomen and rather than feeling a familiar six pack and the regular squish of internal organs, he felt something a little harder, less pliable, rounded with a corner poking where his guts should be. He felt little spots, stretch marks, etched around his belly button, the same shape as his pants seams.

Faux hawk guy is nowhere to be found near the precious stables. The smell of horse manure and the slight musky scent of stallion seemed to bring him to life. He was quick and careful, herding the horses out of their stalls and doing just enough shoveling to make it seem as though someone had done the full jobs. When he'd done as much as he could stand he turned toward the fridge and the shovel dropped from his hands. The fingers in his joints grasped, making little odd popping and squeaking sounds. His breathing grew a little faster.

Just as he thought about this the fridge was opening in his hand. He found a vial and slid it into his palm. He stopped with hair-prickling dread sinking into his larger, maybe hollow gut. He couldn't do this. He was sure this would be the turning point, if he took this one he wouldn't be able to stop. Or was it a while ago? His thoughts felt fuzzy until he could taste the bitter and even more sweet horse cum on his lips. It was always so cold, he would have preferred it warm and gushing.

He started thinking about the horse cock, how thick it would be, filling out his lips and pressing down into the cavernous throat. Just imagining it made his lips twitch and salivate.

He reached down to grope at himself but his fingers couldn't seem to find his own dick through his clothes. Flattening his palm out after so much work would be nigh on impossible but he tried, rubbing and finding nothing. So instead, he pulled at his lips, feeling them stretch over his mouth as his tongue lapped and seemed to taste something rubbery alongside the horse semen. Prodding his cheek with his tongue he felt how stretchy and pliable he was. He rubbed his throat and was sure it felt tight and ready to feel something inside.

He wandered toward the farmer's house, shift forgotten, opened the fridge and found a large, thick cucumber. As he did this the farmer said something to him that rolled over his ears.

"What?"

"You're one of those vegetarians? Why didn't ya say so, I would have made a salad for you or done something differ'nt. You haven't eaten all day, how about ya come here and have a little-"

He was headed upstairs with the cucumber.

As soon as he reached his room all he could think about was more horse cock. He'd shuffled off all of his clothes and only hesitated once before the cucumber was sliding past his lips. His cheeks puff up with a barely audible sound; a leather couch inflating after a particularly heavy person stands up. It met no resistance, his eyes rolling back as it brushed the far end of his mouth and actually stretched out his throat. It wiggled into the tight space, his lips making sticky sounds as they tried to close on the vegetable as much as possible. He squeezed from the outside along the seamed lines of his throat to make it feel more tense, as though actually milking a horse dong in his throat. If he wasn't careful it'd drop into his cavernous, sloshing belly.

His hand roamed down to his cock. Rather than finding the warm flesh as he'd hoped, he felt stiff, cool, clammy skin, it felt like cold metal on tight, knobby balls. His hand searched lower, along his far more padded hips and down to his rear. Not something he would usually try, but as his finger slid along the lower, boxy shape of himself, he couldn't seem to find his backdoor. His finger rubbed straight between the cheeks but there seemed to be nothing at all, no opening in the leathery skin.

His legs felt stiff, stretching under him to hold him up, his free arm doing something similar as the cucumber moved faster inside of his lips, not quite on 'all fours.' His moans cut off as his arm moved faster to pump his natural 'toy' and eventually he was silent, just squishing sounds in his mouth and odd squeaks around his lips. He was breathing but only just. His thoughts dissipated other than rough slurping sounds and images of horse sex organ. He wasn't into males, he just needed to have a stallion between his lips until it filled him with more horse cum, perfectly logical. Instead of a little vial, it would feel like gallons, filling that terrible, aching hollow sensation in his stomach and he would never need a stupid vial again. Just imagining it throbbing and tensing and-

He shuddered gently and glanced down. His cock was still rail straight somehow, rather than seeming to ejaculate it was more like he'd simply 'dripped' onto the sheets. If he still had the capacity to think, he might have been impressed that it was hands free. His hands ran over the smooth lump forming by his stretch marks and he felt an awkward pinch, as though something were tied a little tightly around his waist.

As much as he found it satisfying, he felt like something was missing. Drawing the cucumber out of his throat, he grabbed his smartphone and searched for 'horse cock.' His results led him to a strange website, covered in what his simpler mind called 'animal people' before finding what he sought: next to a picture of a very well hung not quite horse not quite man was a mottled, PVC black and crash test dummy peach colored faux horse dick, seeming to dwarf a soda can as a reference of scale. His thick, gaping lips nearly drooled his tongue down his lined, round chest at the prospect, faded nipples a little tense.

Before he could stop himself he had it ordered. He wandered downstairs in the buff to look at the sign for the address. It was dark, no one was awake. He could feel his stiff self bobbing and his skin seemed slack in the cool air. He read the mailbox, his awkward fingers mashing the address in and requesting same-day priority shipping. It would put him in the red but his mind was far beyond such concerns.

He stomped his way back up the stairs and found his bed, where he promptly fell asleep on the cooling remains of his own cum and a shining, lubricated cucumber.

When it woke up this time, it was on it's hands and knees. It tried to remember how it got there but it didn't really matter that much. It's arms and legs groaned in protest at the possibility of motion, but after a moment with little pops and squeaks it's joints complied. It shoved itself into an awkward upright stance and felt the rigidity of it's spine holding it in place. It felt empty, rubbing hard and feeling the little stretches of it's skin along the lower front before very carefully bending it's neck down so it could see where it was going.

It's name was Os... Os... Oz something. It was here to work for something. It didn't know why it would work though because all it could think about was horse cock sliding into it's thick lips that didn't seem to want to stay closed. It...

It took Oz about a minute to realize something was very wrong with his thoughts. He thought of the faded memories of his home, glancing through pictures on his smart phone. Pictures of his old high school, his friend with the faux hawk that he couldn't seem to quite remember. He tried to keep paging through the pictures until his phone lit up with a bright little sign as the words kept skimming over his vision. He pushed it away before the phone screen went black. No lights. It was a useless brick of plastic and circuitry and for the life of him Oz couldn't remember how to change that.

He threw it onto the bed next to something warm and green. He was sure something was really not right with him but couldn't place it. He scratched at the smooth surface of his rear, the remainder having filled out into a flat, almost circular space. It took him a moment to adjust his pants on himself as his cock would catch, it was hard and small and he could feel the lumps of his release valves tight against his flesh. He felt the round opening and the warmth inside for just a second, lamenting nothing was coming out.

He shook his head. That wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to do that. He was supposed to go work, and get horse cum. He knew where to do that at least. He put on shoes that were a few sizes too large but tied them tight to his stiff, cold feet. He tried wiggling his toes but after a moment that seemed to be a wasted effort, feeling nothing. He managed to tug his shirt on, leaving what looked like a shining button exposed along with part of his stomach before he grabbed the hem and shoved it down.

His 'work' was a blur. The person with the faux hawk barely spoke to him, just staring in mute horror both at the nearly artificial gray tone of his skin and the way he grabbed handfuls of hay and threw them into the baler. He didn't know why he had to do this work, his mind was more interested in horse cum, maybe even just from the source. The stallion would be pleased at having his thick, veiny tool inside his-

"Man what are you doing?"

Couldn't faux hawk guy see he was making sucking sounds?

Checking and watering the crops was hopeless, his body barely wanted to bend much less lean down to check the soil. He could do it if he lowered himself to all fours but it would take significantly longer to right himself again, so he just sprayed until water pooled on the crops. The man with the faux hawk tried to take the hose from his hand but recoiled as he touched his fingers.

"You're ice cold man! Jesus Christ what's wrong with you Oscar?!"

He stared at the man. "Os-scar?"

"Well yeah who the hell do you think I'm talking to? You need help, like serious help. Is this about that horse cum thing?"

"No." He was sure this was a lie somehow.

The man with the faux hawk stared at him for a moment and then smiled standing up a little straighter and taking a step closer. "Awww man I get it now! You're fucking with me! Yeah that's a really good one Manny, really good, I didn't think you were that kind of guy, that's really funny man."

He blinked as the guy gingerly tugged the hose out of his grasp. He stared at the crops, then at the man, then started walking toward the stables.

"We're not done here. Hey, I said it was funny, you can knock it off now man, no one likes a guy who takes a joke too far..."

The stable door was open. He managed to stumble directly past the horses, his eyes only lingering for a moment on the massive stallion cock that stretched out and throbbed at him before finding the fridge again. He was almost businesslike, grabbing the vial of horse spunk and nearly shoving the entire thing into his mouth until he could feel oozing down his throat and painfully slowly sliding down his torso, along the smooth semi-circle shape of his belly. He barely makes a noise, such is his satisfaction as he reaches into the fridge for another vial.

His fingers, untroubled by the cold, snatch at thin air. He stares into the fridge and finds more vials, most of them without any label, but even the labeled ones are empty. He makes a distressed, groaning-sucking noise and shudders as he suddenly feels sick. He would have to wait for the farmer to collect more. He probably needed help... or more horse cum. The source was right there, seeming to be staring at him expectantly. His thick tongue writhed in his mouth and he could feel lubricating saliva beading at his lips, but he turned and left, nearly running away.

The farmer met him with a package. "I'm gonna to call the doctor in the morning for ya son, yer not lookin' well to put it mild."

He didn't say anything in response, just taking the package and clopping up the stairs with dull metal thumps.

The horse dildo. Wobbling and pointed at him almost as though it were seeking him out. He grabbed it and shoved it straight into his lips, feeling a rubber on rubber squeak as his mouth closed around the fake cock. He shoved it until his throat stretched around the median ring and he could feel the creaking of his skin. The cock seemed to dangle and wobble and squeeze inside of the loose cavern of his body, actually slapping against his chest and back.

He heard a noise. He glanced toward the door to the attic to find faux hawk man staring at him, watching him as he felt his head tip upward and he made pathetic groaning sounds. He reached out with a stubborn, stiff hand that was turning black at the fingertips and shining against the dim light. He wanted help, this was wrong, he could feel the urgency, but at the same time he wanted to show him more, wanted to show him how easily he could get fucked in the throat.

Faux hawk man screamed, turned and ran from the room. The horse dong kept squishing and shoving deeper into Os' throat until he was sure that it would slip out of his fingers and splash into his stomach, his body stuck rod straight by his back. He groaned and as he tried to change expressions he felt the rustle of fabric against his face, the colors faded in his eyes, his sense of smell basically gone. He was a man, not whatever strange thing he'd become, but he needed cock and cum and needed it to fill him.

His clothes slid off of him. He needed more cum. He wouldn't live without it.

His legs were like lead weights, his body tottering forward and smacking into the walls on the way down. There was no blossom of pain, barely a feeling at all as his mostly uniform insides bounced and swirled some kind of liquid inside of him. It was dark again even though it seemed like no time had passed. He saw lights flashing in the distance though the significance was lost except a pressing anxiety arcing up his rod shaped spine. He ran as quickly as he could on stiff legs, his face bobbing several feet in front of his hips and his body stuck straight. His valves and the little spout for semen collection tightened and put pressure on his canvas-skin and buttons.

He was inside. The unclean smell of horse hitting his nostrils made him excited and terrified. He shut the door behind him. All he cared about was horse cum. Pecker was neighing as his thick, molten fingers seemed to struggle with the door to the horse's stall. With what felt like the last of his strength he pulled the door open, panting and huffing and feeling the fabric of his skin shuffling and groaning as his body cracked and popped at the joints. He tried to stand up and guide the horse but his back wouldn't let him rise, trying to just strained him painlessly and made his muscles give out.

He groaned and tried to move, suddenly afraid of what might happen if the horse were to actually fuck him and fill him with seed, though he couldn't describe it in as many words. He tried to move and was met with a metal shriek. He couldn't look down either, his neck seeming to force his head to point forward with his pudgy, padded face. His feet had pulled together at the heel and didn't seem to want to come apart, if anything his knees were joining in, thighs thinning and squeaking.

His arm was stretching and making more squeaking, tensing, metal bending and snapping sounds as it bonded into the ground. He tried to both relieve his fear that was, to him, literally nameless, and save his remaining arm by shoving it into his mouth, fisting himself deeply into his throat with a smooth, fingerless metal shape that looked like a minimalist, abstract representation of an arm.

Pecker was up against another stall, seeming to whinny and wicker but for every slam and scrape of his hooves against the stall door he seemed further from mare sex. The massive stallion's nostrils flared as he turned and spotted the squirming cylinder just in time for its metal pole to straighten out of its mouth. It shut the hole tightly and made barely audible groans.

Pecker was smart for a stallion when it came to breeding. Coaxing a mare, fake or not, was a fairly simple matter: he lowered his muzzle and sniffed at the hole, licking at the thick lips.

It could taste something like tooth decay and old oatmeal licking into its mouth, grunting and groaning, unable to turn away as its arm bonded with the other and straightened, tightening until its combined limbs were thin and strong. It could feel the thick, massive tongue lapping in and pried open, managing a weak "Nuuhhh" before the horse tongue filled it and garbled its last attempt to speak.

Rather than waiting for the rest of its senses to dull, vision just a simple differential between light and dark and sense of smell totally gone, Pecker simply hopped up onto the squirming mass. For a moment it felt sheer terror while not quite understanding why, but its back straightened and its plush body solidified and he felt the hooves finding purchase.

Then the organ itself, the glorious cock, bouncing against the remains of lips and eventually sliding into the lubed hole. The weak muscle of a tongue lapped at the faint taste of horse spunk and musk, thick meaty taste for a moment before the horse started to thrust in earnest. Its body rocked and groaned on the metal poles for a moment before locking into rail straightness. The taste filled its mouth for a moment longer as weak impressions of teeth pulled into the plastic and smoothed over, mouth forming a solid 'o' shape. Every heavy thrust and bounce inside of its body seemed to stretch the throat out to smooth the transition between mouth and the rest of its long, hollow body. What little living wetness of biology remained squished and splattered as a thick horse lubricant that coated the long, slick, rubbery tube. The rest of its senses disappeared, all it could do was feel the thrusts and groans, the whinnying as the horse finally shoved his pelvis to squish against what used to be a mouth and face as a puckering canvas and thumped inside of it-

A splash, pulse, flooding and sloshing filling the plastic and metal. Pecker took nearly a full minute to empty himself into the phantom mare. Pecker, satisfied for once in his short life, trotted back into his stall, cum dripping freely from his dangling stallion hood. It was the last thing his latest conquest would ever feel.

The farmer, though confused, was not one to question providence. He lost an odd worker, but gained something infinitely more valuable: peace for his breeding stallion's voracious sexual appetite. And, with the amount of viable horse cum he was getting, he could afford the extra containers for all of his cum, and earmuffs to block out the constant grunts, wet slapping and metal squeaks.