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"I do a bit of everything, you know? But shotput and some long-distance work are my favourites." The stallion knocked back the last of his drink and held the back of his hand to his mouth to hide a huge belch. "Works the parts I like."

"Arms and legs," the Doberman supplied. At least, those had been what had caught his eye when he saw the horse he'd mentally dubbed "Muscleboy".

"And glutes, and chest." The stallion brought his arms across his body, flexing his biceps and pectorals in demonstration. He looked down at his gun show with deep satisfaction, then lifted one arm out to the side to show off his triceps, growling in self-lust. "Look at these fucking monsters. I could strangle a shark."

Strangle me, hunk. "Fucking great work, man." The stallion seemed drunker on the sight of himself than the numerous beers they'd shared, but that just made two of them. He was an arrogant piece of work, but shit, he'd earned it. He was the fittest guy in here by far, and he knew it. Sal figured the horse was probably the fittest guy no matter where he went. And with the horse's attention focused on his own body, Sal could eye-fuck him as much as he wanted.

Which was a lot.

The Doberman had been feeding the stallion alcohol and compliments all night, and it was finally paying off. The first couple of hours had been interminable; comments about the detailed statistics of sports teams the Doberman barely understood, angry complaints about the school's insistence that he actually attend academic classes ("yeah, man, that's...fucked up...") and a list of the stallion's goals for the school year.

Summary: more sport.

Organised sport, Sal mused to himself at one point as the stallion eagerly demonstrated a football or baseball or fucking whateverball play on the bar top using a handful of peanuts and two salt shakers, would be entirely useless if it didn't produce incredible physical specimens like this. All that time spent running around a field, dependent on a bunch of other people, when you could just work out solo in a gym like Sal did. Pointless.

Mild boredom and a growing bar tab had finally transformed into hope when the stallion asked Sal about himself. Well, in a way: he'd pointed at the dog's big shoulders and told him he could make them even bigger. The dog didn't miss a beat. "As big as yours?" Ears perked; eyes wide. Make him think you give a fuck, and don't just want a fuck. Be their fanboy.

"Well," the stallion replied, with the smug surety of an eight-foot, two-hundred-and-fifty-pound wall of muscled equine power, "maybe not that big." And as the conversation finally zeroed in on the stallion's physique, strength and general male godliness, Sal sighed and let his tail begin to wag against the back of his chair. He briefly tried to remember the stud's name, but the other male had said it so long ago he'd forgotten it. Whatever. He had a battery of generic nicknames for just such a reason.

That's it, Muscleboy. Forget about fucking sport. Tell me all about how sexy you are.

"I was able to put nineteen metres at the start of the year, but I've really worked on my arms since then. I think I'm gonna hit twenty before November." He flexed his giant arms again. "Gonna have two fucking trees growing off me..."

Sal let the self-promotion play out for a little while longer, and then--after waving down the bartender to get the horse another beer--tried to push things in a new direction.

"Doesn't it fucking suck how working out gets you all flustered?" He took a drink, staring neutrally straight ahead at a bottle behind the bar, leaving a pause. "Wastes so much time dealing with it." He glanced across at the horse, swept his eyes down to the equine's crotch and back up before his stare lingered. Deniably fast. "Probably twice as bad for horses, huh?"

The quizzical expression on his target's face made him want to roll his eyes and yell get there faster! But he kept silent. He knew to let the meatheads ask the leading questions. That way, they felt it was their idea, and didn't get uncomfortable when you pressed them for details.

"I just take a shower," the horse said at last, somehow oblivious to subtext.

Not what I meant, appleslut. "Oh, yeah, that's a good option. Don't have to clean up after." The Doberman shrugged. "There are always other guys at the gym, though, so I can't do it there. Have to wait until I get home."

Realisation--finally--dawned in the stallion's eyes like a pilot light switching on. "Oh! You mean, like...getting horny. And stuff."

And stuff. Was this horse in middle school? "It sucks, right? It's like, hey, body, maybe don't pop a boner after every workout, huh?" The canine chuckled, making sure to meet the stallion's eyes - and then whisk his look down to the stallion's crotch once again before sliding it away.

It was very definitely swollen now. Excellent.

He looked straight ahead again and took another drink. Either the horse would take that hint...or they'd spend another hour or so talking about his body before Sal "remembered" he had to get to bed early. He didn't mind if he struck out from here; he'd had his fun. Muscleboy here would either be in his bed tonight, or else his dreams. The horse might not be gay...but he also hadn't spared so much as a glance for any of the mares who'd been flitting about them all evening like horny moths around a horsecock-shaped lamp, so the dog was hopeful. He knew he wasn't the problem; he certainly didn't spend all his time in the gym for his health. Fuck no. He was a walking cock-magnet by design.

The horse continued to not take the bait. Any time now, Muscleboy...

"I don't have that problem."

Shit. Ah well. "Heh, lucky for you! But yeah...what were you saying about squats?"

The air moved and was replaced with hot, alcohol-soaked breath. The stallion slid closer, leaning forward with one arm resting on the bar, his muzzle suddenly deep in the dog's personal space. Sal met the stud's eyes calmly as fresh hope made his blood come alive and his tail thump against his seat.

"If I get horny," the stallion said, with a respectably small amount of slurring, "someone handles it."

Perhaps the equine wasn't incapable of subtext after all. "Oh, I bet," Sal husked." I bet there's a whole lot to handle down there, too..."

The horse took his beer in hand. "Everything you've imagined while you've been sitting here - and more." He pulled back abruptly, lifting his head to down the remaining half-bottle in a couple of huge gulps. He didn't even try to obscure the belch this time. "Thanks for the beers."

Sal blinked in shock as the horse pushed himself to his feet and turned to leave. "H-hey!" he spluttered. The horse didn't look back but lifted one hand in a vague wave. His words were only just audible as he made his way to the door.

"Bye, puppy..."

He was gone a few moments later, leaving Sal to stare in disbelief at the empty seat next to him. Had that fucking horse played him? Lust still fizzed in his blood, but when that cooled--and it was cooling pretty fast after that unpleasant surprise--he was going to have an impossible case of blue balls to resolve. He swore and smacked the bar, which made the barman appear as if summoned.

"Ready to settle your tab, sir?" he asked brightly. He looked apologetically at the empty seat. "The other gentleman did not leave a contribution, so let me see what your total comes to..."

The Doberman glared at him.

---

Sal didn't mind striking out. It happened more than getting lucky; c'est la vie. A quick fap before bed and a good sleep usually had him waking up without so much as a thought given to the night before. New days, new targets.

Which made it very fucking frustrating that he couldn't stop thinking about his encounter with the horse from the moment he woke up the next day.

It wasn't the size of the bar tab or even the time he'd wasted. Those didn't matter. Part of the process. It was how the horse had gotten what he wanted out of him, without giving anything back. Sure, some eye-fucking, but that wasn't under his control. Sal could do that from a distance if he had to--but he hadn't. He'd been a gentleman, sitting with that dumbfuck stallion for hours, bored out of his fucking mind...and it had all been a ploy? He'd been played by a nameless, fungible fucking dumb jock stallion! Fucking embarrassing. Sal Hanson didn't get played. He was the player!

And it didn't even fucking make sense! The horse had been two walls short of a stable: no fucking way he'd figured out what Sal was doing. Was he actually straight? That was some fucking high-level play from a straight guy then. He hadn't looked at a single mare all night. He could have; he didn't know it would have ended his supply of free drinks. And he'd definitely gotten hard towards the end. So: gay, and into it. But then... he'd turned Sal down? Him? Why? How? Had he not seen how the canine looked?

HIM?

"Fuck!" Sal yelled, losing concentration and dropping the squat bar he was holding. It crashed to the floor, ignored by the other gym patrons. He kicked it petulantly as if it was responsible for his current state. Pain jolted up his leg, and he swore again, staggering back.

"Shit!"

It was no good. The Doberman couldn't focus on his workout like this. He grabbed his things in frustration and stormed out, the afternoon heat slapping him in the face as he exited the building. The summer sun had driven most people indoors, to the safety of air conditioning, and he had the plazas to himself as he stalked to his car.

That fucking horse. That fucking appleslut!

He slammed his car door shut and viciously shoved the seatbelt in, catching the skin on the edge of his finger as he did so. A howl filled the car, followed by furious, repeated kicks against the floor as the Doberman expended all his frustration on the inanimate object. It took a good thirty seconds for it to subside, leaving him panting against the steering wheel, head in his arms, groaning desperately. How had a simple fucking horse wormed his way so deep into his thoughts? He'd fucked plenty of stallions before; he couldn't recall the face of any of them. Except this one fucker who he hadn't even fucked.

Fuck this.

He sat up in his seat and started his car. The athletics ground wasn't far, and from the look of the stallion, he exercised daily. He'd be there. Sal didn't like to be the guy who couldn't just move on, but this situation demanded it. The more he thought about it, the more the horse owed him an explanation for his behaviour. The stallion had broken the fucking rules! He would fucking explain himself to Sal, and Sal would tell him just where the fuck to get off, and then things would be back to normal. The horse would learn a fucking lesson, and Sal would be in the right. As it should be.

The justness of the action only grew in his mind on the way. When he finally arrived and climbed out of his car to scan the athletics ground for the big horse, he had complete confidence in how things would play out. Fuck you, stallion. There he was: putting shot, just like he said he did. Not a liar, then. Just a fuckhead. Sal cracked his neck and set his mouth in a grim line, stalking towards the shot circle and trying on a few opening lines for effect as he went. Should he call him "pony" first? Or maybe just "dumbass". He'd save the "fuckhead" for the end, definitely. If things got heated, he could always fire an "appleslut". That usually shocked them into silence.

The stallion was spinning up a put as the dog arrived, eyes on the ground, shot tucked into his clavicle. A fierce grunt accompanied his arm flying outward at the apex of his spin. The shot hurled through the air like a lonely moon before thudding into the earth a tad short of a painted white circle marked "20". The horse sniffed and grunted in satisfaction--or disappointment--and rubbed his hands together. He had cloth bindings on each wrist and fetlock that matched the bindings on his docked tail. Physically active horses docked their tails to keep the hairs from flying about when they exerted themselves; one of Sal's past conquests had taught him that, he vaguely recalled. Sal liked it: nobody wanted a sudden mouthful of loose hair while eating ass, after all.

Muscleboy's mane was trimmed short; a proud line of shortened hair ran from the back of his head to the middle of his back. Sal could see it all because the horse was unnecessarily shirtless, with only a pair of gym shorts protecting his modesty. Sal could see all the details of the anatomy he'd only visualised the night before. No big surprise: the jock was ripped, with each muscle hard and distinct, begging to be stroked. They all glistened with sweat in the warm day, making the air around him smell unmistakably of a male horse. His abs tensed and released with each deep breaths, and the long lines of his neck seemed to draw the eye upward, along his strong jawline--to the wide blue eyes that now stared flatly at the Doberman, one hand hefting the heavy shot as if it weighed no more than an egg.

Sal coughed. "I need to say something to you, pony," he began--then flushed in anger as the stallion chuckled and turned his back to him, getting ready to do another put. "Hey! Fuckhead!" The dog snapped his fingers a couple of times as if summoning a pet. "Look at me! You owe me a fucking apology, appleslut..."

Sal wasn't enormously proud of putting the slur to use so quickly, but if anyone deserved it, it was this stallion. It certainly had the desired effect: the horse's face snapped around and fixated on the dog, emotionless and still. He slowly lowered the shot from his hand and dropped it on the grass next to him, not breaking eye contact for a second. Horses asserted that they were still the harmless herbivores they'd evolved from, but their eyes could both look directly at you. The canine knew another predator when he saw one. Creepy fucks.

"I said--" he began again.

"I heard you," the stallion interrupted. Had his voice been that deep the night before? He was probably just trying to intimidate Sal. "I'm just trying to process how fucking immature you must be to have followed me all the way here...just to call me that." He ran one hand over his mane, exposing a hairy, glistening pit underneath. "You want my half of the bar tab, or what, puppy?"

"I don't fucking care about the tab," Sal snarled. Puppy was fucking annoying. "I just wanna make sure you understand that you fucked up last night--"

"Why?" the horse interrupted again, speaking over Sal's attempt to ignore him. "Because I didn't roll over when you wanted? That's what dogs do, not horses, don't you know?" The horse made a small barrel-roll motion with one finger. "Roll over, puppy. Show me your belly."

That dragged an angry bark out of Sal. "Fuck you, appleslut!" The repeated slur made the horse's lips rise in a snarl, showing off his frankly terrifying teeth. He twisted his head to the side and shook it slowly.

"If you fucking call me that again..." he growled.

"Then don't fucking use me like that again," Sal retorted.

The horse laughed bitterly. "Didn't get what you wanted, huh, puppy? Used to buttering up studs to fill your bed? Got news for you, then: we're not all idiots. I can play the dumb fuck pretty well by now. It was actually enjoyable. Your eyes glazing over when I kept talking about sport...priceless." The horse chuckled to himself. "Consider it payback for all the stallions I'm sure you..." He looked down at the canine's crotch. Paused. Snorted. "Made use of in the past."

Sal glared, and the horse glared back. This wasn't really going the way the canine had intended, but perhaps he could salvage it...and still come out on top.

He raised his hands in defeat. "Alright. Whatever. You won." He ran his eyes very obviously up and down the stallion's body. "But does it have to end here?" He let his tongue flop out and wagged his tail. "Bet you could still do with someone to...handle you."

The stallion seemed to consider things for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah. You're not my type."

"Oh. So, you are straight, then..."

"Oh, no," the stallion replied, eyebrows high in surprise. "I'm gay. Very gay." He made a vague motion at the dog before leaning down to pick up the shot. "You're just...no."

Uh..." Sal stared at the horse in disbelief as he prepared to toss. "Are you fucking blind?"

"Nope." The horse got into position, spun around a couple times, and putted. The shot flew high, landing well short of the previous one. The tall male stared at it with a frown, then looked back at Sal. "I just have a type, and you're not it. Simple."

"Fuck you. I'm everyone's type."

The horse made a low whistle at that. "Someone's got an ego."

Sal hated this. The horse was being a fucking ass and treating him like shit. Typical fucking jock. He tried to find something about the stallion to pick on but was too flustered to concentrate. "Yeah...you," he said eventually. Nice. Real power move, Sal. He pushed the annoying thought away. "What is your fucking type then anyway, Muscleboy?"

"Bitches," the stallion responded instantly. He picked up another shot, practising his swing, his other arm outstretched for balance.

"Not totally gay, then."

The stallion ignored him, bending his body around until every muscle was taut as a spring, then spinning, spinning, spinning--and releasing. His arm flew outward, hurtling the shot into the sky. Up, and up, and up...and down. It smashed into the earth a finger's width past the twenty-metre line, making the stallion give a loud, exhilarated neigh.

"Fuck yeah!" he yelled. He held his hands to his mouth and yelled at a figure in a coach's uniform on the other side of the field. "Barry! Twenty! I got it!" The figure raised two thumbs up, and the horse stared in satisfaction at his accomplishment--before turning back to look at the dog that now stared at him with a haughty look. "Totally gay," the stallion corrected him. "But not for you."

"Right. Not for fucking hot studs like me. Just for sad bitches." The dog snorted. "Sure."

The stallion's mouth twitched in amusement at studs, but he said nothing. He took a few steps closer to the canine. Sal tensed up but held his ground; the horse might be two feet taller, but that meant the dog could land an easy hit in his solar plexus if he had to. "Bitches," the horse echoed, "and others." He stopped right in front of the dog, looking down at the shorter male. "Subs. Pets." He leaned in, his mouth coming close to the dog's ear. "Fags," he whispered. "Toys. Receptacles for my seed." He stood up straight again. "They get my dick. Not you."

Sal kept very still as the horse listed off the sorts he liked, sneering up at him when he was done. "I guess if you've never had muscle ass," he said lightly, "those probably seem alright." He shrugged in mock sadness. "Your loss, horse."

"Oh, hardly," the horse retorted. "I've had plenty of muscle ass. It just doesn't stay muscle ass."

"Uhuh."

"It's bitch ass after I've had my way with them."

"Sure."

"Guess I'm just a natural at showing people who they really are, and what they really want."

"They want your dick, I suppose? The magic bitch-making horseprick?"

"Like you did. Last night."

"I don't want horsedick. Sometimes I let it enjoy my fine fucking ass. That's all."

The horse shrugged. "We can only work with what we've got, right?" He leaned down to pick up his things."Which, for me, is everything."

Sal barked a laugh at the sheer arrogance. "Sure, guy." He stared blankly when the horse suddenly offered him a pen. "What's this for?"

"Your address," the horse said simply, offering Sal a giant equine palm for him to write on. The Doberman smirked, renewed confidence filling him. All that fucking bitch talk...the horse wasn't an idiot after all. He knew what he wanted. The canine carefully wrote his address on the stallion's hand and snapped the pen lid back on with a satisfied smile.

"Just bitches, right?" he said with a smirk, offering the pen back. The horse smiled and took it.

"Just bitches," he agreed.

"Sure." Sal grinned at him. "I'm home anytime after seven. See you soon."

"I'm sure I will."

Sal didn't look back once as he walked to his car. He felt proud of that. He did steal a glance once he was in his car, just to check, but the horse was gone. The canine shrugged. Probably in the lockers, jerking off at the thought of the hot fucking Dobie ass he'd get to enjoy that night. "Bitch ass," the dog said out loud, snorting in disbelief. "Whatever." That horse was gonna be addicted to Doberman hole in a few hours...and a good, rough knotting afterwards would be an excellent way to complete Muscleboy's lesson in humility.

Sal grinned and started his car.

---

The doorbell rang just shy of seven, making the Doberman nod in satisfaction. Obedience was a wonderful trait. He took his time pushing himself to his feet and walking to the door--but his expression turned to confusion when he opened the door. Instead of an eight-foot-tall stallion standing there, ready to be used, there was...nobody. He frowned, looking around, and took a step forward to better see along the street.

Something crunched under his paw, and he looked down.

A small package, wrapped in brown paper, sat on his welcome mat. He frowned deeper, scooped it up and looking it over. No name, no address. Just paper and two pieces of linen, tied around an irregularly shaped object. With a final suspicious look out at the street, Sal went back indoors.

The linen untied easily enough, revealing two items inside the paper: a dog's collar, and a photo. Both gave Sal pause when he inspected them. The collar was perfectly ordinary, just a circle of smoothed leather without any metal studs or other distinguishing features--but it did have a name tag attached to it. A plain bronze circle with a single word inscribed on it.

Bitch.

Well, this package was definitely from the stallion then. Sal felt his anger rising at the realisation that the horse had once more played him for a fool. The horse had used Sal's belief in their natural agreement to get his address, and send him this instead of showing up in person. But if the collar made him angry, the photo left him incensed.

It had clearly been taken with the stallion's phone, probably in his bedroom. A Doberman, blindfolded and gagged, stood with a raging erection and a lube-slickened horse dildo lying on the floor between his spread legs. The toy looked enormous, and Sal's hole tensed at the sight of the monster. But it was the words written on the card that hung on a string around the other Doberman's neck that grabbed his attention the most.

I am not a stud.

I am a bitch for horses.

The other Doberman had a collar on as well, Sal noticed: identical to the one he'd been sent. The unknown canine was very well-built, with his hands seemingly restrained behind his back. A pale mix of lube and cum was running down his leg: the toy must only just have slipped out of him. Or been pulled out of him.

Sal growled, tossing both items onto his entranceway table. This was fucking pathetic. Did the stallion think this would have him crawling up to him and begging for cock? Simply because the horse had once fucked another Doberman? This could have been years ago now...and anyway, his little twunk playthings didn't prove anything. Sal could do whatever he wanted--and that horse had just permanently fucked his chance to get a taste of Sal.

He glared at the items, only then noticing that an address had been scrawled on the back of the photo. An invitation. Perfect: he could send the stallion's trash back to him with a note of his own. A few insults came to mind, but he threw them away. It needed to be better than that. It needed to make a statement.

He'd think about it.

The collar and the photo lay on the table for weeks. Every few days, Sal would move whatever items had been placed atop them and look at the nameless Dobie once more. Each time, he found it more contemptuous. That dog was a hot piece of tail; a stud like that didn't need to subject himself to the control of a stallion. He could be out every night, fucking any hole he wanted. He'd clearly been lured in by the promise of horsecock, and then...this. Embarrassed. Degraded.

At first, Sal thought of it as merely a slight to his species, but as the weeks went on, he adjusted his thinking. It was, in reality, a personal affront. The stallion had picked a Doberman to photograph for a reason, no doubt. He was saying Sal's entire breed was nothing more than...toys! For his species! And the collar? It wasn't an invitation: it was a command. The horse was trying to control him without even bothering to show up in person. It was insulting!

Sal rejected everything that the collar and the photograph represented. Someone, he decided, needed to prove to that arrogant horse that Dobermans were not playthings for him to abuse as he saw fit. The dumb equine acted like this because nobody had ever simply stood up to him! Just because he fucked one dog didn't make him the king of all fucking Dobermans! And it definitely didn't let him call any of them bitches. What did a fucking collar even mean? Nothing! Sal could put it on, and absolutely nothing would change. He'd still be him, and the horse would always be an appleslut.

He could do it. He could be the one to stand up to the horse's little games and shatter his world. Prove to him that not all non-equines were fair game for his idiotic attempts at control. Plus, Sal still hadn't had closure. The athletics ground showdown should have been it--but then Muscleboy had ruined it with his little fucking power play. Sal needed to see defeat in the horse's eyes before he'd truly be able to stop wasting energy thinking about it.

So.

The horse didn't live far. Sal rang the doorbell and waited, tapping his foot, holding the collar in one hand. Fucker was probably gonna take his sweet time answering, if he even bothered to--

The door opened suddenly, revealing the eight-foot-tall horse, as nude as his foaling day: clearly just stepped out of the shower. He had a towel in one hand that he was rubbing against his short mane, and a few droplets of water still ran down his body. He stared down at Sal with a calm but disinterested expression, and when the dog failed to say anything--shocked to silence by the stallion's unexpectedly nakedness -- rolled his eyes and dropped the towel off to the side. He crossed his arms and cocked his head a little, seemingly unconcerned about displaying his male assets to anyone who might be walking past.

His exceptionally fine male assets.

"Yes?" he said tersely.

Balls...

Sal held his tongue, lest he blurt what was going through his head. The stallion's height put his genitals at a comfortable viewing position for anyone shorter, and Sal had been staring pretty much directly at them when the door opened. He'd quickly lifted his eyes to the horse's face, but one did not easily forget the sight of two heavy horse balls, dark and shiny, nestled close together like chubby siblings below a large, wrinkled sheath that still glistened with water.

His ongoing awkward silence made the horse raise his eyebrows. "What do you want?" he snapped.

That tone cleared Sal's mind. If the horse thought showing up naked was going to throw the canine off balance, he had another thing coming. "What do I want?" Sal exclaimed. He waved the collar in the horse's stupid face. "Remember this?"

The horse squinted. "No. Should I?"

Unbelievable. "Yeah, you fucking should, since you sent it to me."

"Hm." The horse seemed to ponder, shifting about in a way that made his balls jiggle in a very distracting manner. After a few moments, he locked eyes with the dog again. "Must have been a long time ago." He shrugged.

"It was barely a month ago, shithead!"

"That would be why, then." The horse's expression didn't change. "I go through a lot of bitches. A lot of collars." He pursed his lips. "Were you here for the party with those twin cheetah bitches?"

Sal ground his teeth. "I...amnot...a bitch." He'd somehow forgotten how fucking annoying the horse was. He might even be worse now than he'd been at the athletics field. Arrogant fucking appleslut.

"Sure? You've got the collar," the horse pointed out.

"You sent me the collar!" Sal barked. "That doesn't fucking mean anything!"

"If you say so."

This was some fucking Mind Games 101 shit now. Sal wanted to throw the collar in his face and leave, but he wasn't going to concede a single inch to this hooved fuckhead after being condescended to like this. He growled and fumbled at the straps of the collar. "If you think this means something," he said, "then how come I can put it on--and nothing fucking happens!" He slapped the collar around his neck, doing it up roughly and splaying his hands in demonstration. "See? Collar on, and nothing. Magic bitch-making horseprick or not, a collar's just a collar. It doesn't change anything."

"It does, though." The horse's gaze on him had intensified the moment he put the collar on, a slow smile spreading across his face. "It really does."

"Fuck you. Like what?" Sal glared at the horse, half-distracted by the unfamiliar feeling of the collar against his body. The name tag was cold against his throat, but warming.

"Like...oh!" The horse's ears perked, and he snapped his fingers. "I remember you now!" he exclaimed.

"About fucking time."

"You're my lucky shotput bitch."

Sal snapped his teeth at the horse. "Get fucked, appleslut!" He shoved two fingers up at the stallion and turned to go. He was done being insulted by a naked herbivore standing in a doorway.

"Wait!" the horse called after him. Sal ignored him and kept walking. There was nothing the horse could say now that would--

"I owe you!"

Sal stopped. A large part of him wanted to just keep walking and leave that ghost of an olive branch to wither...but it was the first thing the horse had said to him since the bar that was actually apologetic. And only when he'd threatened to leave. A slow smirk rode up Sal's face. They always want it, in the end. He made a slow turn to face the horse again, arms crossed, expression neutral.

"You really do," the dog agreed. Sal wasn't exactly sure what for, but he would settle for all the things the horse had done and said since they'd met.

The stallion nodded. "You helped me hit twenty metres. First time ever, and it's because of you."

Sal cocked his head. "How's that?"

"Well, frankly, I was trying to focus that day, and you kept arguing with me. It was throwing me off. I was getting mad, and I didn't want to be mad, so I started imagining I was about to shove the shot right up your mouth to shut you up. And...bam. Twenty point oh eight metres. Personal best."

Sal blinked. Was that an...apology? Close enough, he supposed. "I'm a personal best for everyone," he agreed, adjusting his feet to take on more of a swaggering stance, hands on hips. It was a pose that did good things for his bulge, he knew.

"Yeah," the horse drawled, a growing smile forming on his face. "So...muscle ass, right?"

Finally, the stallion was getting it. "Best there is," the dog said proudly.

The horse nickered, still smiling. "After you left, the last time, I practised some more. Just couldn't get over twenty again. Until I--" The equine cut himself off, ears flicking, his eyes roving over the Doberman's body. "I started imagining shoving something else...of a similar shape...into a different hole. And suddenly I was hitting twenty metres again." He nickered, looking down at the ground for a moment as if collecting his courage before meeting the dog's eyes again. "Do you want to come inside?"

It was more than a month overdue, but the horse had finally said the words he should have said on that first night in the bar. Sal allowed himself a moment to savour the satisfaction of victory, and put a hand to his chin as if he had to weigh up the offer. "Maaaaybe," he teased. "Tired of bitches all of a sudden?"

"You're not like them."

"Of course. I'm better."

"And I...owe you, like I said."

"That's right. You owe me big time, Muscleboy."

"And I know exactly what to do to an ass to make it never forget me."

The dog turned to the side, wagging his tail and shaking his rump. "This ass?" He slapped it with one hand to show off the firmness of the hard-earned muscle. "What exactly would you do to it, pony?" This was much more familiar ground for Sal: making his conquests do the hard work. Starting with answering his questions and ending with his sexual pleasure.

The horse grinned, but his answer was silent: he dropped the towel, crossed his big arms across his powerful chest, and spread his legs. He didn't seem to be doing anything else, and it took Sal a moment to notice the slow motion between the stallion's legs.

The horse's cock was dropping.

It was like a magic trick every stallion could pull, Sal thought. From the quiescent folds of the sheath that sat like a cowl between the male horse's huge thighs, something was born. Just a drop of flesh at first, peeking out curiously like an animal in a den, before slithering forth faster and faster. The dun stallion had a black penis, matching his balls, and it grew downward like a questing creature, seeking to reach the ground. Sal's eyes grew wide as the drop continued. This was a big horse. His physical stature would have accounted for a few extra inches, but he had another couple on top of that even. And thick: as thick around as one of the Doberman's biceps. That would stretch him almost to the point of pain...but only just. Exactly how he liked it.

The cock finished dropping, hanging down between the stallion's legs like an extra limb. His half-swollen flare looked as big as the metal balls he'd been throwing at the athletics field, and veins snaked all across the dark skin like the roots of a mighty tree. It might be the best-looking cock Sal had seen...but he wouldn't mention that to the horse. It wouldn't do to have him getting too confident again.

Sal looked up at the horse's face and smiled. "I can work with that, I suppose. But where does this go?" He grabbed his crotch, feeling how his knot had thickened up from the sight of the stallion's...everything.

The horse again said nothing, merely turning--the motion making his long cock swing to the side like a pendulum and slap meatily into one thigh--and bending down to pick up his towel. His ass clenched as he did so, the pert, round orbs wonderfully contrasted by his slim waist. The docked tail ensured there was nothing to obscure the shadowed cleft down the middle of the ass--or the tight, dark doughnut inside it. A doughnut, Sal decided, that was clearly begging to be spread wide open by a horny canine's red cock.

The horse stood up in silence, walking back into his house, and Sal followed after.

---

He was led through to the master bedroom, sniffing the air as he went. The house smelled of stallion, which was no surprise, but the bedroom smelled of...sex. Stank of it, in truth. Not a stale scent, either: within the day. He gave a low growl at the sweet, masculine taste in the air, and the stallion heard him.

"I had a bitch over last night," the horse explained. He draped his towel over a chair and pulled open a drawer, reaching in to withdraw some lengths of fresh linen and a small vial of clear liquid. Taking the linens in hand, the stallion turned to face him, wrapping the cloth around each wrist. The equine's impressive cock had retreated somewhat, but the horse still displayed a good ten inches of massive meat. It hung between his mountainous thighs like a banner proclaiming his sex.

Sal eyed the vial behind the horse. "You have some thoughts already?" he said with a smirk. A little independent thought was welcomed in his sex play; it saved him having to be original. This horse was falling in line with desirable swiftness.

"Several," the horse said with a delightful smirk. He finished wrapping his wrists and started binding the linen around his fetlocks, lifting each foot in turn to rest on the padded bench sitting at the end of the bed. He pointed at the collar around Sal's neck with his muzzle. "You can take that off now, I guess."

Sal blinked, suddenly aware of the leather strap around his neck. He'd forgotten it was there so quickly. Huh. He reached up to undo the collar.

"...if you want."

Sal paused, halfway through loosening the strap. "What do you mean?" he asked carefully.

"Hm?" The horse finished tightening his final fetlock binding, lowering his hoof and looking at Sal with raised eyebrows and a guileless expression. "Oh. I didn't mean it like...forget it." He busied himself for a moment, sliding the vial around aimlessly around. "Just don't want you to worry."

"I'm not worried about a fucking collar," Sal asserted angrily. Hadn't they just been over this?

"Sure, sure. I guess I meant...well, not the collar itself." He shrugged. "Bitches, right? Who knows how their minds work. I think when they know the name tag's there, saying what it says, and then when they've got...this...to play with..." He lifted his flaccid cock in one hand and let it fall, shrugging apologetically.

"Except I'm not a fucking bitch," Sal reminded him. "And that"--he pointed at the horse's penis--" is not a magical fucking horseprick, remember?"

"No! Yeah, of course not." The horse grinned and shot a finger-gun at him. "Muscle ass Dobie. No bitch here. My bad. I'm used to different behaviour."

"Right." Sal supposed he could allow the horse some small leeway. He'd be fine after a good hard dicking.

"A collar means nothing."

"Exactly. On or off, doesn't matter to me."

"Not for you, yeah. Of course." The stallion shrugged. "Keep it if you want. Give it back whenever, and I'll send it to another bitch. Tell them who had it on before them, and tell them they need to try to live up to him." The horse smirked. "If they even can, right?"

The thought of a moaning little bitch wearing this same collar and thinking of him was impressively arousing. Sal re-tightened the straps on the collar. "They can't," he asserted smugly. "But if they try really hard...it should be more fun for you, at least." He tucked one finger under the collar, then let it fall. "I'll break it in for your future bitch. You can take it when we're done."

The horse's grin was enormous. "I absolutely cannot wait," the big male said, "to see that collar on a real bitch."

"Be sure to take some pictures."

"I definitely will. And you'll be the first to see them."

Sal grinned. He was on much more familiar ground now. "Speaking of seeing things..." He undressed, tossing his clothes to one side and lifted each leg to unstick his sweaty balls. They were decent, though no match for the stallion's plump fruits, but they pumped out loads bigger than people expected; enough to make an unsuspecting guy choke for air through a flood of hot canine seed. It only took a moment to decide that he wouldn't warn this stallion about that in advance. He rather liked the brief flash of panic in their eyes when they tried to pull the knot out.

He spread himself across the bed, resting on one arm, stroking the red cock rapidly emerging from his sheath. "Let's get started, Muscleboy." He gestured at the vial on the cupboard behind the horse. "What have you got there exactly?"

The stallion picked up the vial. "This," he said, with a wide grin, "is for later. One good sniff, and..." He sighed with evident happiness, looking into the middle distance. "Your ass will never be the same."

Sal chuckled. "I don't need poppers, pony. You're not that big." He definitely was, but Sal had a policy of always downplaying the dick size of his conquests. It made them try harder. "But," he added, "you do. Knots aren't like flares. They take effort."

The stallion licked his lips. "Muscle ass and big Dobie dick," he said. "What a fucking prize."

Sal smirked. "Feeling lucky I picked you out at the bar, huh?" He made the same barrel-roll motion at the horse that the horse had made to him at the athletics field. "Twirl for me, Muscleboy, and show me that pretty hole. I want doughnut for a starter before we get to the meal."

The horse put the vial down and spun in a half-circle on one hoof, exposing his back to the dog and raising his bound tail to expose the dark hole he'd teased at the door. Sal growled in satisfaction and got onto his belly, hands outstretched towards the stallion's rear. "Bring that here, Muscleboy. Now."

The horse backed up towards him as instructed, and Sal whined in delight as each paw got a handful of smooth, muscular stallion butt. He pulled the globes apart to fully reveal the gorgeous doughnut in between and extended his tongue to lick it. The stallion tasted freshly washed and wonderfully heady. Sal sighed happily.

"Closer," the canine instructed. "I'm gonna make a meal out of you. Try not to faint with pleasure."

The horse backed up some more, and Sal stuck his nose deep into the inviting crack before him, breathing clean stallion scent. His tongue lapped out, tasting all around the hole, and when there was nothing more to be found there, the dog pushed his head up to position the doughnut right at his mouth. He ran a finger gently around it and watched it relax, opening like a flower. Fuck yeah.

The dog's tongue dove in as his thick jowls wrapped around the muscled ring, sealing and penetrating it in one motion. He felt the sudden clench of the ass-cheeks his hands still gripped and blew a hot snort of amusement against the stallion's skin. That's right, appleslut, I eat ass like a god. The stallion was fucking lucky he'd adjusted his attitude. He could have been sitting here alone, or--worse--having to make do with one of his simpering bitches. Weak.

The collar's bronze name tag clinked softly against the metal ring that held it as the dog slobbered around and into the stallion's depths. It was a superb ass, and the canine was already imagining how good it would feel clenching around his dick. A good hit from the vial should let him bury his bone in one go - knot included. Fuck, that would feel good. And when he'd dumped his balls inside, he could push the stud onto the bed and ride his sexy dick until he'd sucked his balls dry. Sal could take a dripping hole full of colts home with him--along with the satisfaction of a long-overdue conquest.

His dick was leaking fast against the bedspread now, and every movement he made rubbed the fabric against his sensitive tip. The stallion had been gasping and moaning with appropriate lust from the moment Sal's tongue touched him, but he must have felt his lover's growls growing in frequency as the stimulation on his cock increased. A hand came around to touch the canine's shoulder.

"That's a hot fucking mouth you've got," the horse's rough voice told him.

Sal's lips came free of the stallion's doughnut with a wet smack and a long string of spit. "I don't fuck around, pony," he said.

"Good, because I want something else." The horse climbed off the bed and grabbed the vial before returning and repositioning himself on his knees as before, legs facing inward, tail lifted. Sal chuckled and raised his body, pressing his chest against the stallion's back and stroking the equine's side as he positioned his cock at the entrance to the loose, slick hole he'd just been enjoying. He could feel how hot the horse's body was already. Fuck, but this was going to be a good fuck.

He slid his head over the stallion's shoulder, watching him open the vial. "Take a nice big sniff, pony," he murmured. "I'm going to knot you in one, and you don't want it to hurt more than it has to."

The stallion chuckled, lifting a hand to stroke the back of the canine's head. "Maybe I like it when it hurts a little," he countered. "It's a reminder of who's in charge."

This horse learned fast. Sal growled his approval. "Grit your teeth, then, appleslut," he husked, "because I'm going in hard and deep."

"Do your best," the stallion said. He moved the vial closer to his lover's nose, and as Sal pulled his hips back for the first, exquisite thrust into the stallion's prime, muscled ass, the dog dipped his head forward and took a good, hard sniff of the vial of--

An ox punched his chest, and his mind exploded. Ringing filled his ears.

Sal's muscles turned to jelly and he spasmed, falling backwards onto the bed, clawing for air with lungs that didn't seem to want to cooperate. His blood had transformed into lava, and every part of him was fire. He cried out, arching his back up, trying to push the source of the heat away. He could sense the origin: indeed, could think of almost nothing else. His penis. He couldn't even feel it anymore. It had been raptured, replaced by a rod of ecstasy whose overwhelming tidal waves of sensation were running roughshod across his pain and pleasure centres both. It barely felt connected to his body. It was an alien thing, throbbing against his crotch, injecting him with the most horrible, wonderful things he'd ever felt.

His mind collapsed almost immediately, crashing under the imperious weight of the sensory assault to a tiny, hot point of animal feeling. He screamed when he came the first time, his balls unready: they pulled up into his body with such force that the impact dazed him. Forgotten seconds later: a mere codicil to the thesis of brutal sensation being recited in every cell of his body. Cum squirted from his tip with firehose force, shooting up high and splattering back down onto his body. Seconds later, he came again, as if his body denied that a climax had just occurred. And again. The orgasms savaged him like a pack of wild animals circling, taking turns to dive in and bite. Every tooth coated in sweet, peerless pleasure.

The Doberman shot his seed until it could only dribble down his shaft exhaustedly. The pools of hot semen on his chest felt like ice water, compared to the furnace roaring within. Sound returned; his own agonised whining filled his own ears. He had been cumming without cessation for an hour, it felt like. He didn't want to stop. He couldn't stop. His dick clenched, over and over, though his body had long run dry. The superlative pleasure still filled him, the burning hot blood that had been ignited by whatever he'd sniffed in that vial. A hundred years passed. The intensity started to reduce; the pain faded entirely, and now only gratification remained. He could feel things again, beyond his cock and the orgasms it had willed on him. The blankets under him; the sweat and cum that covered him. His balls, slowly descending again.

And above, below, around it all, like it had become infused into the fabric of the world...the scent of stallion.

Horsecock. Sheath. Balls. The drip of spit down a doughnut, the evaporation of sweat from under arms. The room was suffused with...him. How had Sal not noticed it before? The scent was a younger sibling to the pure intoxication he'd received from the vial. Sal opened his bone-dry mouth and took a deep breath, shuddering at tasting even this approximation of the perfection he'd been assaulted with moments ago. Deep, panicked, sucking breaths through his nose followed, trying to gather as much of the scent at once as possible. It was weaker, but if he could sniff enough of it, Sal was sure he could return to the heights of pleasure he'd just descended from...

A shadow fell over him, and Sal turned a sweat-soaked head to see the stallion standing beside him. The stallion...and his scent. The heavenly smell emanated directly from the horse's genitals. The canine whimpered and whined, scrabbling closer, trying to shove his nose into the horse's crotch--but an ungentle hand thrust him away, then grabbed the nape of his neck and lifted him to the stallion's eye-line. His muscles still weak from the multiple climaxes they'd just been wracked by, Sal could only let himself be handled...and stare.

The horse held the almost-empty vial in his other hand and looked at it in satisfaction, then at the dog. "A little concoction I make of all the good shit," he said as if discussing a sourdough recipe. "My sex hormones, mostly. You know how many cumshots I need to process to make this?" He jiggled the vial and tipped a few last drops out into his mouth. Sal followed their descent with a whimper. "Not many. They're mostly in my piss, to be honest. Not that you'd know it from the taste." He smacked his lips as if tasting a fine vintage. "Mmm...plus a touch of my ball-sweat, some fresh cum--and exactly one drop of pure, refined, one hundred per cent stud stallion testosterone." He nickered and shook his head, his eyes growing wider even as Sal watched. "Gets the fucking blood flowing, right?" he crowed. Then he looked down at the canine's exhausted flaccid penis and cum-soaked form and shrugged. "And other things."

He tossed Sal back onto the bed as if he were a stuffed toy and turned away. "I warned you, puppy," he said, placing the empty vial carefully on top of the cupboard, "not to call me that name again. And you went and did it twice." When he turned back, he had a leash in his hands, one end wound around a clenched fist. He pulled it taut a few times, making the leather snap in the dead silent air.

"Wha--" Sal felt lost. "What...the fuck...are you..." He had to breathe more shallowly to finish the sentence; the scent of the horse was impossibly distracting. "What...did I...?" But breathing shallowly meant he didn't smell the aroma as strongly, and his body yelled at him to find more. He gulped down some air. "I..."

The stallion pulled the leash taut one more time and dropped to his haunches, meeting Sal's eyes again. "Appleslut," the stallion snarled. "You think I was going to let that fucking slide? From a fucking prissy Doberman bitch like you?" His look of disdain was a physical thing. "I was really fucking understanding, puppy. Even after you followed me to shotput. Even after how you behaved when you didn't instantly get what your selfish little paws wanted. You could have gone on with your life, you know? Fucking lesser stallions and thinking it made you King Dog. But you just couldn't resist repeating it." He sighed and turned his head, regarding the dog through big, dark eyes. No sclera was visible anymore. "But, luckily, you're as stupid as you look. I only had to tell a small white lie. When I said I owed you? What I meant was...I own you."

Only one word from the entire diatribe stuck in Sal's mind. "Not...a bitch." Sal choked momentarily as the horse tucked a finger under his collar and pulled, making loud, thoughtful noises before releasing the canine to cough and splutter.

"That says you are," the stallion noted. "Right there on the name tag."

"This...fucking..." Sal scrabbled at his neck, his fingers seemingly twice their usual size. Concentration was difficult. The horse's scent was too fucking good. He fucking hated this horse...why was he getting so aroused from his smell? The straps finally came loose, and the collar with it. Sal threw it at the stallion as hard as he could, but it dropped to the bed barely an inch from his nose. He shut his eyes hard, trying to reassemble his thoughts and form words. "Not...bitch...!"

"You are now. My bitch."

"No...no!" Sal pushed himself to all fours and climbed off the bed, teetering a little when he stood. Every breath made him want to give in and just smell the stallion's scent forever. "F-fuck youuuu...!"

"No, thanks. You had your chance." The horse picked up the collar and dropped it next to the empty vial. "This stuff's not magic. You'll feel normal in less than an hour. Well...not normal." He smirked. "A true bitch like you will be feeling the change already. Something...different in the air?" Sal flinched, and the stallion grinned. "Don't worry. It's just your bitch-instincts awakening. All those mental pathways you never knew you had--because you never had an alpha to show them to you. Well, they'll be waking the fuck up now. Seared open by..." He sniffed deeply of the air, and sighed. "Me." He pulled the leash taut again, holding it level with his muzzle and staring across it at Sal. "Are you ready for this, puppy? Have you become my bitch?"

Sal gave up on words and just spat in the stallion's face, which only made the horse laugh. He tossed the leash aside and grabbed the dog's nape again, still able to pull the canine about without resistance. Sal whimpered as he was dragged out of the room and down the hall, then yelped when the door was pulled open and he was unceremoniously tossed outside. He yelped when he hit the ground and looked up fearfully to see the stallion clapping non-existent dust from his hands.

"I only fuck bitches," the stallion said. The afternoon light made his sweaty form glow. "So, if you're not a bitch..."

The door closed, leaving Sal gaping at it from the pavement. What...had happened? He was suddenly acutely aware of both his nakedness and the cum drying on his fur--and something else. It took him a moment to place it. The air out here was ordinary. Bereft of the smell of stallion. It made him whine--which made him slap a hand to his mouth. The fuck was he doing? This was fucked up! Getting to his feet, still a little shaky, he made for his car, looking fearfully around lest anyone spot him and call the police. His keys were with his clothes, back in that fucking stallion's house, but he'd left the vehicle unlocked. A quick scrabble in the glove box turned up the spare key, and Sal started the motor, shot a final, disbelieving look at the stallion's house, and sped off.

He could buy more clothes. Right now, he just had to get the fuck away from here. Forever.

Hours later--safely home, washed, and somewhat calmer--Sal sat on his couch, staring at static on a television screen. He'd been sitting there for a while; he wasn't sure how long. It was dark outside now. He'd been channel-hopping to distract himself, but he'd hit dead air and let it lie. The static matched the buzzing in his mind. A chaotic mishmash of thoughts rampaged around without structure, each demanding his attention before evaporating. All of them backed by an insistent, low-level throbbing. A mental leitmotif, like a word being repeatedly whispered into his ear. He'd had to push it from his mind constantly since leaving the stallion's house, but it wouldn't go away. No matter which direction he hurled his thoughts, no matter what he tried to think about, he found himself circling back to it. His mind was hungry to feast on just one idea, one fantasy, one lust.

Horse. Horse. Horse.

The static gave his eyes something to look at, which was good because whenever he closed them, he saw two heavy balls and a dark, swinging cock. And when he opened them again, he felt a stab of despair to have lost the vision. He'd been angry about that at first, hours ago, and had raged hotly against the part of himself that kept turning back to thoughts of the stallion--but the rage was finite. While the memory of him...of his cock, his balls, his fucking perfect scent...was endless.

Sal looked down at himself. He sat nude on the couch, and his hard cock stuck up from his crotch in a straightforward refutation of any form of denial. He knew why it was hard. He knew what it wanted. He touched his blood-red shaft, whimpering at how good it felt. Jerking off had been the first thing he'd done to try to flush the thought of stallion, but that had only made it worse. Each orgasm had stood in pale contrast to the mind-rending experience he'd had on the stallion's bed, with the horse's chemical scent searing his blood.

That memory was very clear...but most clearly of all, he remembered coming down from it. Smelling the stallion so close to him, seeing that perfect body and the male power it exuded. The lust that had ignited inside him, and his raw, instinctual need to get closer to the other male was unforgettable. His fundamental need to smell more of the horse, to taste him, to be under him...to be taken by him. To be his toy, and feel him using the Doberman for his pleasure--and be grateful. To be...his...

I'm not a fucking bitch!

He grabbed his cock for the tenth time and jerked it ferociously, focusing on self-pleasure to the exclusion of all else. He was no dumb horse's bitch! He was a fucking stud! The horse would fuck him on his terms--or not at all. The righteousness helped; thoughts of the stallion faded. He snarled in delight, feeling his balls rise--spent though they were--and howling as he dragged another near-dry climax from their depths. I am a stud! The pleasure was intense, fierce...and ephemeral. The paw on his cock felt too sensitive after, and his nose could smell the single drop of seed he'd called forth, sitting at the end of his cock like a tiny bubble of cream. His mind rejected it instantly, as it had all the others today, and depression returned. It didn't smell right. It didn't smell like him. It wouldn't taste like him, it hadn't come from his fat prick, it hadn't been infused with the smell of him, or the taste. It was...pointless.

Like him.

The doorbell rang, and frenzied hope burst forth inside him. Sal shot to his feet and sprinted for the door. He dragged it open, heart thudding, sensing a car vanishing down the road in his peripheral vision. That didn't matter; all that mattered was what lay at his feet. He had a moment of terror as he dropped his eyes, imagining that it might not be there...but it was.

It was the same collar; he could see where his claws had scored the leather when he'd scrabbled to rip it from his neck, like a fool. Another photo accompanied it, and this one made his knees buckle and his mouth go dry. It was of the stallion, with one leg raised, resting his hoof on the bench as he'd done earlier, hands tightening the linen wrapped around one fetlock. His other leg stood far enough back to stretch his limb almost straight, showing off the powerful muscle that covered it, each curve bulging and interlocking. Under his outstretched arms, Sal could see the thick hair that he knew was rank with musk. Hard-earned, precious stallion musk, to be revered and enjoyed. And below them, down the perfectly muscled chest, with pecs like boulders and abs of ribbed steel, down the curve of his slimming waist, to between his huge legs...

The stallion's hard dick had to be twenty inches, and Sal couldn't even guess at the thickness. The flare was gigantic, that was all he knew: its single eye stared straight at the camera, the urethra wondrously wide. The amount of semen the stud's balls must expel...and the scent that would accompany it! It could cover Sal easily, he was sure: soak his hair and body, seep below his fur, and make him stink of the sexual prowess of this stallion. It would be unmistakable. Everyone would know what he was then. Denial would become impossible...but also undesired.

He pulled the collar to his nose and sniffed hard, crying out when he sensed only a hint of equine musk. His body trembled like an addict's to have received even that miniscule hit...and then he knew. He dropped the photo and forced the collar against his nose, sniffing and snuffling until he could smell nothing more. Then he licked it, hoping taste might contain a fraction extra. Finally, he let the collar fall, the bronze name tag clinking brightly against the stone steps, and hung his head. His thoughts still circled one idea, the single simple word that had waited patiently for him to accept it ever since it had been burned into his mind as his new god.

Horse. Horse. Horse.

It would never stop, and in his most secret place, he did not want it to. He lusted for it now: all the passion he had reserved for the hunt now transformed into a desire to be the hunted. To be caught, and collared, and owned. He'd been a stud, yes. And he'd been good at it. But it was time to forget that and become something else.

The roads were empty as he drove back, and only garish sodium streetlight illuminated his nakedness when he stood before the stallion's house and knocked on the door for the second time that day. It opened, as before, without delay. The stallion's naked form filled the doorway, and Sal lowered his head. The horse had been expecting him. He had known precisely what would happen. In silence, the canine raised the collar to his neck and made it fast, ensuring the name tag hung at the front. He let his hands drop and stood in silence, waiting. The stallion reached out a hand to touch the tag, then sighed happily and petted Sal's head. He turned to the side, making space for the dog to enter.

"Welcome home, bitch," he said warmly as Sal passed him, and the canine took a deep, shuddering sigh, his tail exploding into a happy wag. Yes. Yes. Yes.

The word that had so infuriated Sal before now excited him. It was a promise that the stallion would give him what he now so desperately wanted--and, it turned out, he wouldn't have to wait long. No sooner was he inside and the door shut than the stallion gripped his shoulders and pushed him against the wall, lifting him just high enough for their mouths to meet. The stallion's tongue invaded the canine as eagerly as Sal's tongue had done to the stallion's ass hours ago. Sal melted under the taking, his body become putty in the horse's hungry grasp.

The stallion's taste was as his smell, only alive--and all the more desirable for it. Sal sucked on the equine's long tongue and moaned as it explored his muzzle and the top of his throat. His nose was pressed to the horse's own, and every hot, snorted breath from the horse went straight into Sal's lungs--suffused with the perfect scent his body now craved for its very existence.

He was dropped back to the floor, and two hands roughly explored his nakedness, clenching around his painfully hard penis, cupping his aching balls. They turned him around and felt under his tail, the contact of fingers against his hole nearly making Sal collapse. He had never needed a cock inside him as badly as he needed this stallion's cock right now. Would he be made to wait long, for his hubris earlier? That had been another Doberman. One not awakened to the natural, inevitable superiority of stallions. He could try to explain...

"Good bitch. Such a tight bitch, too."

There was a clink, and Sal felt a leash hooked onto his belt. "Follow, bitch," the stallion commanded, and Sal followed meekly to the bedroom. A fresh array of sexual paraphernalia had been laid out, and Sal's eyes widened at each new item. The stallion dropped the leash and picked up one of them: some linen wraps like the ones he used on himself. He pulled them taut once, then looked at the dog with smouldering eyes.

"Bitches that do as they're told, get what they want." His tone did not imagine the concept of disobedience. Sal nodded quickly, and the horse smiled. "Good bitch. Here - have a little reward for obedience." He motioned Sal closer with one finger, and the dog approached...then fell to his knees when a hand pressed on his head. The stallion thrust his crotch forward, forcing Sal's nose under his long cock and right between his balls: the heart of his scent. Sal's eyes crossed over, and he whined loudly, separating each sound with a guttural intake of breath that was simple, musky perfection. He licked at the same time, his hands grabbing the stallion's thighs to try to pull him closer. The rock-hard horse did not move, and Sal pushed himself forward instead. The smell of ball-sweat and sheath musk. The taste of his testicles. A hint of salty semen on the underside of--

The hand grabbed his leash and dragged him upright again, cutting off Sal's breath and making him whine in desperation, rather than need. But he stood and waited, as he knew the stallion wanted. The horse had given Sal a little of what he desired; the Doberman was sure more would follow. The stallion's gaze locked on his, and he made a slow barrel-roll motion with a finger. "Turn around, bitch."

Sal did, and felt uncaring hands pull his arms together behind him, crossing his wrists and beginning to bind them with the linen. When that was tight, Sal was spun back around to meet the stallion's face. He was smiling now, and Sal smiled back. He was very handsome. "I considered just fucking you immediately," the beautiful stallion explained, making Sal's hole clench and his tail wag intensify, "but then I thought...you really made me work for you. So, I deserve an extra reward."

"Yes," Sal gasped. "Anything." He would do anything to be given a chance to worship this stallion further. Every breath he took smelled of him and made his blood pump and his cock throb...but he needed more.

The stallion reached behind himself and picked up an enormous dildo. It was, Sal realised, the same one from the first photo he'd been sent. Of a size with the stallion himself. In fact, its dimensions were too similar to be a coincidence. He looked up from the toy to the horse's face in realisation, and the stallion nodded.

"I modelled for it," he confirmed. He slapped the giant mass of silicone against one palm; it sounded like his own cock had when it had hit his thigh. "I like knowing there's hundreds of bitches out there fucking themselves into a coma on copies of my dick. It's how it should be."

"Mmmh," Sal moaned. Of course it was. The horse knelt next to him, placing the toy carefully on its broad base. It stood erect under its own weight; the shaft barely angled. The horse grabbed a bottle of lube and squirted a generous amount over the toy until the surface glistened like crystal. He grabbed the end of Sal's leash as he tossed the bottle aside, then sat down on the bed, leg raised, one arm tucked around it and the other fondling his semi-hard cock, staring intently at Sal.

"Ride it, bitch," he said simply.

Sal had only a brief flash of concern before lust stampeded over it. He gingerly straddled the toy's flared tip with his legs, positioning it directly under his hole before starting to lower himself. The blunt head snuggled in right below his tail as if made for it, pressing against his hole and making the dog pant with anticipation. It pressed more firmly against him as he pushed, one edge of the silicone corona just beginning to slide inside him. It felt incredible. Sal grunted, hands resting on his thighs for support, and dropped even more. One whole side of the flare was pushing in now. A little more. The toy was starting to flex as he compressed it; his hole opened up so slowly. Too slowly! He had not taken anything this large for a while. But had, before. All it took was care, and a bit of patience, and he knew it would--

The rest of the flare popped through his ring, followed instantly by three inches of stallion-thick shaft as the toy rebounded, and Sal cried out and almost fell. His passage was white-hot pain, but that wouldn't last forever. He concentrated on relaxing, and it gradually ebbed away. He continued his descent down the sexual totem, each thickening inch making his thoughts grow more scattered and less important. What mattered was the mass of stallion cock in him...and hoping to feel the real thing after.

"Does it hurt?" the stallion asked suddenly.

"Y-yes," Sal confirmed.

"Good," the horse said. "Who's in charge, bitch?"

He knew the answer. "Horses," Sal croaked. "All horses... I'm a bitch for horses..."

The stallion shot a wad of pre-cum so hard it hit Sal's chest. "Perfect. Keep going."

The medial popped in trivially, marking two-thirds of the way down the endless toy. Sal's legs were splayed wide now, his cock sticking out between them like a little red handle, pale pre-cum soaking the carpet under it. Down he went still, pushing his asshole to its physical limit as he absorbed the very thickest part of the toy. The pressure it placed on his prostate was making his leg muscles shudder...and with only two inches to go, they gave in. Sal fell with a cry, the last of the huge toy vanishing inside his body as he rammed down onto it, leaving him flush with the base of the toy--with almost twenty inches of shaft and flare deep inside him.

The stallion's harsh breathing showed how much he was enjoying Sal's show. The dog was allowed a few seconds to pant and recover after his fall--before the leash tightened and his eyes were drawn to look at the face of the horse that controlled him. The raw lust and excitement he saw there made him grow flush, and his cock dripped.

"Ride it, bitch," the stallion repeated. "Ride it fucking hard. Ride it like it's this fat prick." He shook his member at the canine: it had hardened to full mast as he watched Sal bury the toy within himself. He was steadily squeezing his flare now, making pre-cum ooze out between his fingers like liquid silver. Sal stared in lust for a moment and then obeyed. Flexing his powerful legs, he pushed upward, pulling himself back off the toy. So tight was the fit that it briefly came with him, lifting from the carpet before coming loose with a lewd, wet sound that made Sal flatten his ears in embarrassment. When half the toy was free of his body--leaving behind a void that filled with cold air, making him hunger to be filled again--he stopped and reversed. Down he went again, driving the mass of faux cock back up into his body until his tail was once more flat against the ground and he was panting happily, clenching the toy tight with his inner muscles and feeling it bulge out his belly as if he'd been impregnated.

A few seconds, no more. Up again, a bit further this time, and back down. The focus needed to do this without using his arms for balance put the squats he did in the gym to shame. His thighs burned already, but he couldn't stop. The pleasure of the toy's repeated penetration made his eyes cross and his tongue loll out. Sphincters were left wide and loose all along its journey. Sal couldn't think of anything except stallion cock. How big it was; how much he lusted for it. How good it felt filling him, how he never wanted it to stop. He hoped the stallion was enjoying this just as much, and as if the horse had read his mind, he got his answer.

"That's a real bitch's ass," the horse growled. His hand was making squelching noises now as it massaged his flare. "Look at it swallow that toy. You were born for this, bitch, weren't you?"

"Yes," Sal moaned. He truly had been. It felt wonderful to have the stallion's peerless scent in his nose as a replica of his amazing cock ravaged the Doberman's rear. Every time he dropped back onto it--the motion now smooth, without hesitation--the name tag on his collar clinked as if reminding him who he now was. He welcomed it. He'd been an idiot not to embrace this earlier. So much time wasted. So much stallion dick he could have been having.

"Your ass is going to feel so good to fuck after this," the horse continued. "I love my bitches sloppy. I can fuck them as hard as I want, and they don't so much as squeal."

"Oh, fuck, yes," Sal begged. He found the energy to ride the toy even faster, each insertion bulging his belly noticeably as the silicone snaked along his passage. "Please fuck me, I want it. I want a real stud's cock. I want you in me, filling me, cumming over me. I want to smell you and taste you and--aaauuuuugh!"

The imagery was too vivid, and his beleaguered prostate gave in. His orgasm was impressive, given how many he'd already had that day, and it turned his muscles to jelly just as the vial of hormones had. His body collapsing, moaning uncontrollably, Sal toppled to one side with eighteen inches of silicone stallion prick still inside him. His ass clenched and released it as the pleasure spiked, and one leg kicked out as if he were being scratched just above the thigh. His red cock pumped a few miniscule drops of seedless cum out, and his happy, wordless whimpers only stopped when the leash tightened, pulling the collar taut and making him gasp.

"Good show, bitch," a husky voice said. "Time for my fun."

A pair of hands grabbed him, one around the collar, another at his nape. He was lifted like a sack of wheat and tossed belly-down onto the bed, the toy inside him pulled loose with a long, sucking sound matched by a cry of dismay from Sal. The emptiness was agonising, but it was mercifully brief: as the lube-slickened toy thudded down onto the bed next to him, the stallion's rough hands grabbed his waist and--without a preamble more than a deep nicker of anticipation--slammed the fully-flared, rock-hard length of his oversized stallion dick deep into the Doberman's loose, well-fucked ass.

Sal did scream at that, but only once. The toy had been following a fixed path inside him; Muscleboy's cock made its own route. Flesh spread even wider than before, welcoming the heat of the stallion's arm-sized dick. Sal vaguely remembered how hot he'd sensed the stallion's insides were when he was intending to fuck him, a million years ago. Now he could tell that the stud's cock was just as hot. It was a fat fire-poker against his prostate, rubbing and scraping over his overstimulated insides and making his aching ring scream. It was on the very edge of pain...but not quite. Exactly as Sal liked it. It was incredible.

The fuck was an uncharitable one, rough and hard, pushing the canine's body against the covers with each slam and pulling it back for the next, but Sal gagged on the pleasure of it all. He buried his face in the bed, snorting in the scent that had infused the cloth over weeks. Stallion sweat and cum and spit...the bed had seen countless fucks, and its smell recalled them all. Sal's ruined ass would be yet another added to its history. One more bitch, split triumphantly open by this fucking stud's monster prick.

Sal let the pleasure of it all wipe his mind of everything but stallion cock, and stallion musk, and the promise of stallion cum.

The stud's grunting was loud and shameless, and he slammed so hard into Sal's ass each time, his balls curved up on their forward swing and hit the canine's taint. He started getting into his dirty talk, too. "Fuck I love bitch ass. You're so fucking loose, bitch, I can fucking rail you hard as I want. Can you feel it?"

"Yes...fuck yes..."

"Liar. You're so loose, you might even fit all of my seed. Be a big sloppy bitch. A vessel for my breeding. You want that?"

"Yes...cum in me...cum on me...I want to smell like you..."

"Good bitch. You will, for days. No doubt." The thrusts grew harder. "The real thing's better than a fucking toy, isn't it?"

"Fuck yes, yes...so much..."

"Fuck yeah...love fuck you...love cumming in my bitches...love that first time they break and beg for it..." He pulled the dog's body closer, the plap, plap of his pounding getting faster. "Here comes my cum, bitch...you ready for an ass-full of colts, puppy? You ready for a stud's seed?"

"Yes! Yes! Please, please...yes... it's all I want...please give it to me..."

The stallion growled in delight at Sal's pathetic begging. "Squeeze me tight, bitch...hard as you can." Sal did as commanded, feeling the cock sweeping in and out of him, feeling it grow impossibly tighter as the flare swelled even more, as the stallion prepared to ejaculate inside him...

Muscleboy whinnied hard and loud when he came, like a prize racehorse. His long-awaited seed--even hotter than his searing cock--blasted into the canine with a force that made Sal's head spin in disbelief. Each immense pulse of the stallion's cock--would they ever end, they just kept coming--registered on his pleasure-dulled walls and his flapping ring as a count for how much of a stallion's bitch he now was. When the cum began oozing out and dripping down his legs and the back of his scrotum, the dog could only whimper and whine and wish it were leaking into his mouth.

It ended when the stallion's cock stopped pulsing, and he pulled himself free with a grunt that sent a gush of semen down Sal's legs. Moments later, the canine felt something else pushed into his ass: a plug. It sealed the escaping flood of horse seed almost entirely, and the equine grunted and dropped his cock along the canine's back like a piece of prime meat. Cum-soaked and still dribbling from the tip, Sal felt the male's warm liquid running down his sides, decorating him like a finished cake. He whined in happiness at the heft that lay atop him, only now comprehending the size of what had fucked him. The stud was gigantic...and he had chosen to fuck Sal.

What could be better?

Moments later, the cock slid off his back as hands tugged him around, bringing him face to cock with the stallion's crotch and its epic, semen-drenched champion. The horse had a device in hand, and he pressed a button on it now, making the plug within his new Doberman bitch begin vibrating unexpectedly. Sal jerked in surprise at the jolt of pleasure, and his ass rose of its own accord, as if presenting itself for a second fuck. The stallion chuckled.

"Great work, bitch. I figure you've got about...half a litre in you. My balls felt real fucking full today." He tossed the remote aside and grabbed Sal's leash, tugging on it to make Sal lift his head, then inserting his cock into the dog's mouth and pushing enough of it in to block Sal's throat, leaving only his nose for breathing. As the perfect taste of stallion flooded his tongue, Sal began sucking, blissfully happy to be pleasuring this lord of horses. His eyes lidded over, and he was only half-attentive when the stallion spoke to him again.

"I really was fucked off when you insulted me," the stallion said conversationally, patting the dog's head like a pet. Sal glrk'd around the cock filling his maw in response. "But now, I'm sort of glad you did." He leaned over to grab his phone from the cupboard. "I usually don't have to use the vial, you know. Most bitches know what the deal is when they see me. You...you made me work for it." He lifted the phone above the dog's head, angling it this way and that. "And I thought I'd hate that, but it was actually...fun." He snapped a photo, looked at it, repositioned the camera for another. "And look: now I've got your dummy hot muscle Dobie ass in my bitch-collection. That's fucking great. And you're gonna get stallion-cock in every hole, all the time. We both win." Sal tried to nod, the monstrous cock preventing him. "I just have to make sure...that everyone knows it..." the stallion said distractedly, still angling the phone. He took another photo, looked at it, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Oh yeah. Perfect. This is goin' up on Bitch-Hub for sure." He lowered the camera to show Sal, and the dog stared at his own face, seen from above, with a maw full of horsecock, a bitch-collar around his neck, and eyes full of pleasure.

Yes.

That was all...right. The Doberman breathed in another noseful of incredible stallion scent, the plug in his ass vibrating happily away, his cock hard against the bedspread, his hands restrained behind him. This was a bitch's place, no doubt. His place.

"See?" the horse said, looking at the photo with satisfaction. "I told you you'd be the first to see that collar around the neck of a real bitch." He tapped a few times on the screen, then put the phone down. "Done. Bitch-Hub's gonna fucking love you, puppy." He patted the dog's head again before starting to muzzle-fuck him.

"You're going to get the Friday afternoon slot, puppy. I'll expect you here every afternoon at four to clean me after my practice. Pits, balls, and hooves. Got it? Then you'll get your first fucking of the day, and then..."