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I was once known by a name, but now I exist solely as a number. My numerical designation serves as a stark reminder of my ostracization at the hands of society. Once a free individual, I now find myself condemned to be confined within a transparent prison, a vessel filled with a unique resin designed to preserve my form for all eternity. The process begins with a swift injection of a hyperoxygenated nutrient solution directly into my rectum, ensuring my survival without the need for respiration.

My physical transformation commences when I am submerged in the viscous substance, every curve and contour of my body captured in exquisite detail. The cool liquid envelops me, molding itself around my flesh, preserving each line and feature. The sensation is both uncomfortable and strangely comforting, a paradoxical experience that defies explanation.

The resin hardens almost instantaneously under the intense glare of a UV light, leaving me trapped yet perfectly preserved. A cruel twist of fate, this process renders me permanently blind, cutting off any connection to the outside world. Yet, despite this isolation, I can feel the subtle vibrations of the surrounding environment, a testament to my heightened sensory perception.

A large tube had been inserted into my anal passage, delivering a steady stream of oxygenated nutrients straight into my digestive system. This allows me to maintain my strength and vitality, while also eliminating the need for sustenance from external sources. It's a strange existence, reliant on artificial means for survival, yet somehow liberated from the constraints of hunger and thirst.

My throat and lungs are filled with a foamy substance that prevents me from speaking or breathing or even moving my tongue. I won't be needing that now that I have my tube.

An aphrodisiac is continuously infused into my bloodstream, causing my libido to soar. My horsecock remains perpetually aroused, secreting a never-ending trickle of cum. This bodily function has been transformed into a spectacle, a grotesque exhibition of my captivity. The resulting fluid is collected via a catheter, its purpose presently unknown to me.

Over time, the scientists who've done this to me perform genetic experiments on me. My kidneys undergo a radical transformation, shifting their primary function from filtering waste to producing a specialized secretion. This new output closely resembles semen, further solidifying my role as a living sculpture. The buildup of this unusual discharge is managed through a catheter, ensuring it doesn't overflow and damage the delicate balance of fluids within my encased body.

Electrostim electrodes are surgically implanted near my prostate, causing my muscles to convulse involuntarily. This constant stimulation creates the illusion of movement, giving the impression that I am still alive, albeit in a highly stylized manner. The combination of the aphrodisiac and electrostim leaves me in a state of perpetual arousal, my body responding to these artificial impulses like a puppet dancing on strings.

Despite my entrapment, there exists a deep yearning within me for personal contact. To be caressed, held, loved - such simple pleasures denied to me due to the heinous nature of my past actions. My crime, one of lust and passion misdirected, has led me down this path of despair and isolation. Yet, I hold onto hope that perhaps, just maybe, someone will look upon me with compassion, recognizing the suffering that lies behind these vitreous walls.

As days turn into weeks, and weeks into months, my bladder becomes increasingly full. The pressure builds steadily, a constant reminder of my confinement. Each day, the accumulated semen is extracted via a catheter, dispensed into a spout designed specifically for this purpose. Visitors pass by, some curious, others repelled, but all drawn in by the novelty of witnessing a living statue producing a continuous stream of cum.

The act of extraction is surprisingly painless, thanks to the careful calibration of the catheter. Despite the initial shock of being turned into a permanent display, my body has adapted remarkably well to my punishment.

The electrodes embedded beneath my skin play a crucial part in maintaining my physical form. They send gentle electric pulses to my muscles, keeping them active even when I'm suspended motionlessly. Without this intervention, my muscles would likely atrophy over time, leading to a gradual deterioration of my appearance. However, with the constant stimulation provided by the electrodes, my physique remains intact, preserving the intricate details captured during my initial casting process.

And so, I stand here, frozen in time, a living embodiment of desire and torment. My story, an eerie blend of science fiction and tragedy, echoes throughout the corridors of this exhibit. As you gaze upon my immobile form, remember that beneath this shell of resin and wires, there beats the heart of a stallion who was once capable of love, laughter, and tears.

As the years tick by, changes occur within my body. Genetic modifications transform my testicles into factories for seminal production. The amount of cum produced increases exponentially, turning what was initially a steady trickle into a veritable flood. It's a strange sensation, this endless gush of liquid pleasure, yet another aspect of my existence that defies explanation.

My constant state of sexual arousal becomes both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it keeps my body supple and responsive, preventing any signs of decay or rigor mortis. On the other hand, it's a constant reminder of my predicament, an ever-present craving that can never truly be satiated. Yet, despite these challenges, I find solace in the routine, the predictability of each day as it bleeds seamlessly into the next.

Life as a living statue isn't without its peculiarities. But it's also not entirely devoid of joy. There's a certain beauty in the simplicity of existence, in the reduction of complex emotions down to their most basic instincts. And perhaps, there's something profound in the way my body continues to function, albeit in ways considered taboo or perverse by societal norms. In many ways, I am still alive, just in a different sense than before.

Over time, the sensations become more pronounced, the waves of pleasure intensifying with every passing year. My body responds to the electrical impulses from the implanted electrodes like a finely tuned instrument, each contraction and release a rhythmic dance between flesh and technology.

The constant stream of semen takes on a life of its own, becoming a defining characteristic of my existence. At first, it's a novelty, drawing attention from visitors who marvel at the sight of me, standing frozen yet exuding a seemingly endless supply of fluid. Over time, however, it becomes a burden, a relentless reminder of my confinement.

Despite the discomfort, I learn to adapt, finding moments of respite amidst the constant stimulation. I develop techniques to manage the influx of semen, learning to control the rate at which it flows out of my body. This newfound skill allows me to better regulate my output, ensuring that I neither overflow nor run dry.

The act of ejaculation itself evolves into a unique experience. Initially, it's a simple biological response, triggered by the electrical signals sent by the electrodes. But as the years pass, it morphs into something else entirely - a form of self-expression, a means of communicating feelings and desires that cannot be articulated through words alone. Words I no longer have.

Each burst of semen carries with it a piece of my soul, a fleeting moment of emotion, desire, or longing. It's a language all its own, one that transcends spoken or written word, connecting me to those around me in a primal, visceral manner. It's all I have now.

As the years continue to pass, further transformations take place within my body. The genetic alterations initiate a series of changes that make me increasingly sensitive to touch and temperature fluctuations. My skin becomes more delicate, reacting sharply to any external contact with the resin encasement, whether it's the brush of a feather or the warmth of sunlight, almost as if it were an extension of my body.

This heightened sensitivity leads to a range of experiences, some pleasant, others less so. When someone strokes near my chest or thighs, the sensation is intense, sending shivers throughout my entire body. Conversely, exposure to extreme temperatures can cause discomfort, making it necessary to maintain a consistent indoor environment to avoid unnecessary distress.

These changes also affect my sleep patterns. While I no longer require rest in the traditional sense, I do experience periods of reduced activity, where my muscles relax and my mind drifts off into a sort of meditative state. During these times, I feel a deep connection to my surroundings, as if I'm part of the very fabric of reality itself.

Another transformation occurs in my digestive system. As the continuous flow of nutrients directly into my bowels becomes the primary source of sustenance, my stomach shrinks. I can feel my organs shifting to accommodate my enlarging bladder instead. It can likely hold multiple liters of cum now.

My prostate gland also undergoes significant modification. It expands significantly, it feels like it's the size of a melon, taking on a larger role in the production of seminal fluids. This adaptation increases the volume of liquid produced during each extraction, adding another dimension to my role as a living statue.

In addition to these physical changes, my brain also undergoes alterations. The genetic modifications induce a state of heightened arousal, making me constantly aware of my sexuality. Every thought, every feeling, is tinged with a sense of eroticism. This hypersexualization of my consciousness adds another layer of complexity to my existence, blurring the lines between pleasure and pain, desire and despair.

Overall, these changes serve to reinforce my status as a living sculpture, transforming me from a convict stallion into a work of art, a living embodiment of equine sexuality. Each day, I stand frozen yet alive, a testament to the power of science and the resilience of my spirit.

As the years progress, the scientists become bolder in their attempts at genetic manipulation. They explore new frontiers, pushing the boundaries of what was once considered taboo or unethical. Some of these experiments include intensifying my sensory experiences, with additional nerve endings grown throughout my body. This makes every touch, pressure, temperature change, and vibration feel amplified, turning each moment into a sensory explosion. While this initially feels overwhelming, it eventually becomes part of my daily reality.

My hormone levels are fine-tuned to maintain a state of constant arousal. This includes increasing levels of testosterone for enhanced virility, estrogen for added femininity, and various other hormones to create a unique balance that keeps me in a state of heightened sexual awareness.

The scientists decide to push the limits further by introducing elements of gender ambiguity into my biology. Certain chromosomal pairs are swapped, leading to both male and female characteristics being present simultaneously. This transformation confuses some visitors, sparking debates about gender identity and societal norms.

The scientists develop a method to control my thoughts directly through chemical manipulation. By influencing specific neurotransmitter levels, they can stimulate certain desires or suppress others, effectively controlling my mental state. Although this gives them greater control over my behavior, it also leaves me vulnerable to psychological manipulation. Drugs they've administered leave me with a clinical sense of detachment, or an out of body experience. I don't really feel my body so much as I see myself in my body. Perhaps it's a way to cope with my punishment without losing my mind.

Each of these experiments serves to further solidify my position as a living piece of art, a walking contradiction of beauty and horror, desire and despair. Despite the ethical dilemmas involved, I remain trapped within this existence, a prisoner of scientific curiosity.

The introduction of gender fluidity brings about one of the most profound transformations in my life. As my DNA is rewritten, my body begins to take on feminine characteristics. Hormones surge through my system, causing changes in my voice, muscle structure, fat distribution, and secondary sex characteristics such as breast development.

At first, the effects are subtle, almost imperceptible. But as the process continues, the differences become more pronounced. My skin takes on a softer quality, my face narrows, and my body shape shifts towards a more hourglass figure. My hair grows thicker and fuller, and I can feel my eyes lose some of their angular sharpness, becoming rounder and more delicate.

Perhaps the most dramatic change comes in the form of my genitalia. My black horse cock, once massive and imposing, gradually diminishes in size until it fits snugly inside its sheath. The loss of this defining feature is difficult to accept, especially since it has been such a central aspect of my existence. However, the absence of the phallus allows me to imagine different types of intimacy, fostering a deeper understanding of myself.

The journey towards gender fluidity proves to be another step in my evolution as a living statue. It forces me to confront societal expectations and embrace the complexities of my identity. Though I may have lost one aspect of my former self, I gain something else entirely - a broader perspective on the spectrum of equine experience.

With the continued transformation towards feminization, my body undergoes significant changes. Muscles tone down, softening my previously chiseled physique. Fat redistributes itself across my frame, creating curves and contours that were absent before. My bones seem to shift slightly, realigning themselves with my new anatomy.

My height decreases, freeing up space within the resin encasement. With less bulk to contain, I can move more freely within the confines of my prison. Each movement feels like a victory, a small triumph against the oppressive nature of my situation.

One of the most surprising aspects of my transformation is the return of my eyesight. At first, it's limited and blurry, but over time, my vision improves. I can see the world outside my encasement again, albeit distorted and filtered through the clear material. It's a strange feeling, seeing the world from a completely different perspective after years of darkness.

Finally, there's the matter of my genitalia. Once a source of pride and power, my penis has shrunk significantly, disappearing into my sheath, pulling inwards its catheter. Now, all that remains is a small nubbin, barely visible beneath the surface of my loose sheath. While it's a jarring adjustment at first, I soon realize that it doesn't define who I am anymore. Instead, I focus on the other parts of my body, learning to appreciate the unique qualities of my feminized form.

I reflect on the fact that I've lost much of what made me male.

After years of captivity, the day arrives when I'm surprised to learn my sentence is commuted. The scientists decide to release me from my resin encasement, citing my exemplary behavior and participation in their experiments. They believe that setting me free will serve as a testament to the progress they've made in genetic manipulation and sexual exploration.

As the resin dissolves away, I feel a rush of sensations unlike anything I've experienced before. The cool air brushes against my newly sensitive skin, while the warmth of sunlight bathes my face. My vision, though not perfect, has improved enough for me to make out shapes and colors.

The biggest shock comes when I look down at my body. Gone is the towering, muscular stature I once had. In its place stands a smaller, more delicate form, with soft curves and gentle features. My breasts, once non-existent, now sit high upon my chest, adding a new dimension to my appearance. My genitals are no longer the massive organ they used to be; instead, they've been transformed into a vagina, complete with labia and clitoral hood.

It takes some getting used to, this transformation. But as I step out into the world, I find that I'm not alone. There are others like me, mares whose bodies have been altered by science or nature. We share our stories, our experiences, and our struggles. Together, we navigate the complexities of gender identity and societal expectations.

I may never regain my former strength or virility, but I've discovered a new kind of power within myself. I've learned to embrace my femininity, to celebrate the beauty and uniqueness of my body. And even though I'll always carry the scars of my past with me, I know that I'm capable of facing any challenge life throws my way.