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This story was written for the Freebies Vol. 47: Sweet Revenge Edition! livestream on February 5, 2012, for Baylith. Characters are copyright their owners.

Livestream stories are not edited or proofread, and therefore are not up to my usual quality. They're written quickly and off the cuff, but should still be a fun read if you're into the kinks in the story. Enjoy!

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Round 3: Baylith (feat. Mackenya (FA User Page))

The roar of the crowd, the feel of the dirt under his hooves, the smell of the other horses all warming up... Mackenya loved race day. It didn't hurt he was the reigning champion at the Bay Racetrack.

Horse racing was one of the most popular betting sports for a reason and hardcore fans followed their every moves like most fans would follow football or basketball players. Private eyes working for bookies even followed them around sometimes, looking for hints of injury or other performance-related issues that could change the odds.

Mackenya kept himself clean. He worked out four hours a day and spent another two on cardio only. He ate right, taking advantage of the stable's resident dietician to plan his every meal. He drank nothing but water, protein shakes, and fresh fruit and vegetable juice. He was in the peak of his performance and the highest-paid racer in the stable.

Unfortunately, the other runners were jealous of Mackenya's success. Especially after last week, when, as was custom, the last-place finisher went up to the owner's box and never came back. Jerry had been very popular, if getting on in years. Most of the racers hoped Mackenya would throw a race to give him a chance, but it was not to be.

So it was without Mackenya noticing that several of the other racers doped his water before the race. Mackenya didn't feel the effects until he got to the starting line, by which point it was too late.

The race was disastrous. He missed the starting gun and his legs felt like lead. He could still think straight, but his body wouldn't respond. He finished easily in last place and, as this was a championship race, he knew what that meant.

The owner of the racetrack, Mr. B., was not known to be a forgiving boss. Last-place finishers were not known to return from his box after a poor showing. The money was so good many horses didn't care about the racetrack's reputation, though. Mackenya himself was a millionaire several times over already after a short, lucrative career.

Back in the stables, hot and sweaty, covered in dust, Mackenya showered with the other horses. He heard the whispers and rumors and figured someone had doped him, but the white stallion had little choice but to try and explain that to Mr. B.

At six-foot-five and a lean 180 pounds, Mackenya was a beautiful horse. Long, strong legs, a solid core, and ample muscles gave him an Adonis-like look. Long white hair cascaded down his shoulders, matching the puff of white of his tail. Feathery fur covered his wrists and ankles, softening his angular body somewhat.

After showering, he combed himself, blew his hair and fur dry, and put on a pair of stable-issued hot pants, the only clothing racers were allowed to have on race day - supposedly to prevent cheating, but more likely to let the fans in the crowd get good looks at their nearly naked bodies.

Still feeling the effects of the dope, Mackenya climbed the stairs up to the elevator, located at the back of the stables. The second and third floor contained the bet-maker's officers and the fourth the administration and payroll. The top floor overlooked the racetrack and contained all of Mr. B.'s private offices.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Mackenya pushed the number five button and listened as the motors carried him up to the top.

He'd never been up to the top floor before and was surprised at its elegance. Mr. B. was rumored to never leave, and thus kept everything he could need up there. The doors of the elevator opened into a spacious lobby. A soft red carpet crunched under his hooves as he stepped out, under a large chandelier. To the left, a kitchen area and hallway, presumably leading to bedrooms. To the right, another hallway and a living room area with couches and a television.

In front of the stallion was a magnificent view of the racetrack from one end to another, overlooking the sea of fans still cheering as the next races began. In front of the one-way window that spanned the entire length of the floor was a single, large, red chair gilded in gold trim. A small stand next to the chair contained a small lamp, intercom, ashtray, and martini glass.

Mackenya swallowed nervously as he stepped across the floor, hooves clopping unnaturally loudly as he went.

"Race didn't go so well today, did it, Mack?"

The stallion halted as Mr. B. spoke. He'd never met the owner before. He didn't even know what he looked like.

"Uh... yes, sir."

"Shame... you're good for the numbers. Lots of people bet on you, you know. Made me a lot of money the past few months."

The shadow Mr. B. cast moved as he stood up and turned around, looking at Mackenya over the top of the chair. He was a wolf with dark gray fur and black paws. He was very tall, with a tuft of hair at the end of his chin, beard-like. He wore an expensively tailored three-piece suit with a gold pocket watch chain coming out of the vest pocket. In his right paw, he held a still-smoking cigar, chewed at one end.

"Such a shame," Mr. B. repeated, before lifting the cigar to his broad muzzle for another puff.

"I'm very sorry, sir," Mackenya said, hooves tapping against the carpet. "But there's a reason I didn't do well. The other racers, they-"

"I'm not interested in excuses, Mack," Mr. B. said. His growl silenced the stallion immediately.

With deliberate care, the wolf set his cigar down in the ashtray before removing his coat and undoing the buttons on his vest. His large belly was obviously firm, the result of time spent working out and not eating. With his coat off, Mack could see the wolf's arms were just as muscular.

He shivered as he watched the big canine stalk across the carpet towards him. He let out a whicker of fright when Mr. B.'s huge paw reached out and grabbed him around the neck. With the ease of a professional weightlifter, the wolf lifted him into the air, one paw under thigh.

"Mmmm... you smell good," Mr. B. growled, nose pushing under Mackenya's jaw. "I was hoping this day would come, you know. Just not before you made me a few more million dollars."

Mackenya tried to speak, but Mr. B.'s thick musk washed over him. His arms and legs went rigid and his eyes wide in fear as he felt claws tickle down his sides. His hooves dangled over the carpet a few inches above as the wolf pulled his shorts off, leaving him totally naked.

Unsure what was really happening, Mackenya didn't resist as the wolf teased him. Mr. B. carried him over to a large couch and set him down, still huffing and growling with lust, paws constantly roaming over his smooth white skin. Unable to help himself as the wolf's claws teased at his sheath, Mackenya quickly grew aroused.

"Mr. B., what are you... why..."

The wolf didn't reply, instead covering Mackenya's muzzle with his for a deep kiss. It took Mackenya's breath away, as the wolf's tongue filled his muzzle, licking over his broad teeth, spreading his lips apart. At the same time, the wolf's big belly pushed against the horse's chest and his paw stroked the equine's maleness, eliciting shivers of pleasure.

Still under the effects of the drug, however, Mackenya's cock was slow to reach full arousal, giving the wolf plenty of time to tease the half-hard length. It was nice and long, thick and slightly wrinkly, with a pleasant bulged stripe in the center of the length. Mackenya moaned into the kiss as claws teased over the veins, making him wriggle against the bulk of the much larger wolf. Mr. B. weighed at least 250 pounds, maybe more. Despite his strength training, Mackenya was built for speed and could do nothing about the massive wolf on top of him.

The kiss finally broke with a nibble to Mackenya's lips. Mr. B. growled and pawed at him all the more, both paws squeezing his chest and belly, stroking his cock, or tickling his ears and tail base.

Mackenya got into it then. If all Mr. B. was into was fucking the loser, that wouldn't be too bad. The stallion wasn't averse to it.

That's when Mr. B.'s belly growled.

Mackenya froze again as the wolf's long, wet tongue dragged over the side of his muzzle, from his lips to his ear, going the entire length. The white stallion's eyes popped open as he felt teeth graze his chin. The wolf wasn't engaged in foreplay. He was tasting him.

As if to confirm his worst fears, Mr. B. pulled back and smiled down at Mackenya, his muzzle full of far too many teeth.

"Delicious, just as I'd hoped," the wolf said, pulling off his unbuttoned vest. His black slacks bulged with an obvious and very large erection. "Some of you are too stringy, but you... you've got meat on your bones."

Once again Mackenya tried to talk, to explain he was drugged, that he couldn't run because of that, but the only sound that came out of his muzzle was a squeak.

Despite himself, he remained completely hard. Mr. B. was going to eat him, but he couldn't help being aroused. The wolf's tongue caressed his cheek again and he moaned involuntarily.

Mr. B wore a white button-up shirt under his vest, which he promptly undid, letting it hang around either side of his thick gut. It rumbled again warningly and the wolf snorted as he leaned forward, pressing his large midsection into Mackenya's chest. The horse could barely see as he was flattened into the couch by the wolf's bulk. His cock pushed into Mr. B.'s stomach, dripping by now, as the wolf suckled on each of his ears.

"Feel free to squirm," the wolf whispered.

Mackenya felt his head tipped back for what he thought would be another kiss. Instead, the wolf's jaws stretched open impossibly wide. A hot, wet blast of air hit him before the light was blotted out as the jaws closed around his head. He kicked and screamed as he was lifted into the air, upended until his ankles and hooves were straight up above him. One paw gripped his ass, holding him up, as another paw grabbed his cock and stroked it slowly.

Mackenya's nose was squeezed by the muscles of the wolf's throat first. He closed his eyes tight and struggled, but there was nowhere to go but down. Worse, the adrenaline was making him even harder. The wolf grabbed his hands and pushed them towards his own cock. Mackenya found himself jerking off as he slipped deeper into the wolf's throat. How Mr. B. could unhinge his jaw so widely, he had no idea, but then his shoulders were past the canine's fangs and he was masturbating furiously.

Things went quickly after that. The wolf paused and helped Mackenya, squeezing his balls and tickling his tail base. His muffled whinnies echoed through the room as his cock jerked. Mr. B. felt the stallion's wriggling increase in intensity and quickly swallowed, dragging the male down farther. His throat pinned Mackenya's arms to his sides as the horse came, shooting several thick loads of cum into the wolf's muzzle. A few more swallows and the stallion was gone.

Mr. B. grunted and slurped, getting the last of Mackenya's hooves down. The stallion's seed was a nice aftertaste and the wolf groaned as he patted his full belly. Occasionally the outline of a head or hand pushed outwards; constant ripples moved against his fur. He sat down heavily on the couch, which protested at his new weight. His stomach, bloated and extended, hung out over his legs, almost covering his knees. His cock, rock hard in his slacks, curled up against the rotundity of his belly, making quite a mess.

Mr. B. sighed and smacked his lips. He pursed his lips and blew, getting rid of a few stray white hairs, then patted his belly and closed his eyes. Digestion was always his favorite part - he would sit for hours, not moving, just enjoying himself and the feeling of being absolutely stuffed.

A curious feeling spread through him, then, and he opened his eyes. He knew that feeling... what was it? Ears cocked back, he smacked his lips again and ran his tongue over his teeth.

His star stallion had been doped. That's why he'd failed to run well.

Mr. B. growled loudly and patted his stomach again, where the wriggles were gradually fading. Getting to his feet with a lurch, he held his stomach in both paws and waddled over to the intercom next to his chair.

"Mr. Smith," he said, holding the talk button down, "I'd like you to send the other stallions from the last race up to my box, please. One at a time. Make sure they're showered and appropriately dressed."

Without bothering to wait for a confirmation, Mr. B. turned and sat down heavily in his chair. He wouldn't tolerate cheating, but he could tolerate seconds, thirds, fourths, and fifths...

FIN