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Isaac had been born into a world of strife and conflict. Surrounded by war, he had been inevitably become drawn in on his nation's behalf.

There were two waging factions; the ponies and the heavier breeds. Isaac had struggled for the ponies for as long as he could, but the inevitable strength of draft horses could not be overcome and he had been soundly defeated and taken as a trophy of war.

As the most valuable asset; his body became the engine of menial labor and the unwavering lust of bigger breeds who found ponies to be as comely as mare breeding sluts.

A fierce pair of red eyes greeted him in the hollow darkness of the prisoner camp. He had slept here in a bedlam of days and was so confused that every hour passed by him in a confusing medley of eternity.

It seemed that the masters here wanted time to pass as if it had no meaning, and they were doing a good job of it. Without the sun, Isaac was lost in a floating suspense of forever. Waiting...waiting...waiting on a sea of ages and never ending night.

"Yes, I want to see him--he may do for my stables." Blasted a gruff voice of a giant stallion.

It also seemed that the bigger horses had deep grating guttural voices somewhat like German accents but thick with dominant power and the forcefulness of commands.

The low hum of dull faded light greeted him with a snap of running electricity; the features of the inspecting beast now apparent to his sun-starved pony eyes.

The heavy beast was giant and full of muscle. His legs and arms were stocky with bodybuilder horsepower and a thick gray and black spotted appaloosa fur pattern. On him was no clothing but a pair of thigh high black boots and a form-fitting pair of riding pants that were tight against his humongous sheathe and balls like a plastic vacuum seal against an action figure.

"Come on pony; I don't have all day." The snow-spot equine rumbles with a demand.

Isaac lay there, his body still lumped lazily in his pile of messy straw towards the back of his little horse stall prison. Through imprisonment, this had been his home. Cleaned up regularly or not, it seemed like the only place he belonged now that he had been taken from his allies.

"Goddamn your a stubborn mare." The stallion growled lightly, trapped between anger and amusement.

He looked back at the obscenely muscled draft stallion in covert interest as he sat in his stinking mess all naked to the air. The idea of leaving somewhat appealed to him if a new owner could be more interesting than this place.

It couldn't be worse than this mediocrity of darkness, could it? Being stuck in a horse stall where caretakers rarely bothered to clean up his straw seemed a dismal way to go through life.

The big horse walked into the stall, his nostrils curled with distaste as they filled with the pungent bitter aroma of manure and piss stink. His boots picked a delicate path around muck-ridden piles of sodden heavy straw until he came up to Isaac's limp naked body.

"I can't imagine they're making you sit in this filth for being unmanageable." The prospecting master remarks, looking at the disarrayed mess of the small horse stall. "I have ponies I clean up after that make bronco's look like saints."

His tail had become a matted mess as tangled and filthy as the rest of his body. For a prisoner taken in war, he had not been treated well and the condition of his unruly fur showed it. Sure he had been given food and water regularly, but beyond that, it seemed like the caretakers of the facility didn't want to bother with doing anymore than that.

In fact, his little niche of a home was not the only one that had been neglected. Half of the stalls were so forgotten; as if there was an expectation that all the captured ponies were simply expected to die.

No, this world of stink and disease was not because he was manageable or not; it was simply because the grooms had no semblance of charity in their hearts. This was still a war, and they had no mercy even for defeated enemies.

The leopard horse pulled a short little whip from his belt and tapped it impatiently on his thick girded thigh. "Hmmm. I don't see as you have much of a choice. I bought you as my pony and if you don't come with me, those fuck-ups you call caretakers will grab you anyway."

Isaac thought about it and wondered how fast this master could react. Maybe if he got up real fast, he could escape and get away from this whole nightmare of a facility before anyone gathered enough wits to catch him.

"Ah yes, there's a nice pony."

Isaac stood up and kept his muzzle facing towards the floor as he waited for the spotted stallion to take some kind of collar and leash from a loop on his belt.

He ducked under the big horse just as those large muscular hands were about to clasp the collar around his neck, galloping along the shadowy pony stalls and up towards a steel reinforced entrance, leaving the whole horror behind him.

"Pony on the loose!" The master immediately declared behind his back even as other ungodly large stallions lunged for him as if he were a thief trying to escape with the king's crown. It was absolutely rabid the way fingers grasped for him ever hungrily like teeth; some scraping along his skin, but he couldn't stop--couldn't let them stop him as he ran for his freedom; heart beating in his chest at amazing speed.

Another entrance loomed with brightness nearby. Almost out of the processing center, he cleared the formal double doors with a whicker of prideful accomplishment--which was short-lived as he smacked into what felt like an impenetrable wall.

He fell on his ass with a painful thump as he looked up into curious eyes on another giant horse--in the formal dress grays of an officer. Isaac nearly shit himself on the pavement as he realized he was looking up at an enemy of the half-pint pony empire.

The draft shire with the black and white mixed fur looked down at him bemusedly. It was clear that the stallion was as surprised as Isaac in consideration of how the situation turned out.

But the queerness of the situation faded and the big horse had enough sense to reach down and grab him by his shoulder in one firm grip.

The master horse came out of the processing facility with an entertained grin. "I see you caught yourself a friend." He mused with a deep guttural horsie chuckle.

Smiling and laughing in response, the enormous wall of horseflesh nods. "Yes sir. Is this going to be your new pet? He's cute, but I don't like how skittish he is."

"I'll train him to behave; that's what I'm good at." Master horse held out the collar ensemble. "Mind holding the shy little cocklicker for me?"

Isaac looked around, his ears flattened and his eyes wide. Part of him wanted to bite the giant horse who held him in order to escape again, but he knew that if he did that, he would be captured again anyway. The only thing that would accomplish would be a few more minutes of running and maybe a severe punishment later if he was adopted.

But if he went back to his stall, there was no doubt he'd be forgotten again as he was before. There was no reason for the staff to change just because he had escaped.

He submitted easily as he felt the stiff leather wrap around his thick sturdy little neck, the horse tugging lightly on it with his leash to make sure it was adjusted and fitted properly.

Then he felt the light pull of the rein and saw that there was a long sleek fancy car like important equines rode around in, but it had a small trailer attached to the rear bumper. Isaac clopped his sore unkempt hooves on the pavement along to the guidance of the big half naked beast of studflesh; the tailgate down in the back so he could see the fresh lumps of nice smelling straw placed along every inch of the floor like an equine-made carpet.

Hesitating for what had likely been a moment, he felt a sharp but short-lived sting on his buttock as the short riding crop smacked his tush firmly with a snide and sudden crack.

"In pony." Came the simple command.

Without much better prospects running through his head, he obliged the dominant creature and flopped inside carelessly; his muzzle diving under the thick tangle of bedding like he was a gopher even as he felt wide fingers begin to grope and fondle his manure-caked buns as he squealed out in protest and tried to bury himself further under the mounds of straw.

The constant motion of the trailer jarred him a few times, but for the most part, this large pile of bedding helped to cushion all the ills and bumps of the road as well as give him the comfort of the nice clean smell he had taken for granted. It wasn't grass, but it still offered a blessing regardless.

A few more moments of bumps and rumbles, and the car seemed to slow down. Isaac poked up his pink sensitive muzzle from his cocoon of rough downy straw as a fresh array of sounds and smells assailed him.

Another voice and the sound of high-strung petite little pony nickers and whinnies and snorts greeted his ears, just as the raw smell of manure, urine, and clean straw also filled his nose. Flowers and fresh grasses blossomed nearby and made his lips water in anticipation. He'd been eating hay this entire time, and some grass or thistles right now would be heaven. Maybe a few acorns as well.

Isaac nibbled on his bedding to stave off his hunger as the clear deep voice of the Master addressed one of his friends nearby, who seemed to be working with one of the ponies. Isaac could tell because he heard the short curious wuffing and blustering noises along with the bell-like rattle of leather and metal harness.

"Hey Ashton, how's the training going?"

Isaac couldn't see, but his ears were sharper than ever. He made a note of their names and their accents as they talked.

"Things are okay. It's a little slow since Red is fighting me alot, but if he wants anymore carrots from me, he'll do what he's supposed to."

Isaac's mouth watered to a sudden insatiable hunger. Carrots; he hadn't enjoyed one of those for years. Thanks to the war shortage and multiple crop failures, it was almost impossible to get some short of being rich. He sniffed the air and fell into his straw limply as the fresh smell of the vegetable came into his nose even as the pony jingled his harness as he munched on one.

He hoped that maybe he could get one if he didn't have to sacrifice too much of his independence and dignity. Being treated like a breeding mount and pet to a larger, more superior breed of the species was shameful and beyond the simple definition of humiliation; it was a soul-shattering submission of confidence that a liberty loving little critter like him couldn't tolerate.

Submission was a matter of service, and not only did Isaac not want to serve his enemy, he also didn't want to be his enemies' property. Such a situation scored long deep scratches to the core of his soul.

Outside, the pony snorted in delight as Ashton patted his cheekbone, or so Isaac assumed.

Bright midday sun greeted him as the gate was lowered and he could finally see his new home even as he cleared his light-starved eyes. After an unseemly expanse of what could be years in a dungeonesque atmosphere, a fresh sun on a clear day was hell on his eyes, and he hid his head under the bedding as the sun rays warmed his presented bare rump with heat almost alien to his body.

Isaac hardly noticed the sun before when he had escaped outside; it was early in the morning with a baby blue hue encroaching over a predawn sky.

He looked on in surprise as the red roan pony named Red was laying on his back in the grass as a large beige Belgian stallion began to work at the small horse's sheathe and rub up his cock as the little stud, still in his bridle and butt-plug harness drooled copiously and squealed in utter adorable bliss even as the Master laughed lightly and clapped.

"The quickest way to a ponies' heart is his stomach--or cock; whichever works." Ashton jokes as he works delicately on the pretty black jutting member. "I admit little Red might give me some problems, but for the most part, he is such a pretty well-behaved dear that I could snuggle with him all day in the pasture."

Isaac shuddered and blushed as he looked on the strange scene of one of his captured fellows being manually pleasured by the hulking mass of stallion that was now his trainer.

The Belgian took a casual look over his shoulder as he slowly teased the tiny member in a giant fist. "Is that the new pony? I've never seen a palomino for such a long time--not since Nova died."

"Nova was a good pet. A bit too spirited, but his mischief made him too cute to break in like most other ponies. I frankly miss him just as all the other trainers do. Such a pony is hard to find, and his clownish little adventures made this place light up with joy."

Ashton sighed with tiredness at the same time Red gave a long squeaky little churr of bliss and erupted silver sparkles all over his chest and moaned low in pleasure.

"Good pony. Let's get you cleaned up."

Despite his difficulty with all the restraints and hobbles on his limbs, Red managed to get to his feet without help and purred delightedly as he rubbed his bridled head against Ashton's belly and chest in affection as the trainer grinned and stood there.

Isaac couldn't understand how such a hardy race like his would capitulate so fully to the whims of the enemy; especially since ponies of the defending army had been trained to fight and never surrender unto death. He wondered if there was some kind of brainwashing going on at this stable, as the obedient reddish furred little horse should never be so willing to listen to commands by the enemy.

He stood there a moment, unable to understand what was going on--before someone yanked on his leash and led him up to the pair. It was the master, and it seemed he wanted to introduce them.

Ashton took Red's reins with a nice smile as he looked into Isaac's light blue eyes and reached forward--but Isaac pulled his head away and tried to resist being touched.

"Your pet is very jumpy, Warren. I think he has a high temperament."

Warren nods, tugging idly on the leash as he looked back into Isaac's reluctant face. "Yeah. Don't mind it; he's been neglected in one of those facilities that aren't talked about."

Ashton gave a blustery snort and sighed, looking at Isaac in sympathy. "I see. Those are horrible abominations. If the ponies are worth capturing, their worth being taken care of and loved."

These words were so alien to Isaac; he didn't know that the enemy had any love. It was a long ruthless war of hatred and suffering.

The Belgian tried again, reaching a giant hand forward and Isaac finally stopped fighting and let the trainer touch his cheekbone for a few short pats.

"See, pretty? It's not so bad." Then he saw as Red went impatiently apeshit as Ashton took something from his pocket, and Isaac drooled as the fresh smell of the carrot wafted by him even as the other pony desperately tried to jump up and snatch it in his teeth like an impatient little furry piranha. The trainer tapped him firmly on his muzzle with a reproachful whinny. "Bad pony! This is for the new pony! You had yours already, greedy little bugger."

Red snorted in protest as he tried to fight for the treat despite all his lanky restraints and harness.

Isaac couldn't believe this even as Warren took his crop and whipped Red smartly on his buttock. "No, Red!" The master snarled out. Red wouldn't listen or have anything to do with all the punishments; he was single-minded in his hunger and really seemed to want that carrot.

Warren finally sighed in exasperation. "Take him back to his stall and don't milk him again for a week--that should make the selfish little rapscallion think about his behavior."

When both trainer and pony were out of sight, Warren produced an identical little nibble of carrot and held it out to Isaac in the palm of his hand. "Here, boy. If you obey me and the trainers like your supposed to, there will be many treats and...milking...like you saw Red and his trainer doing when we first arrived."

Isaac sniffed at the orange little tidbit and savored the organic fresh smell of it like a drug; his heart beating with excitement at finally being able to chomp down on something that had been short of forbidden.

As his rubbery lips worked over it and tossed it in his mouth, he wondered if he wanted to be masturbated by a trainer, as it seemed to be another prodigious reward offered by the staff at this facility.

Oh, but as that carrot crunched around between his teeth and the watery juices rolled about his tongue with the unique sweetness, sex was the last thing on his mind compared to all the different snacks this place could offer now that he had been freed from a bland diet of hay in an abyss of waiting.

He could barely hear Red trumpet out a furious jealous protest as he munched longingly on his treat. He barely heard the amused guttural chuckle of the master as Warren waited in amusement for the delicate palomino stud to completely enjoy that sliver of carrot like no horse had ever before. It was strange, but the appreciation was akin to a thirsty beast in the desert suddenly and unexpectedly presented with an oasis. Isaac could well understand the sudden impudence of the other pony as he sucked on the mashed carrot and squeezed out all the juice.

"I can see you haven't had a carrot in a long time, boy. At this stable, we give regular little treats if the ponies are obedient and listen to their trainers."

Isaac digested both tidbits with mild interest. It sounded like the most pleasant offer he had been given. Carrots and apples for degrading himself as a lowly pet to amuse the victors. He didn't know how to respond; instinct warring with his contentment at being fed rare foods.

Warren tugged him towards the stable building and yelled out someone's name; a few minutes, another horse--a brown Clydesdale with a black mane and tail and white fluffy hands and feet greeted them. "Sampson, this is the new pony. I got him from a badly maintained facility and he needs a complete overhaul from the outside and in."

The Clyde nodded gravely and took the leash from Warren, reaching out a hand to rub Isaac's forehead. "I'll give him a good cleaning, then, Sir."

Warren nodded and twisted on his hooves, flicked his tiny tail, and walked idly into a nearby building with a light slam of the front door.

Then Isaac was alone with another imposing creature that nearly made him shit himself. The Clyde patiently stood there with the leash wrapped in his large white downy fist as Isaac looked around and adjusted to being passed over like a cigarette among a casual partying group.

After a moment, Sampson pulled the leash and led him into the long well-lit hallway flanked by horse stalls; curious sniffing little noses peeking over the tops of the respective gates and a few pairs of eyes peering shyly at him with interest.

The hallway led to a fenced yard where a gray winding garden hose had been attached to a faucet jutting from the side of the stable wall like a brown pimple amongst a not so immaculate gathering of tether rings, nails with various grooming tools, and a pink rubber horse ball attached to the roof.

He was greeted by many friendly whinnies from some of the thirty or so show ponies in their fresh stalls. Isaac was too shy to respond to any of them, but they sounded very happy and pleased with their lives in this facility. He couldn't understand why, but of course, he had only been here for a few minutes and knew not the daily business of the stables.

As he looked back at the friendly licking and nickering little faces, the trainer tied his leash to a tether ring before putting the end of the hose in an empty white five-gallon paint bucket. Isaac saw as some soap residue began to froth to the top with giant gray dirty bubbles as the Clyde took a short-bladed knife from the assortment of tools on the wall.

The stallion rubbed along Isaac's body gently from his shoulder, down his hips and butt, along his short stocky little legs, and lifted up his left hoof.

Isaac snorted in surprise when he realized that Sampson was messing with his feet and tried to protest by slamming his foot down and backing away, but the big horse wouldn't have it. Despite his fighting, Isaac only fell on his ass as the brown stud looked carefully at the underside of one hoof and then another with a tired and quite annoyed blustery sigh.

"You need to be trimmed and fitted for shoes; this is a nasty mess that could have been worse, but I still don't like it. Six months of a corrective pair of steel shoes and then we'll see if that fixed the problem enough for you to be given regular shoes like the other ponies."

Isaac shivered and clamped his teeth in discomfort as the Clydesdale worked at his sore muck-filled hooves with the knife. Having that thing scrape around on his blistering feet was easily comparable to having his teeth cleaned with that scraping instrument while his mouth was filled with cavities.

He found it difficult to fight or do something as the dull scratching pain around his hoof wall occasionally lit up with a sudden burst of agony that made him scream out and cry.

"I'm sorry pony. I know this really hurts, but please stay still for me, okay?"

He was mindless and barely able to concentrate on the lulling soft voice as the Clyde worked on his hooves; which had apparently rotted more than he realized. This was probably the best reason that standing in manure was not a good idea.

Sampson shook his head and nickered in sympathy, cooing kindly as he worked on the deformed mess that had become Isaac's feet. He never knew they were this bad. The dried and caked muck stuck inside must have cushioned him from most of the pain, but as the Clydesdale seemingly stabbed it out with that knife, Isaac was beginning to understand the meaning of hell.

Finally, as the hoof knife speared one particularly sensitive part like a neglected but fierce toothache, the little pony thrashed, screamed unbearably loud, and passed out from the sudden flicker of vicious agony.

A calm breeze awoke him, a dull ebb in tightened hooves as his eyes slowly opened and looked around. The pollen of wildflowers entered his sensitive nose as rays of lighted shafted down into his eyes and around his fur in a kaleidoscope of faded light.

Nearby, hooves thudded rapidly in the grass like heavy raindrops to the chorus of squeals and whinnies of many of the tiny effeminate little horses. He watched as five other ponies in this large tree-filled flowering paddock beat around a weathered and miserable mud covered tennis ball with long dry tree branches in some kind of mock little polo match.

It was a rapid rainbow of scurrying colors--mostly white--which blurred before his vision in the activity of the lawn. Isaac could tell that this was a game played frequently as the grass showed abuse from this constant stampede of dancing athletic little feet.

Other ponies poked heads out of windows to watch such sport, perhaps impatient for their turn. It was most plausible that different groups of the horses were turned out according to schedule, and he simply enjoyed it. Thrilled by the freshness of the air and the crippling injury of his feet, Isaac was content to lay under the tree and watch as the occasional cricket or butterfly crawled along his fur to tickle him before leaving again on the whims of the breeze.

This was a world so simplistic and cloistered, but he saw what joy--indeed, what rapture had been unleashed upon their fluttering animated bodies. It was happiness to pudgy little creatures that had as much sense of the surrounding world as a bee caressing its many blossoms.

In this sheltered grove, the small picture...a panorama of sweating, heaving ponyflesh had become a collage of liberty in captivity.

A strange place he saw, and he was getting drawn into it with curiosity and interest frank on his gazing face even as one little mismatched fjord stallion nudged the weather-eaten ball into the space between two trees and jumped with some raucous little celebration even as his black furred teammate nibbled lightly on his ear and rubbed cheekbones together.

Isaac had never seen such intimate carefree creatures as these. His army had been too strict for such contact. Perhaps only his wife ever touched him like that, but certainly no stranger!

An appaloosa with a black spot over his eye whickered over to him in an ecstatic affectionate manner. He could only snort at the blatant informality, shrugging. Sighing with a roll of his eyes, the pony turned back to his Norwegian-bred friend and continued with their game.

The hours melted like snow in early Spring as Isaac watched the two teams knock this silly pathetic thing around they called a ball. After finishing up their game with their bodies all mussed up with male stink and floods of sweat, they rolled idly in the grass; an occasional cute muzzle sampling a nearby flower with a nibble.

On this point, Isaac fully agreed--this was good grass for laying in. He had to admit that it was soft like a blanket, but crisp and fresh enough to eat like green candy. Yawning, he looked at the fjord nip at the flanks of a white stallion and got pounced and wrestled around for his trouble. They nibbled and tickled each other for a long time, Isaac occasionally spotted weird black things strapped to their tailholes, but didn't think much about it.

What a day; he never knew what freedom was. This was a lulling irony. Isaac thought the military was freedom, but in the army, he wouldn't be doing half of these things nor seeing them of others around. Simple-minded pursuits, and he suddenly found himself not caring about what he was missing back in his country.

This was the appeal that a simple life had for a pony. Any mischievous soul always eventually feels that peaceful surroundings are the heaven for which they search.

But all was not apples and orange trees, as new ponies often discover.

The sun began to set with a rusty glow of spread ashy leaf-fingers all over the landscape. Isaac was finishing another tuft of fresh grass to top off his already stuffed potbelly as the other ponies laughed at him with shrill little whickers in good fun.

Then they perked their ears forward as a screeching whistle shot out almost like a scream, and paraded themselves haphazardly toward one side of a somewhat high white painted post fence, elbows on the edge and ears forward expectantly as a myriad of muscled stallion trainers came up to the fence to greet them.

Isaac watched warily, noticing that each pony knew what trainer they had been assigned to, just as each of the studs knew what pony to halter up to take back to their respective stalls. All of the ponies were led around the gate to exit the paddock as he lay there, content to be left by himself. With a full heaving stout belly of a good meal, he closed his eyes and slept soundly...

Perhaps minutes, perhaps hours; his slumber was disturbed and he looked up at a hulking shadow of stallionflesh against the sparkling darkness of night, gaping up at the creature in surprise.

"Hey there little guy." The creature rumbles out, thick muscly arms reaching down and picking him up easily; his body too sleepy and full of grass to protest. "Looks like my new pony got too much of a good thing, eh?" He reached his muzzle down and rubbed Isaac's plump tummy with a few short satin rubs and whuff's of air.

Isaac yawned and burped as he looked up into bright equine eyes and was carried through the stable hallway between the two rows of stalls much like before and was lowered on a thick pile of hay so fresh, he wouldn't mind eating off it.

As he turned his body in the bedding, mindful not to jar his sore bandaged hooves on anything, he rubbed his full belly, and yawned--blushing with a little fart as he closed his eyes to sleep even as he heard the soft noises of hard hooves scraping on unpolished tiles and the little snorts and sighs of all the others in their gamut of twenty-nine stalls.

Just as he closed his eyes to the light sounds of wind in the trees and fat toads hopping around in the outside grasses, his ears caught a few idle words from the new stallion; the trainer he had never met but would obviously be dealing with. "Rest well, tomorrow I'll fit you for a new plug."

Teal tinted sun greeted his eyes like a hazy blue blanket as birds in the trees cried their many songs; one sounded somewhat like it was saying 'macadeerie', which Isaac found to be an odd sound in any context.

Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the foal nursing bottle nearby all filled with water and a bowl of shredded tiny bits of hay, oats, and bran all mixed up in water. He could guess that the reason his food was soaking was because these had a tendency to expand and could kill a horse if eaten dry.

He drank from the bottle as he heard busy mouths munch their hay or take small gulps from troughs attached to stalls. Surprisingly, he was actually still hungry despite eating all that grass from the day before. Isaac slurped down some of his cereal-turned-breakfast and burped again, rubbing his muzzle shyly and afraid someone had heard him.

Such embarrassing habits of natural functions had just begun, he was suddenly aware, as he found himself in desperate need to defecate but too embarrassed to mess in his straw like an animal. He might be treated like an animal, but he didn't want to behave like one.

It was inevitable; a struggle that had no victory. The trainers and master Warren obviously expected the ponies to drop apples in their straw like regular non-sentient livestock, but such a notion did not sit comfortably with him, although it was probably a moot point--something to get used to over time.

That didn't mean Isaac accepted it, but there was a time to fight, and this wasn't it. A pony refusing to use his bedding was like a baby refusing to use their diaper; it just wouldn't happen. They might last for a long time, but it was a lost cause.

Without trying to make a sound at all, he crouched in a corner by the window and emptied his insides, hot sticky gatherings of green grass balls dropped idly out between his cheeks. He covered the whole rank bitter pile with the nearby straw and did his best to rub his dirty rump in some of the straw to clean up; much like a dog, he supposed.

After he felt reasonably clean and satisfied, he stood up at the window on the tips of his hooves--

As the rolling grasses and trees of the fertile prairie lands greeted his eyes and birds hopped to different branches in the paddock, he suddenly realized the ache in his hooves was almost gone. The bandages were slightly dirty, covering his hooves like ointment-soaked snowballs. He sniffed the air and received a light high from the wafting alcohol vapors. They must have soaked completely through the dressing, or he would have smelled them yesterday during the little impromptu polo match.

Tapping on his padded feet to test the strange bundle around them, he found they barely hurt and he could walk on them. It would certainly make things easier for him, as he used to be on par with a paraplegic--which a disease called Dourine certainly had a fun time crippling little ponies.

A few minutes after finishing his meal, the stallion came back into his stall. Isaac could remember this great draft stud by the particular smell he gave off; a cross between thick cologne and horsecum.

He wasn't pure black like Isaac had suspected at first, but instead, a very dark chocolate brown like a charcoal chestnut color. Silver eyes greeted him with a calm horsie patience as his emotions grasped for something tangible to relate to. First he had a master, and now he had his own personal trainer! Confusing muddled days indeed!

The stallion crinkled his nose as the rank fresh smell of dung entered his nose, shaking his mane with a snort. "Seems my little pony has already started to make himself at home here." He joked.

Isaac could only blush, his personal habits now exposed for all to see.

"It's alright, boy. That's what we expect you to do. Ponies should only make poopies in their stall; that's why the other ponies on the ranch have already been fitted for buttplugs and wear them outside." The new trainer remarked, rubbing Isaac lightly under his chin.

He tried to ignore the great beast and look over the high walls of his stall to see the ponies on either side, but it wasn't any use. Short of touching muzzles, he couldn't see into any stalls except the one across from him, in which lay a coiled sleeping little brown and white paint all nuzzled up in his straw.

"Come with me. Sampson will get you measured for your new shoes and fit a buttplug into you."

Isaac snorted, rolling his eyes as he casually waved his tail and laid his ears back in annoyance.

"I have a caaaaaaarrot for you." He teased, taking it out of his pocket. "After I give it to you, you'll come with me and won't give us any trouble, will you honey?"

He looked back at the trainer, curious. He didn't remember much about the other carrot he ate, but he really loved it. It felt like he had been floating in the sky and everything was okay.

Bringing his muzzle close to the presented treat, he sniffed it, licked at it, and blushed as his lips sucked it up into his mouth--immediately enjoying the crunchy watery taste of it as the juice hit his tongue. The feeling was back, and he could only nod at the other horse and be led by a leash now fastened around his thick neck.

Stalls passed his eyes like blinks as they went to the open courtyard where Sampson waited, a small furnace ablaze with smoky rolling columns. Ashy coal entered and stung his nose as the Clyde worked the bellows and pumped air into the red hot chamber; two burning red rods inside.

Isaac stood with his trainer idly in a stupor as Sampson took one of the orange glowing rods and beat it harshly against the scuffed burnt metal surface of a tall iron box, working hot slag into a curve and eventually joined the two ends together in one oval, before coming forward and lifting one of his hooves to try it.

A whitish cloud of sizzling accompanied a smell of distinct overpowering stink; his hard hoofnail burned by the shoe as Sampson removed it and examined the burn markings, pleased.

"It's a little bigger than needed, Adrian, but the pony looks like an average size. I can use Honeysuckle's aluminum cast to make both their shoes--I mean, when his feet are corrected."

The dark furred creature nodded, rubbing his assigned animal with light chocolate colored fingers. "That's good. Save us some trouble over not having to get a whole new custom cast built."

Isaac snorted lazily in the pepperish haze of smoke, calm and curious as Sampson dunked both oval orange pieces in a bucket of water; a geyser of white smoke and a loud series of hisses erupted as he took the dripping black shoe and polished it up on a rawhide rag attached to the metal shaping cube before using a hammer and some type of tungsten pick to smash some dents and holes into both ovals.

Finally, both of his feet were lifted, one after the other, as he felt his body being rocked to rapid hard taps on his feet even as Adrian offered his arms to hold him upright.

Sampson finished up with a few coats of black hoof polish, smiling over his work as Isaac lifted and played with his feet, not particularly enjoying the alien sensation of all that extra weight and the scrape of metal against rocks in the grass.

"Don't worry boy, you'll get used to it. Promise." Sampson declared.

Isaac didn't like it. It was too weird and unnatural. What's wrong with his normal hooves? He'd walked on those since he was born!

Then Sampson licked a finger, and before Isaac could protest or kick or bite or anything, the Clyde had his tail lifted up and slid the thick draft finger into his tight indignant little pucker as he snarled and thrashed in anger, Adrian holding well onto him the whole time.

"That's an 8. I think we might have a spare of one of those in the back. Good thing, too, since we can't make ponies share the same plug; that could spread disease."

Adrian nodded, easily lifting him in great arms like a foal, his butt jutting above the stallion's arm so invitingly, it was unfair game to Sampson, who laughed in good fun. "Just like that. I'll be back with his harness."

Isaac panicked, squirming in the arms as he tried to bite at Adrian. He might put up with a number of things, but having his ass stuffed was not one of them.

Adrian rubbed the frantic body, tried to soothe the pony, but Isaac fought for his life. "Quiet boy; all ponies have to get their buttplugs. It keeps the paddock and streets clean."

Streets?! Was he going to be paraded around like this out in public? He always assumed he would just be a cute pet for some stallion and perform services as a sex slave, but he never even thought about being hooked to a carriage!

Sampson soon returned, a fist sized ball of rubber oozing lube attached to several leather straps in his arms. "Be a good pony, and I won't hurt you.

Isaac snorted and wheeled his head around as Sampson grabbed his long brushed white tail in a thick horsefist, rubbing the big ball up against his pucker and rubbed it around until his hole was all slick with slimy jelly. He braced his body as the Clyde rolled the ball all around up against his anus and provided a little bit of pressure; the ball slowly sinking itself in him like a humongous egg. When the widest point passed his sphincter, it popped in as he resigned himself to the deep filling sensation on his insides, drooling.

Sampson passed the four straps--two around his sheathe and balls--two up around his tail and against his back--and attached all ends to his collar, crimping all the rings in place so that removing the plug would be impossible to remove unless his collar was taken off; as the Clyde had made them into one permanent piece of tack.

Adrian put him back down on his feet, where Isaac felt the polished leather straps against his chest, the heavy metal hooves on his feet, and the invading thick rape-ball in his butt. All of these things attached to his body at once nearly drove him crazy with something akin to Claustrophobia; as he had been locked in his own body so-to-speak, and as long as he felt these restraints, he could never feel free ever again.

As he walked, he felt an odd pleasurable feeling permeate from the inside of his ass; the ball seeming to roll and rock up against his anus and rectum--particularly the occasional prostate rub.

Bemused, Isaac dropped carelessly to the grass and rolled around on his back; noticing in disbelief that the buttplug heightened sexual pleasure just from being jostled.

The groom and trainer stood above him in amusement, hands on their respective hips as they casually watched. "I think he's beginning to like it." Sampson mused with a thoughtful nicker.

Adrian smiled, looking down at him...and his...Isaac blushed as his organ began to slowly rise from his sheathe like a black beansprout in fast forward; glans blossoming with a few trickles of pony juice. "Looks like the cute pony needs some help."

No sooner had Isaac reached up to feel his member, Adrian slapped his hands away. "No masturbation for pony. Only trainers can milk you."

Isaac blushed as the two giant studs conferred with each other in unsure whispers, not certain who would milk him.

Sampson finally bent himself over Isaac's begging little pony body as his hands were still lubricated from the plug insertion.

He moaned as the giant fist gently grasped his little pony cock, rubbing up and down the shaft and glans at the same time like a hot silky and tight mare pussy. Isaac pretended to breed a tight virgin filly, his eyes closed and his muzzle drooling as the imaginary juice hole tightened and pulsated over his thrusting member.

His orgasm rose as his glans scraped in and out of the horsefist like a cock piston; the clyde working cum out of him like he was a little cow. The rapid tugs all over his cock were relentless; almost unmercifully fast, but Isaac loved every second of it as his flanks began to sweat and his forelock began to mat in damn clumps over his eyes.

His breathing increased and his heart raced. He felt the silky rising sensation of climax build in his body like an unquenchable stallion thirst. Soon, with no place in his body left to feel, the orgasmic vibrations finally tingled down his belly to his balls, up his shaft, and made his cock ticklish with sensitivity before a second later, his thighs rocked with the most unimaginable studgasm he ever had, long slimy silver webs of cum erupting from his cock not all over his chest as had happened to Red, but into the waiting fist of the Clyde, who licked it from his palm and savored every sweet hot steamy drop with a light equine whine of ecstasy.

Isaac collapsed back down; tired body melting warmly into the sunbathed grass with a lingering pony bliss of eternal equine afterglow; a breeze rustling through his wet sweaty mane with cooling shivers as the two large studs chuckled above him in good fun.

He awoke in his stall later that day; blissful delight of orgasm finally gone from his tiny body. He never knew that a handjob from a massive draftstallion could be so fulfilling. It was probably the fact that his penis was completely enshrouded in a wall of tight pumping flesh much like a sex tunnel.

Sighing, Isaac rolled on his side in the hay, now fully noticing the feel of his horseshoes for the first time. They were heavy and clumsy to walk on; leaving his whole body unbalanced every time he took a step. Maybe the Clyde was right and he'd get used to it, but it still filled him with a discomfit amount of dread.

This was just another thing that reminded him what kind of a prisoner he was. A pet for masters to use in some twisted equestrian hobby.

He turned his head and saw Adrian idly staring down at him from the stall door. "Hey boy, I just thought of something. Nobody gave you a name, yet. I wonder what to call you."

Isaac could only shake his head and snort in disbelief. So now it was time for them to take the last piece of his former life away from him.

Not that he could tell the milk chocolate stallion his name, as his vocal cords had been messed with at the P.O.W. facility; barely functional beyond making the primitive horse noises everyone was accustomed to using and hearing.

It was hardly a way to talk; beyond expressing certain emotions, he might as well have been talking to the dead with a Ouija board.

"You are a hard little beast to control, you know." Adrian snickered out, opening the door and attaching a leash to his collar as Isaac numbly saw that he was still in his harness.

He supposed he should be grateful they let him sleep in his stall after the handjob made him pass out, but now his butt ached from the plug still stuck firmly in his tush.

Isaac tugged lightly at the plug, uttering little annoyed squeal as Adrian gave him a firm tug on the leash. "I'll take your plug out as soon as we've gotten in some dressage training."

He pulled back, startled, fighting against the certain tug of the leather strip as Adrian pulled him from his stall by his neck, and by attachments, his ass too. Isaac screamed as he was stubbornly dragged, the plug ball now digging deeper into his sensitive assflesh like some burrowing creature.

The trainer wouldn't have anything to do with his protests and continued to pull him out of the stable; his metal hooves sliding along the pavement with long screeching sparking scratches; annoying all the other ponies with whines and squeals of utter loathing as the noise pierced their ears and drove them around their stalls with frantic desperation.

Sighing, Adrian finally picked up the disobedient little horse and carried him out to a packed dirt encircled little corral.

Isaac looked around as Adrian locked them both in. Immediately, Isaac was vexed at two things; that there was no grass to nibble, and that the big stud would be 'training' him to do something--both pissed him off to no end.

"Do you want a carrot?" Adrian offhandedly remarked as he took a riding crop from his belt and snapped the folded leather tip against his open palm a few times.

Right now, Isaac didn't want anything except maybe a happy little romp through the flowering paddock like he had enjoyed the other day. Why couldn't they let him do that?

Adrian snorted impatiently. "Carrot going once, pony."

He didn't want anymore carrots, he just wanted to roll around and romp with the other ponies--maybe play their polo game. Isaac shook his mane and snorted, pulling against the leash as hard as he could; eyes wide and ears back in anger.

"Going twice."

Adrian reached an empty hand toward his face, and was immediately bit; the stud screaming out some curses in surprise as he rubbed and flexed his fingers. "Dammit!"

Isaac's eyes widened as Adrian charged him and wrestled him down to the dusty sun-warmed dirt like a rodeo steer, before he took not one, but three carrots out of his pocket and stuffed them into Isaac's muzzle with enough force that he almost broke teeth.

Adrian held him against the ground for the longest time, waiting with his hand over his mouth to make sure he swallowed the treats.

After feeling Isaac's throat move with the little chewed lumps, the trainer nodded calmly and let him back up to his feet as if nothing happened.

When a moment passed, a single intense blur began to come over him; a fading fog of well-being and contentment. He looked at the trainer with lazy eyes; calm breaths through gusting nostrils, and when Adrian looked carefully into his eyes for a brief second, he smiled with confidence.

"Well, it looks like we'll be friends after all." He declared with a deep horsie laugh even as Isaac enjoyed the calm lilting fog of peace wash all through his body with happy oneness.

Isaac rolled around in his stall tired and well-used. His muscles ached from performing endless sets of maneuvers and exercises for the stern trainer as he won an occasional tap on his rump for any mistake in his dressage routine.

His buttocks weren't sore from the abuse; the whip apparently meant to sting at the moment it was used, but not to create any lingering harm afterward.

He licked the thick black rubber bit stuffed in his muzzle and locked in place by a firm bridle affixed to his head and collar. The rubber pliable mass didn't really gag him or prevent him from breathing; it seemed just an instrument of rudimentary control which also served to remind him further of his future role.

And, he had a new name. The oddness of it seemed to roll idly and wonderfully off the tongue in pleasing elegance at the time Adrian had given it to him, but now Isaac wasn't so certain that he liked a name such as 'Sunsparkle'.

He didn't remember much about the whole ordeal except the nagging bite of the whip, and that he liked it. Strangely, he liked being trained like a dressage pony for shows and he liked Sampson fitting him for a new bridle and bit for lunge-rein work.

Sighing, he dropped his head back into the crisp nice-smelling straw, and promptly dropped into a deep weary sleep as crickets and birds began to sing outside to the sun sinking lazily into the Earth.

His nose tickled as he opened his eyes; snorting and noticing the giant black and orange butterfly flapping big wings and crawling all over his muzzle.

He watched the small insect with curiosity as it flicked out a long black probe-like tongue and rubbed its long antennae with two front legs as it rolled a barely hinged head smoothly around on a thin-necked body.

After a moment, it left his face with a flutter and the tickle of a kiss, Isaac giggling with a certain calmness wafting through his body; the butterfly exiting his wide open window as a gust of wind came through and blew his mane like a calm chilly breath.

He could lay in the straw all day and enjoy every little interesting thing going on in his small part of the world. It almost felt like a quarantine or an exile, but that meant it was altogether unpleasant to be abandoned in this tiny realm of horseness.

Adrian greeted him above the stall door again as he had before. "Hey Sunsparkle! Sleep well? I didn't mean to work you so hard, but I hope you had fun."

Isaac got to his feet, shaking little pieces of straw from his mane as he went to the trainer and blushed as he received some rubs on his chin and cheekbones.

"Awww. What a sweet little pony you are. Me and some other trainers decided our ponies needed a break from training, so we're going to let you little guys play in the paddock again."

Isaac's ears flicked forward in interest as he wagged his long pretty tail; occasional bits of bedding falling on the ground.

Adrian led him to the shaded paddock, and though he took off the leash and the bridle, he left the collar buttplug apparatus on his body.

A little uncomfortable, he still didn't mind as he went over by a silver-gray little stallion and rubbed muzzles, his tail flicking happily.

The only place he ever wanted to be was in the little fenced grove where he could play with other ponies and get away from his stall. As homey as the locked box and fresh straw was, it was still lonely and lacked that most important thing that all horsies needed--good company.

Red sauntered inside happily enough; some type of cage locked over his penis that seemed to keep him from getting an erection. It didn't seem to bother him much, as the red roan Shetland with light crimson hair over his eyes just wanted to play.

Isaac wondered if Red would fight him or get angry over the fact that he had eaten the carrot, but it seemed as the matter was completely forgotten; Red picking up one of the branches as he waited for the other trainers to release their ponies into the field for some recreation.

His eyes glazed over in pleasure as the silver-gray little pony handed him one of the sticks; he hadn't been able to play polo before with his sore feet, and now, it seemed like he might actually have a fun time with others like him in a pointless but enjoyable pursuit.

After everyone had arrived to the wide field with the fragrant chatter of birdsong, the pinto horse from the stall across from him gave a little whicker and trumpet before smacking the ball toward one goal and galloped with it, tapping it forward as he ran.

The other players immediately took their places and the game started as simply as that. The amateur polo match took a dizzying turn as the ball had been hit back and forth about the field, chaos seemed to arise like a mist until Red finally stole the ball and ground the ball through the grass with his stick before it slid right through one makeshift goal.

Isaac had become one of them, and the pace of the game so intense, he wasn't tempted at any one time to eat the grass as he was before, despite that it still smelled so sweetly that it was an unbelievable temptation to resist. He supposed it was the fact company became more important to him than eating.

An orange ball sank into the ocean as a shrill whistle sounded out-followed by their given names; his new title different beyond what he could accept. Sunsparkle was hardly a rugged name for a soldier, but a cold thought often reminded him that he was no longer the soldier that he had been ever since his capture.

Now his days were carefree and filled with simple bodily impulses to sate that were far more primitive than his inherent duties of patriotism. Here, with the cute ponies enjoying each others' company, politics melt away like a forgotten sand castle on the beach to be replaced by simple sand, simple waves, and simple air.

This was his home. It would always be his home, and for once he found himself more readily able to obey the whip than the call of wartime duty.

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Still deciding on whether to continue this, but I have edited it a little to make it better.