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From Rider to Ridden

Part Two

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by Bukefalos06

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Lyra swished her tail in the stall, standing with her nose to the back wall, eyes cast down. She'd woken up several times in the night, not finding herself able to sleep through as she had as a human, even though she did not know at that time that horses only slept in short spells as a prey animal, always on the lookout for predators. An equine mind did not know, after all, when a predator would appear and had to always be on the alert for something, always something, coming for them.

And each and every time she thought it was just a bad dream. The twisting changes in her body. Her mount changing from that gorgeous grey to smooth, human skin, just like hers. Or like hers had been. But it was all real and the morning sunshine glanced off her coat, not quite as shiny as that of the bays. That would always be the curse of a grey, truly. A coat colour, however, was not the issue as she turned her nose down to her hooves, eyeing them each in turn, grey legs stretching down to the dark curves that should never have been hers. She didn't have shoes on though. That was something at least.

"Come on, girl."

It was Wesley. Lyra flattened her ears at him and turned sullenly away, even chancing to lift a hind hoof like she'd seen other horses doing from time to time. That was what they did, wasn't it? When they were badly trained and showing their opinion quite clearly?

Spinning, she squealed and lashed out at the walls yet again, a white edge showing around the rim of her eyes. Why couldn't she go out? Didn't they know who she was? Fear churned in the pit of her stomach and she clamped her tail down unhappily. Wesley didn't mean anything to her but he was a human and he had the power over her, a mere horse. His brown eyes crinkled in at the edges in what could have been sympathy but she didn't care for that, groaning and shifting her weight from one side to the other, the insistent need growing and growing.

He moved on, as quick as ever. Why hadn't she ever noticed that about him before? But it was just as well as she needed to...well...go. That was the polite and ladylike way to put it but there was no longer anything at all polite and ladylike about Lady Lyra, clad in a horse-skin not of her own design.

Was anyone there? Oh, she had to find a lavatory! But there was no amount of kicking the door that could get her out of such a predicament as she groaned and spread her hind legs, eyes squinting in concentration as her need and nature took over. She had to go... She couldn't stop herself!

Urinating. Who could have known that it could be so humiliating and relieving in equal measures? The deep bed of straw soaked it up and she tried not to think too much about what she was doing, at least more stable on her hooves than she had been the previous day, the day of her transformation. And was that even a transformation that could possibly be reversed in the slightest? It was enough of a distraction to consider the thought, nose wrinkling worriedly. Would she be stuck like that? And what about Nebula? What was she doing in her human skin while she was out there in the barn acting like nothing more than a common horse?

And then Wesley appeared, whistling a tune to himself with his tousled hair all over the place, as usual, scooting a bucket of feed into her stall with a quick slide of the bolt and a deft motion. Of course, he wasn't bothered by what she was doing in there, but Lyra grunted and leapt back all the same, wide-eyed and snorting while he gave her a strange look.

"What's gotten into you?"

He was gone as quickly as he arrived: horses, after all, did not talk back. Trying to ignore the fact that he'd caught her, almost literally, with her knickers down, Lyra shook herself off, grey hairs flying off in all directions, and nosed into the bucket with a sceptical eye.

As if she was going to eat that? What was that - bran mash and oats? That was what the servants ate! Well, it was what horses ate too, although it truly was debatable as to which lot was better quality. There was fresh water left for her too, although it was not her 'usual' bucket that had been filled up, which was strange. Not that she would have claimed to know all that much about the inner workings of the stable yard, which was what her stable boys and grooms were for, but she knew that it was only one bucket. The fact that he had done something that deviated from the norm irked her and she squealed, kicking over the bucket even with the warm mash inside, shunning it. She wasn't going to eat that! What did the silly boy take her for?

And yet the ordeal was far from over. Wesley frowned at the fact that her breakfast had gone to waste (she hoped he would be punished for that), but there was still the day to be getting on with. She hadn't been tidied up after her rather eventful ride the day before and, kicking and squealing like a mad creature, she was dragged from the stall with fire in her eyes, ears pinned and tail lashing the air angrily. She was Lady Lyra, after all! What did he think he was doing to her? Treating her just like any other horse?

Of course, to him, that's all she was and nothing more than that either. He cursed under his breath and sweated, working around her the best he could and settling for the cross-ties in the end, restraining her a little more while another stable boy helped and did his best to stay out of reach of her hind hooves. Not that the front ones were any safer either, lashing out with the speed of a striking adder. In time, however, she was groomed, Lyra even trying not to lean into the touch of the rougher, stiffer brushes, lips wobbling as they stirred up dried in dirt and sweat from her coat. Was that how being groomed was really supposed to feel?

However, the worst was yet to come as she was soaked and scrubbed, her coat made to smell sweet with wildflowers - she could only assume that was what the aroma was, after all. What was the need for that? She reeled from the water, eyes rolling, as if she'd never seen it before. Nebula, of course, had been washed umpteen times over and was used to it, but Lyra, well, her baths should have been sweetly scented and, above all, hot.

"Stand still, would you!"

It wasn't a request as he scrubbed, rather rudely, up under her tail, a stable boy not caring for her sense of self-preservation or dignity. He didn't look but she still grunted and kicked out, nearly catching Wesley in the shin as he dodged, a frown on his lips.

"She's never usually like this..."

Yet she was never usually Lady Lyra clad in the body of a horse. Shivering and wet but undoubtedly clean, she was led, only slightly mollified and tired from the fight in the cross-ties, down the stable block to where a burly man waited with a scowl on his face, stubble unkempt and most certainly lacking in grooming. She didn't realise the significance of the anvil and the heat blasting from the furnace there - had that always been there? Lyra would only later learn that the furnace was set on the estate for all of their needs, the blacksmith the best at his trade even if he was a coarse sort that hustled along with his sole intent being to get the job done and quickly too.

"Lost all four. Lady Lyra will want a full set putting on her."

Wesley pointed at her hooves as if that needed to be stated, the mare coming back to her senses and dancing on the end of the lead rope, as wide-eyed as ever. That seemed to be her normal state now, shivering and quaking in a body that should never have been hers.

"Eh."

The blacksmith didn't care for her comfort, however, forcing her through the experience with the brute force only a man of his size and shockingly swift ability could dredge up. Her legs were wrenched up and the only reason that he was able to wrestle with her protests was simply due to the fact that she was, of course, not the steadiest on three legs as yet. Sure, she could hop and she could squeal and she could fight but there was only so much a mare who had not yet found her true hooves could do. Sweating up, she undid every last bit of the wash and grooming that Wesley had put her through, lashing out with hooves and teeth as the blacksmith gave everything back in equal measures.

"You'll have to learn, me girl."

Something in him seemed to relish wearing her down, winning the battle, and he merrily hammered nails into her hooves, the metal slamming down and in, shaping her foot and the shoe. Hot shoeing, of course, was what all the horses in the stables had to undergo and the hiss of her hoof wall burning made her leap and flinch all over again, frozen in terror for the sheer notion that she was being hauled about like nothing, despite her size. Was she truly that powerless? The thick aroma of sweating beast filled her nostrils, flared and slick with mucus secretions, her body striving to prepare itself for flight as it dropped a fresh load of steaming dung.

The stable almost seemed like a pleasant place to be after the horror of that.

Over the next few days, all the while trying to work out how she was going to not be a horse anymore, Lyra met the others on the yard, the other horses that she hadn't taken note of before. A bay, a chestnut, the black with a kind eye. There were more, of course, but they were the ones that she ate with, slept near and shared breath with when they passed by her stable door. The field was an interesting experience, huffing and snorting and bucking as she strove to escape the mischief of black, buzzing flies around her hind end, which was so much larger than it used to be! Only after some time did she learn from watching her fellow horses that they used their tails too to keep flies away from themselves and each other, something that she just had not even taken note of before. Snorting, she shook her mane off her neck, plastering herself with mud just to keep them at bay. If only her friends could see how low she had stooped...

She was even ridden and she tried to remember what the aids meant solely so that she would not be punished, for the head trainer, whom she had, before, admired, was swift to use instruments of communication to punish, whip and spurs cutting into her body to score lines and welts in his wake. A curb in her mouth bid her to come higher and she danced for him as the woman that had been Nebula sat in the gallery and watched her work around the training pillar like a halfway decently schooled horse.

Yet Nebula had been a horse for longer than Lady Lyra and was hardly about to give in to her as the grey mare threatened to buck, rolling her eyes and pleading with a whinny to have her old life back. Her pleas, undoubtedly, fell on deaf ears but it was the flag of her tail and the way that her marehood twitched, tugging up in the urge to urinate after exercise. Her mouth was sore from the two bits and she hung her head, defeated and broken, simply wanting to do as the trainer bid for everything to stop.

Smiling wickedly, the woman now posing as Lady Lyra lifted her chin proudly to meet the eyes of the trainer.

"I believe she is ready."

But ready for what?

Ah, that was not a question that Lyra would have wanted to answer as she urinated in the sand arena, her marehood pulsing and twitching, manner a little tenser and tauter than usual. Of course, it was no question that her old mount would have been able to tell the signs, especially when she was up on her back, goading her on, daring her to challenge her. Yet Lyra would not, could not, for fear of that punishment, squealing and pulling away from the contact if only to seek relief in submission.

It was only when she was finally turned out into a small, round, wooden pen that Lyra understood what Nebula had said that day to the trainer. Something hot pulsed through her and she couldn't stay still, circling and circling as her hooves drove her on. Her tail streamed behind her and she bucked for the sheer hell of it, although it was not an acrobatic in which she found any sense of personal joy. Her life, after all, was no longer something for her to take pleasure in.

The Lusitano stallion would have been one that she would have picked too, she would admit in hindsight. A stunning beast, he charged and danced on the end of the lead rope, knowing just how glorious he was in his dun coat, a dorsal stripe extending down his back with a luxuriously flowing black mane and tail. Someone laughed as he was put in with her, Lyra quivering at the back of the pen with her tail unwittingly flagged, and the stallion tossed his head proudly, showing off his flashy paces as much as anyone could have liked. But his show was not for a large audience but merely an audience of one who could not help but spread her hind legs and urinate, signalling her readiness.

She had to. Lyra's gut twisted as she turned her back to him, tail already lifted and humiliatingly set to the side like a slut in heat - but that's all she was in that moment alone. He needed no further encouragement to do his job, a thick, meaty shaft sliding from his sheath, splashed through with black and pink flesh, and leapt up onto her back with a joyful nicker, a whinny barrelling its way up from his deep, strong chest as if it simply could not be contained for even a moment longer.

They watched. Of course, they watched. They all wanted to see her breeding, to see if his cock would take and sink home, his seed ploughing into her. The stallion was more experienced by far than the virgin mare who could not have said even that she was impure by human standards: her lover would have been her first, if her father had agreed to his proposal. Now that would be Nebula who matched up with her sweetheart with all the land and money and power that his name commanded.

Closing her eyes, Lyra belted out a neigh that shook the very fabric of the air as the stallion slammed home, grunting and heaving as he drove into her. She didn't know his name but, perhaps, she would come to know it in time, his massively thick cock stretching out her virgin passage with driving force. He knew what he needed from her, taking his weight back onto his hind legs, and bit her mane playfully, taking pride in his station and position as a breeding stud.

Again and again. Equine breeding was quick and swift, the creatures ever on the lookout for danger, but that didn't detract from the raw pleasure of it, the feral sense of being bred as his raging breeding pole slammed into her over and over again. She was a good mare for him too, devolving into a deeper sense of equine submission than any of her training sessions ever could have dredged up, bearing back against him as if she simply could not get enough of his shaft.

It was only when she screamed in equine ecstasy and his seed erupted inside her that she truly understood the meaning of just what it meant to be a breeding mare, used as nothing more than a vessel for his cum. The stallion chuffed and hammered into her, keeping his strokes as deep as possible, hind legs scooted in close, depositing a hefty dose of semen into her, ensuring that she would not leave there without her belly heavy already with the promise of a new foal. Her marehood clenched and squeezed around him, rippling as if her body could not resist the allure of drawing more semen from him, whorishly milking the stud stallion of every last drop of cum that he had to offer her.

And she wanted that foal. She wanted that foal if it meant that she got to feel the weight of her stunning stallion up on her back again. What was that name? She heard it whispered on the fence line, lips moving and laughs flashing through the air. Orion... She'd have Orion back to breed her again anytime, any day.

From the sidelines, Nebula laughed and clapped her hands, wearing Lady Lyra's white-toothed smile as the stallion dismounted with a swish of his tail, a self-satisfied expression plastered across his drowsily handsome equine muzzle.

"She will bear a lovely foal!"

And that she most certainly would as she hung her head, the stallion's cock slipping from her, her body still wanting him as her marehood clenched and winked, showing off all she had to offer in the depth of her season. She could not fight and would not fight, not because she would be punished but because every last part of her wanted him to fuck her over and over again, just to feel the hotness of his shaft slamming into her.

A horse, after all, had to take their pleasures where they could. She was not simple and her mind worked too quickly, knowing more than the common equine as she splayed her hind legs and braced herself all over again, the plug that he'd sealed her passage with preventing his semen from oozing out. No, anything that drooled from her was entirely of her own body's doing but the Lusitano kindly lipped at her folds all over again, whuffling softly up under her tail. All in all, he was not an unfair lover and his cock hardened again, slapping up against his belly, as eager for more as she was.

And maybe having a little foal running around at foot wouldn't be so bad after all.