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Leaving the inn, I could already sense that my master was in a bad mood. Having apprenticed for him for a few years now, I could read the signs and predicts his mood like a wisewoman might predict a coming storm.

For the most part, he was a stoic sort of horse. Perhaps a bit grumpy, his demeanor tending towards sour and standoffish. But master liked to drink when he could afford it and that's when his self control cracked and his temper flared.

Usually this just took the form of a slurred shouting match with another patron at the local inn, The King's Sword. But on that fateful night, his rage had been kept bottled up until he came across a stranger on that long forest road. As it turned out, my master could not have chosen a worse target to unleash his drunken anger on.

Following closely behind the horse, as I had been instructed to, I winced in embarrassment as the blacksmith demanded the hooded stranger account for himself.

"Hey, you there!" the broad shouldered stallion had shouted unnecessarily loud, given the close proximity of the stranger. "This is the king's road, reserved for official city business! What business do you have walking through the king's forest this time of night?"

Unexpectedly, the stranger made no effort to acknowledge my master, choosing to walk by without so much as a wave of his hand or a tilt of his head. I didn't know if he was deaf, brave, or just plain stupid. No one ignored my master unless they were looking to find themselves in a fight.

Sure enough, my master's face contorted in anger as the cloaked man made his way by. That's when everything spun out of control. I saw it happen as though in slow motion. A horrible, drawn out catastrophe that I was powerless to prevent.

My master had drawn his blacksmith's hammer from his hip and in one smooth motion swung it up and around. The stranger had clearly not been anticipating such a ferocious, unprovoked attack because he had barely been able to shift his weight around such that his jaw was merely pummeled rather than shattered through.

I knew my master had been in particularly foul spirits that evening at the inn and had drank more than usual. But nothing had prepared me for his temper to flesh so quickly over into murderous rage. At the time, I had no idea that the king had raised taxes yet again. Or that the middle aged horse had sprained his back earlier that day, causing him to drink more deeply from his ale pitcher than he might have under other circumstances.

That moment, my master's anger, and the stranger's silent disregard his too-fragile sense of authority, and my helplessness all combined in an instant to change everything.

The cloaked man, who I could now see what a dark scaled dragon in the light of the full moon, lept backwards off the path as he clutched his chin. He fell to a crouched position as he rubbed at his jaw, presumably to confirm to himself that it was still attached to his head after the powerful blow.

My master, arrogant at having drawn first blood, repeated himself.

"I asked you your business, dragon. Or shall I give you another taste of my hammer?"

The man regarded us. First my master and then me. He spat blood and drew himself back to his full height before answering, "I was about my own business, which is none of yours. But now I see that this will have to wait while I teach two fools a lesson."

I wanted to speak up then, to explain myself and to assure the man that I had no part in this terrible farce playing out before me. That I was a mere bystander. Only a helpless observer of my master's drunken idiocy.

But I didn't. I said nothing. And how I've come to regret that moment of cowardice.

The blacksmith, however, did not lack for words to fling at the unknown draconic male.

"The scaled lizard has a lesson for me, does he? Perhaps you can teach us how to dance so prettily, like you did when I put you in the ditch. Listen close, boy," he said, addressing me without averting his eyes from his newfound opponent. "The lizard has pearls of wisdom to gift upon us."

The somewhat slurred taunting did not throw the man. He merely withdrew an oddly glowing amulet from his cloak and said, "Then listen well, horse and wolf, as my words shape your new world."

And speak the man did and at length. Though I could not repeat a word of what was said for I do not remember it. My master and I stood side by side, locked in place as we stared at the man and his brightly shining amulet. We listened eagerly, almost desperate to hear the man's incomprehensible words.

When the dragon finally put the amulet away, it felt as though hours had passed. I remember feeling drained and lethargic, my willpower sapped. The cloaked dragon addressed us again and these words I do remember.

"I will come find you in a few weeks time once my business in this area is concluded. Until then, remember my words and prepare for my arrival."

Then he turned and left, leaving me and my master standing bewitched and confused on that lonely stretch of forest road. The moonlight, which had seemed warm and comforting when we left the inn, now seemed cold and accusatory.

We eventually made our way back to the workshop where we both lived but no words were shared between us that evening. Master had a faraway look in his eyes that worried me. Perhaps I had a similar expression painted upon my own muzzle. But the violent temper he exhibited earlier gave me all the excuse I needed to leave things well alone.

More worrisome still, master seemed to have forgotten all about our previous evening come morning. He complained of a splitting headache brought on by too much drink but when I broached the subject of the stranger we met on the road home he had no memory of the altercation.

"A dragon, you say? In these lands? Mayhaps you were more drunk than I last night, boy. Now, get back to your work and leave me to my headache."

But while the blacksmith's memory may have been faulty, I recalled the previous night's events with an uncanny clarity. All save the stranger's words as he held the glowing medallion aloft. A chill went through me as I recalled his last words.

'Prepare for my arrival'

Did the dragon truly mean to return? And for what purpose? Most likely to extract vengeance, were he to haunt our door. Or had it been a hollow threat, like most of the horse's own drunken proclamations. At the time I was not sure but was more than happy to put the whole sordid affair behind me and get back to the peace of my daily routine.

As my master's apprentice, I undertook the daily drudgery which he deemed unworthy of his time and skill. I spent my days repairing armor, forging arrowheads, sharpening swords, and listening to customers gripe about prices which I had no control over.

The horse worked out of a separate area of the workshop when the mood took him or when a commission lucrative enough for him to justify pulling himself out of his ale cup came along. The day after our encounter with the dragon, we both got back to our anvils and fires. Though the walls of the workshop are thick, I could hear the strike of hammer against metal as my master threw himself into his work.

I was just satisfied that my master was working again as the shop was in need of repairs and some of our tools should have already been replaced. If the blacksmith was working, there was hope that this month we might do better than simply 'get by'. Assuming my master didn't drink away all our profits at the local inn.

Days passed like this, master and I hard at work with few words shared between us. This itself wasn't uncommon as the horse tended to be a very private sort of man. Even on the best of days, you'd never describe him as being very chatty. And while he loosened up a bit after his second cup of ale, even then he wasn't interested in prolonged conversations with his apprentice.

And so it wasn't until the end of the week that I finally laid eyes on the fruits of his labor. What I saw shocked me.

Master keeps the more specialized tools in his area of the workshop and I had come by to borrow one. I had intended to be in and out in just a few seconds, lest the blacksmith find some reason to berate me, but what I saw made me freeze in my tracks, eyes wide with apprehension.

A gleaming dragon's face sat in the center of master's workshop, its dark eyes glaring at me in silent accusation. I knew it to be the face of the strange dragon we met on the king's road, except this face was forged of metal and flame.

It was a masked, metal horns curled up in an exquisite show of craftsmanship. I immediately knew it to be the finest work the blacksmith had ever created, so perfect were the angles and level of detail. The dragon mask looked almost organic, its form grown rather than beaten into a shape with a hammer.

I heard master approaching and it took an effort of the will to tear my gaze away from the empty eyes of the mask. I ducked around the corner just as the horse reentered the workshop. I can't explain why I reacted this way other than to say that the situation felt wrong. I did not want master to stumble upon me staring at the inexplicable mask.

Yet I also could not force myself to leave. Finding a hole in the knotted wood panels which made up the workshop walls, I peeked into the room from outside to see what master did.

For a long while, the blacksmith just stared at the dragon's mask. With his back to me, I could not see the man's expression but it troubled me deeply that he would regard it so.

Finally he spoke.

"Yes, my lord. I understand. The work is almost complete and all will be done as you've instructed."

I looked around, confused and filled with anxiety. Who was the blacksmith speaking to? Surely not the mask? That would be insane.

"But... my lord, he's not a bad kid. It's just the stubbornness of youth and---... I'm sorry, my lord. I spoke out of turn. The matter will be addressed."

Upon uttering these deferential words, master bowed to the mask. I fled the hallway as quickly and quietly as I could, unable to make sense of what I'd seen and heard.

I completed the rest of my work that day in a trance like daze, my mind constantly returning to what I'd witnessed in my master's workshop. The gleaming dragon mask. The horse's hushed, respectful words. As though he really was addressing some high ranking noble of the kingdom. Unable to explain what I'd seen, I fretted for both my master and myself.

That night, my worries proved justified.

I awoke in my bed with the taste of wood in my mouth. A thick wooden dowel has been pressed between my teeth, strapped to my head. Likewise, my wrists and ankles had been tied to the bed frame. I began to resist but stopped soon after, not because I had decided resistance was pointless but because I finally noticed that master was standing beside my bed, his expression stern and determined.

"Boy, listen well," the horse said, addressing me in a commanding tone which he had used with me when I first began apprenticing under him. "You've known as well as I that our workshop has been losing money month after month. Despite this, rather than focus on the needs of the venture, you've indulged in a constant pursuit of selfish self pleasure."

I had no idea what master was referring to and tried to tell him so, but the wooden dowel turned my words into incoherent mumbling.

Ignoring me, the man continued on to say, "I've tolerated this behavior up till now but as of today I'm putting my foot down. I would have preferred not to have to take this step, but you've left me no choice. This will ensure you keep your mind on your work."

At this point, master took something from his pocket and held it up to the faint morning light. I had no idea what I was looking at but I could tell it was some sort of metal device, small enough to fit comfortably on his palm.

What master did next made my heart leap into my throat and my stomach fill with swarming butterflies.

The horse tugged down my britches over my muffled protests and useless squirming. Then, in a few quick motions, the blacksmith pressed the metal device down into my sheath, causing me to gasp through my nose at the sudden intense cold on my unseen tender bits. Using his calloused thumb, the man pressed the metal further and further down my sheathe.

"Shhh, boy. Quiet your womanly protests. This is for the best."

The blacksmith then produced two more metal pieces from his pocket, adjusted the components so they fit together just so, and finally locked everything in place with not one but three separate padlocks.

Looking down my chest to between my legs, I could barely make sense of what I saw. The horse had applied some sort of sturdy metal cage to my privates. A cage which dwelt both within and without my sheath.

"Do you see now boy, what your selfishness has bought you? Take this penance like a man and turn your mind to your work. Do you understand?"

Master said these last words with a fist suddenly wrapped around my testicles. He gave them a warning tug and squeeze and his unforgiving eyes bored into my own. I nodded frantically, just wanting this horribleness to be over.

The blacksmith regarded me for a long moment, released his tight grip on my sensitive sack, and released my arms for their bindings. Then he walked away, leaving me to deal with the rest of the straps and the wooden dowel.

Spitting the lightly chewed wood out of my mouth, I hopped out of bed and immediately began exploring the rapidly warming metal which had been applied to my privates. Or rather, the area which had been private up until my master tugged down my britches.

I could see now that the forged metal formed an unforgiving cage in and around my sheath, held in place by three powerful locks. It was tight upon my flesh even as my member lay soft and dormant. I could tell that erections would be impossible, under the circumstances. This must be what master meant by preventing 'self pleasure' and 'keeping my mind on my work'.

But no matter how you looked at this, it was terrible news for me. Not only was I suddenly forced to live like an abby monk, sworn to a life of chastity, but this was unmistakable proof of the blacksmith's faltering mental health.

Now able to speak, I chased after the horse. Maybe it was not too late. Maybe the man could still be reasoned with.

I approached his workshop, ready to resign my apprenticeship if need be, when I once again heard him through the wall. I debated barging in despite this but instead opted to pressing my ear to the wall, all while fidgeting with the uncomfortable metal which now caged my trapped member.

"I've done as you've instructed, my lord. Yes sir, I'm sure productivity will be back on track now. We must all do our part to support the war effort."

My heart nearly froze in my chest. Was he... talking to that mask again? This was beyond troubling. And what war effort? No news of any recent war had reached our area, I was sure of it.

"...My lord, I would prefer not to. I'm just a simple blacksmith and---. No, of course I'm not disobeying. I can assure you that my loyalty for his lordship is without question or compromise. I accept this... reward with gracious appreciation, sire."

I fell to my knees, finding the hole in the wood. The room was lit by lantern and I witnessed master from a side angle as he bowed to the dragon mask. Then master slipped out of his blacksmith's apron, followed soon after by the rest of his clothes.

Soon he was naked, his large frame on display as he knelt down on the ground, his head now tilted up to regard the gleaming metal mask.

"My lord is kind. I pledge my body."

The man took his limp horse cock in hand, squeezing and tugging on it simultaneously as he bit his lip, self consciously.

"My lord is graceful. I pledge my heart."

It was not long before his member grew long and hard in his hand. I was amazed by the veined length's size, never before having seen an aroused stallion before. I was also appalled by the abject hypocrisy of the act, the man satisfying his craven desires so openly even as he denied me access in a fundamental denial of my rights.

"My lord is brave. I pledge my soul."

The blacksmith used both hands to pump his length, blushing furiously as he did so even as his eyes remained locked with the masks' empty eye holes. I had never seen master so embarrassed before. Yet unmistakable lust still shown in his eyes.

"My lord is powerful. I pledge my mind."

The horse was panting now, his breath visible in the chilly morning air. He spread his densely muscled thighs wide, perhaps at a command of his unseen 'lord'. The mask had a perfect view of his lewd exertions. As did I. I felt the cage grow tighter still around my imprisoned shaft.

"My lord is righteous. I pledge my... oh fuck... my virility!"

Master might have been mentally unwell, but that did not seem to stop him from enjoying his climax. He put on a private show for the mask and me, grunting and groaning as his cum sprayed from his cock in thick spurts into the air, onto his hand, down his cock, and finally across the floor.

Awed at the sight, I watched every moment of the man's relief. I'd never before been placed in a situation where I had to contemplate my master as a sexual being. No longer would I be able to think of the horse as anything as pure as a simple blacksmith.

I retreated to my room, returning my focus to the unpleasant reality of the device locked onto my sheath. Master's performance had an undeniable effect on me and without the cage's interference I would have taken myself in hand to relieve the mounting sexual pressure. Instead, though I keenly felt the need to stroke myself to completion just as my master had done, all I could do was tug at the metal gripping me.

That's when I noticed the sigil branded into the device's metal casing. It was the blacksmith's personal brand, a silhouette of a maned horse. Master had hand-crafted this cage himself, using the very same hands he'd just used to satisfy his carnal urges. More meaningfully to me, it also meant that this device would be of unparalleled quality and that no amount of tugging or fidgeting was likely to reveal a flaw in its construction.

I carefully explored the unwelcome device anyway, my hanging balls urging me to provide them their usual morning relief. Eventually I was forced to abandon my half-hearted attempts at escape, my member beginning to protest the repeated yanks and tugs as I tried to pry the cage off.

Frustrated and confused, I returned to my area of the workshop even though I was loath to run into master. Mercifully he was nowhere to be found. Instead, I found a hurriedly penned letter addressed to me in his handwriting.

=================

Apprentice,

I need to head into town to procure some replacement tools and needed supplies. If the neighboring village does not have what I require, I will need to travel to the nearest city.

I may be gone several days. Perhaps as long as a week. Watch the shop in my absence.

Below I've listed the work I expect you to accomplish while I'm gone. Focus on your tasks and you will be able to complete them.

=================

My eyes moved down to the end of the letter and then nearly popped out of my skull at the size of the list.

Even were master gone for half a month and I worked all day, every day, there was no chance that I'd be able to get through that list. And doing so in a week was impossible.

Furious at the horse's recent outlandish behavior, I got to work. Better to have at least made some progress by the time he returned than none at all.

For five days my hammer fell, morning and night. I had originally planned to only work for the span of time the sun was up but by the second day I'd found that downtime only gave me time to obsess over the growing need between my legs.

Each night I went to bed exhausted and each morning I woke up horny, the cage clamping down on my canine member like a vice, keeping me soft and chaste. I threw myself into my work which seemed to help. But even then, the sight of my master's sweaty equine form kept intruding into my thoughts.

I saw his powerful hands working his thick, veined shaft as his muscles bulged under his short fur. I saw the horse stroke himself in time with my hammer blows as he worked himself towards an orgasm. I panted as I worked. Not from the heat of the furnace but from the climax which played out over and over in my head, my imagination caught in a cycle where my master worked himself up to and then through his shuddering climax.

By the end of the week my balls felt twice their normal size, though they appeared to undergo no visual change. I could not get master out of my thoughts. During the day I fantasized about the broad shouldered tyrant and at night I dreamed about him. In my dreams, I was always serving him in some mundane manner which somehow still felt hyper sexual.

In one dream I cooked for the blacksmith as he sat naked at the table, limp cock draped visibly over his thigh, my eye constantly drawn to the conspicuous pole. In another, I prepared master's bath and then proceeded to scrub every inch of his body with a washcloth, including his pendulous balls which felt incredibly real within the context of the dream. In yet another, I massaged the horse's body after a long day in the workshop. His back, legs, shoulders, neck. I remember this one clearly because he would groan in a sexual manner as I worked my hands over his body.

Every dream ended the same way. With my hand accidentally brushing against his maleness, only to linger there as master turned to regard me. His expression was always one of mild surprise but also had elements of knowing anticipation, as though he'd long been expecting this. With my fingertips resting on his soft but slowly growing member, a few tense seconds would pass before he would fill the silence by saying, "Were you told to stop your work, boy? Do your duty."

At which point I would wake, sweaty and panting despite the morning chill. My crotch ached and my body was overcome with sexual tension. Yet with no relief forthcoming all I could do was throw myself into my work, toiling the hours away. By day I hammered and worked the furnace. By night I served my master in my dreams, running my hands over his muscles and pressing my body against his.

When master finally did return, he did so with no fanfare or announcement. He was just suddenly in the kitchen, helping himself to leftovers from the day prior.

Not knowing what to say, I asked him how his trip went. As expected from the horse, he only grunted noncommittally. I made another couple attempts at small talk but the blacksmith was not interested, weary from his days of travel. He complained of his cramped legs.

My heart fluttering in my chest and driven to brashness by sexual frustration, I dared to suggest, "...Perhaps master is in need of rejuvenating muscle massage... for his legs?"

Master regarded me in silence for a long while, his expression giving nothing away as I began to fidget.

He spoke then, saying, "Perhaps tomorrow. Tell me, did you complete your work?"

Of course I hadn't. Such a feat was impossible, given the size of the herculean task. But rather than complain I meekly replied, "Almost, sir. Another day or two and I'll have it finished."

He grunted at the news, his disappointment apparent. Then he looked away, his focus returning to his dry food and room temperature water.

Feeling the moment shift away from me, I pressed on. Not because of any bravery on my part but because I couldn't imagine continuing on in this fashion. I breathed, ate, and lived sex. I felt like an animal in heat and my condition was not only completely outside of my ability to control, it was getting worse every day. It was very nearly unbearable and only my master could grant me reprieve.

"Sir... if you have a moment, I'd like to talk about--"

"No," he said, not bothering to look up from his plate.

"I'm sorry?" I stammered, caught off guard. "I just meant that--"

Then the horse did look up at me, his face stern and hard. My mouth remained open but no words came forth.

"Do you have something to say to me, boy?" the blacksmith demanded.

"N-no, sir," I mumbled, no longer willing to press my case.

"Then prepare my bath. Afterwards you may return to your incomplete work. Yes?"

"Yes, sir!"

He waved me away with his hand and I took this opportunity to flee. My maleness throbbed painfully as it tried and failed to escape its metal prison. I felt humiliated, like a young child who was scolded by their parent. But my balls churned with a need to keen I couldn't help but cup them on my way to the storage room where we kept the large tub.

I started the fire and got the water warming as I prepared the storage room for master's bath. Fetching fresh towels and a change of clothes, in short order the room was readied to receive him.

Somewhat pathetically, I hurried to tell master so that he might be pleased with my verve and obedience. But again my world crumbled around me as I once more overheard the blacksmith talking to an unseen presence.

"Yes, my lord, the preparations are complete. I've procured the items you've specified."

He fell silent for a moment, presumably listening to words that only he could hear as he stared into that eyeless dragon mask.

"I'm sure he will obey. My apprentice is willful and headstrong but he would not dare oppose me. I will explain that this is for the best and though he may grumble, in the end he will do as he's told."

They were discussing me? Except there was no "they". If I dared look around the corner, I was sure I would find only master, descending further into madness. But what was he saying about me? What order must I obey?

"I believe he's preparing my bath, my lord."

"... Sir, I don't mean to contradict you. It is just... the boy is like a son to me."

"No. ...No, my lord. I will do as instructed. Your word is law and I serve at your pleasure. I hear and obey."

I scrambled to get back to the storage room as quickly and quietly as I could, fearful of what master might do should he learn I was spying on him -- intentionally or otherwise.

Upon arrival I pretended to be sweeping the floor. I managed this act just in time as the horse rounded the corner. He said nothing for a long time, appraising me silence with a stone faced look.

When he did eventually speak, his voice was as deep and self-sure as always.

"Boy," he said, addressing me directly. "I will take my bath now. Help me out of these clothes."

His request caught me off guard. Never before had master required any assistance when bathing, other than the preparation of the room itself. Now he wanted me to... strip him? Did he mean... all the way? Fully naked? My heart thrummed in anxiety as my mouth went dry.

Moving on autopilot, I performed as bid. First I assisted him with his shirt, revealing more and more of his labor chiseled form as the buttons were undone. With that garment stripped, folded, and carefully set aside, at master's silent gesture I moved on to his belt.

All too quickly it came free in my hands. Master watched my every motion as I worked, his eyes never moving from mine even as I averted my gaze.

I paused then, giving the blacksmith the opportunity to dismiss me should he so choose. Instead, the man stayed silent. The intent was clear. My work was to continue.

Fumbling at first, I soon made quick work of the series of buttons which held his durable pants up on his substantial hips. I tugged them down and as I did master clarified, "The underwear too, boy."

I gulped and pulled down both articles of clothing in one long tug. Fully exposed, master stepped out of clothes while placing his large palms onto my shoulders. The act of stripping his pants had naturally placed me into a kneeling position, my face inches away from the stallion's prominent privates. I stared at his flaccid member and plumb sized balls, unable to look away and unable to stand with master's grip holding me in place.

I wanted to ask the horse why he did this, what his intentions were. But my words failed me under the overwhelming pressure of his gaze. He looked down at me, his expression indiscernible as his intent.

Then, confusing me still further, master took one hand from my shoulder and used it two press two calloused fingertips against my lips. He said nothing as I looked up at him, unsure of what to do.

But he did and said nothing, leaving me to figure out the meaning of this act by myself. He did not move his fingers nor did he shift his grip which was holding me down the floor. His two finger tips remained in place, resting gently on my lower lip as he stared down at me.

The cage... that damned cage felt indescribably tight against my long denied member. Nervous as I was, I felt so very hot. My balls moved and churned in their sack, their kinematic motions hidden by the clothes that I still wore.

I... opened my lips to accept my master, deciding this must be what was expected of me. And yet, nothing happened. Master stood there patiently, his fingers just shy of my now open mouth.

My face burned in shame. Now I understood. This was not something the horse was going to do to me. It was something I was going to do to myself. Eyes watering slightly in humiliation I leaned forward, taking both of master's sizable fingers into my muzzle.

This must have been what he had been waiting for because only then did he begin to move the digits. Slowly but purposefully, he pressed his fingers into my mouth to the second knuckle, only to withdraw them when they could go no further. Then he'd press them right back in against once I was left with only the tips of his fingers resting on my tongue.

Back and forth his fingers pressed. Several minutes passed as master worked my mouth. I was confused, a bit scared, and horribly aroused at the treatment. I hated myself for how low I'd fallen in less than a week's time. Yet master still looked down at me. Waiting. Expectantly.

Hornier than I had ever been in my entire life, I cried without making a noise. Warm tears dripped down my muzzle as I gave in. I began to suckle my master's fingers.

At this, the man finally smiled at me. Ever so faintly, and his face held more than a trace of pity even as he encouraged me. I moaned into his fingers, pathetically. Master closed his eyes and began to breathe deeper, enjoying my ministrations.

Free to look away now that our mutual gaze had been broken, I looked forward to confirm that the horse really was enjoying the treatment. His pole had already started to grow and elongate, growing wide and long as master fucked my moaning face with his hammer-calloused fingers. It soon pressed against me and my cock spasmed uselessly in its cage in response to the electric touch.

"Suck harder," master instructed, which shamed me further still but came as no surprise. The blacksmith was always pressing me to apply myself.

I complied and then... I... took master's silk-smooth shaft into my hand and began to stroke him. Master groaned in pleasure, pushing his fingers so deeply into my mouth that I gagged as they pressed against my soft palate.

Even as I gagged, I continued to suck and stroke. Neither of which master forced upon me and yet there I knelt, sexually pleasuring the man who was not unlike a father to me. Even as this very same man denied me in reciprocating satisfaction. Master felt so big in my hand and I couldn't help comparing it against what lay trapped between my thighs, so soft and small.

We fell into a rhythm which lasted many long minutes. I worked master's cock as he worked my lips. He was looking at me again which made me blush anew, especially when his fingers played and danced against my tongue as he pressed it firmly around as he pleased.

Then he addressed me directly.

"Boy... do you pledge your body?"

That phrase again. I remembered that phrase from earlier. The blacksmith had spoken those words.

Caught up in the moment, I could only moan and nod. I stroked master faster and noticed my had become wet with his copious precum.

"Do you pledge your heart?"

I nodded again even as I gagged and retched because master was pressing so hard against the entrance to my throat.

"Do you pledge your soul?"

Even before I nodded master had introduced a third finger. He kept the trio deep as I struggled to breathe. I moaned and coughed but master's expression remained intent upon me. Gone was any pity in his eyes and in there place, only focus remained.

"Do you pledge your mind?"

Gone was even the hint of subtle. Master was now plainly fucking my mouth with his fingers, twisting them slightly as he worked them in and out. I nodded again, terribly conflicted at how I was being treated.

"Do you pledge your virility?"

I wanted to cum so bad. Despite the cage, I felt myself on the edge of climax.

Light headed, I nodded. If this was what was asked of me, I submit. I gave of myself freely.

So caught up in the extreme pleasure of the moment that I did not notice the wolven half-mask master had produced from somewhere. I looked up and made a questioning gurgling sound against his fingers as the horse carefully slid the mask over my muzzle, positioning it over my eyes.

As if drawn in by a strange force, I felt the mask pull against my face. I tried to scream in panic but it was too late. I felt the changes upon me the moment the intricately crafted metal mask locked in place.

So much happened at once that it would be impossible for me to describe it all. The only metaphor which might do the experience justice was the moment days prior when master had pressed the cold metal of the chastity cage into my sheathe.

I felt as I did then, except instead of my soft member being trapped by the metal prison, it was my mind which was caged. Cold bands of magic wrapped themselves around my conscious mind in the span of less than a second. Even without knowing the first thing about magic, I was certain I was suffering the effects of the forbidden mystic arts.

I tried to scream. Tried and failed. Instead, I felt myself moan anew against master's fingers. I also felt joy and pleasure. Joy that master was using me as I was meant to be used and pleasure at the taste of him. I knew immediately that these weren't my thoughts or emotions because they felt distinctly 'other' and 'separate'.

Someone else was now in my head. And even more horrifying, this unknown someone was in control of my body. I tried to defy this control, thrashing and seizing and throwing myself back and away from the blacksmith who had placed the cursed half-mask on me. But I could not manage to make so much as a single muscle twitch.

Moving as though by puppet strings, my body now obeyed the silent song of the Pied Piper, the magic or enchantment forced upon me by the mask I now wore.

The 'other' continued on as though entirely unaware of my personal struggle. This 'Piper' spared not a thought for me and indeed, I've become convinced this alternate personality has no awareness of me and is thoroughly oblivious to my presence. No matter how much I shout and yell at him in my mind, he doesn't hear me.

I know this for sure because even from that very first minute, all of Piper's surface-level thoughts and emotions were laid out for me to see and experience. This does not overwhelm my own real ego for the straightforward reason that Piper is a very simple boy.

Piper finds joy in serving, in doing what he's told, and even in being corrected. His (or the mask's) thoughts are equally linear. Piper tries to think of ways to make his master happy. Happy at mealtime. Happy at work. And yes... happy in bed.

The blacksmith finally took his fingers out of my / Piper's mouth and asked, "How do you feel, boy?"

Predictably, I tried to shout my fury and indignation at him. To demand he release me from both this foul magic and from the chastity cage.

Instead, Piper spoke up on both of our behalves.

"Wonderful, master," Piper said, pausing to lick the fattened tip of the blacksmith's hugely erect cock. This meant that my mouth filled with the salty taste of my master's sex which I was powerless to prevent. I tried to gag, to spit it out, but time and again my body refused my authority.

It was a worst-case scenario because while I had no control, my senses were just as acute as they had been before the mask had been thrust upon me. I tasted the horse upon my tongue just as well as if though I had dragged my tongue across the bastard's piss lips voluntarily.

Seeing the horse shudder in pleasure at the touch of my tongue Piper asked, "Perhaps master would like a... tongue bath? I promise sir that he will enjoy it."

The wolf-who-was-not-me used my body to lean forward, taking the horse's thick cockhead into his mouth and several additional inches besides. He swirled his tongue, my tongue, as he did so, moaning lewdly using my throat. I felt everything. I tasted everything. I was actually, truly sucking the mad man's cock and there was nothing I could do.

My master, ever the simple blacksmith, just shuddered and said, "Just... do it. Quickly, boy. I can't hold back any longer."

I could sense that Piper was slightly disappointed that the fun was set to be over so quickly. But far outweighs any negative emotions he might feel was the immense excitement he felt for... for...

Oh, no. No, no, no!

Even before it actually happened, I could see Piper imagining it. The wolf-who-was-not-a-wolf was picturing master's cock pumping stream after stream of frothy white cum into his mouth, over his tongue, and down his throat.

I tried to block these mental images but could not. Every sick detail was pushed straight into my brain by Piper's vivid imagination. I wanted to throw up, yet even that mercy was denied me. Instead, I "looked" on in horror as Piper made actual, literal plans to swirl his tongue back and forth through the horse's spent seed. The wolf looked forward to showing master how much he appreciated the man's tasty gift. The simple minded Piper was even debating whether or not the blacksmith might appreciate watching him lick any missed seed off the floor. All while sucking the man off as enthusiastically as he could manage.

Which meant I was sucking him off enthusiastically. Despite being a trapped passenger in my own body, to me and to my stained sense of honor it felt exactly as if I were voluntarily pleasuring the man who'd lost his gourd. I sucked him for all I was worth. I moaned, swirled my tongue, swallowed his pre-seed, and yes, fondled his balls. I pulled my mouth off his cock then slapped my own face with the broad stalk. Hard. I felt my own lip bruise and grow puffy as I slapped my face with his pole, grinning like a fool as I did.

Knowing master as I did, I knew this would not go over well and sure enough the man slapped Piper to the ground. Which meant he slapped ME to the ground. My face exploded in pain at the point where his palm had impacted my cheek.

"Stop playing around," master ordered, his voice gruff but not entirely unkind. "Give me your throat and don't stop until I'm spent. My lord has instructed me to perform this ritual but there is no reason to drag this out. Drink of me if you must, boy, but let us end this."

Piper was upset at being slapped but he was upset at himself rather than master. He mentally kicked himself for focusing more on his fun than on the horse's pleasure and promised himself that he would do better in the future. Which was an unpleasant reminder that I had no plan of how to get out of this situation. Without the ability to control my body, at was at the mercy of both Piper and the blacksmith. A thought which terrified me.

The wolf picked himself up, nodded, smiled, and got right back to work pleasuring the man who had just slapped him so cruelly. My cheek throbbed in pain even as that fresh indignity was pressed to the side when I began to realize that Piper was taking 'give me your throat' very literally.

Without warning or prep work I felt the horse's cock barge past the back of my throat and farther still. Piper was aware of the discomfort this caused him but he ignored it. He'd disappointed his master once already today and would not do so again. I cursed his stupidity and naivety in the void but the other wolf did not hear me. We both gagged on the horse's super endowed girth.

Piper got right to work, using my throat as a toy for the man to sexually conquer. Having established a rhythm, master only lasted a few more minutes.

Thankfully, rather than cumming down his apprentice's throat, the blacksmith pushed us back and finished himself off, groaning loudly as he spent himself on the floor. Piper watched with rapt attention, not wanting to miss a single detail. This meant that I too was forced to endure the full sequence of the man's orgasm.

Master than walked past me, not saying a word, and got into the tub. He ignored us as we sat there, Piper in tranquility and me raging and fighting with every ounce of strength I had.

Piper soon spoke up to say, "Master, shall I tidy up?"

Not bothering to look back, the blacksmith sank further into the large tub and waved his hand dismissively.

The masked wolf then scooted closer to the pooled horse cum and leaned forward.

What? No. Fuck no. Why! No one asked you to do this, you stupid, idiotic-- !

And without even being instructed to, Piper began to silently lick up large spread of spent jizz. Lick by lick, mouthful by swallowed mouthful, the wolf happily ingested his master's seed. Worse, he felt no shame in doing so. Rather, the stupid fool felt a sort of pride at taking the iniative and being useful. Plus, he'd cleverly found a way to taste the juicy reward which had been denied him. He blushed at being so naughty.

I was indignant all the while. Apoplectic even. I was being forced to LICK the FLOOR clean of HORSE CUM. This was the worst day of my life, by far. I tried everything I could think of to make the sensations go away.

I tried to shut my senses off. I tried meditation. To force myself 'asleep'. I tried yelling at Piper. Negotiating with him. I even tried pleading. I tried holy prayers and mantras against demonic spirits and a hundred other superstitious rituals. Nothing worked. I saw, tasted, and experienced everything.

The gritty texture of the floor. The strong tasting, thick cream of a mad man. Piper's soft, barely audible moans as he licked the ground. And through it all, I felt how tight the chastity cage gripped the wolf. Gripped us -- me. He loved this. It turned him on. But bizarrely, not once had his mind turned to his own cock. I could tell he was aware of it. After all, the cage made it pretty impossible to ignore the ceaseless strain of our penis getting crushed into flaccid submission.

But Piper didn't want out of the cage. The thought never even occurred to him. No, he ENJOYED how it gripped him. He assumed master had his reasons for wanting him caged and that it wasn't for him to second guess the man. If this was how master wanted it, then this was how it should be. He liked to picture the cage as being an extension of master's kind, strong grip keeping him small and soft. To the masked wolf, it felt good and proper to be under master's control like this. Piper was flattered that master cared enough about his locked-away penis to want to keep it soft.

Don't get me wrong. I think that if master had taken the cage off and ordered Piper to cum, the wolf would have thoroughly enjoyed it. He would have stroked himself energetically to completion and then thanked the horse profusely. But that clearly wasn't what master wanted and so the wolf didn't question his denial. It was master's decision and that was all there was to it.

Which meant that I was the one who suffered. I understood this to be my fate as Piper finished licking the floor clean. And just when I thought there might be a brief reprieve from the unique awfulness that was being a wolven cum mop, Piper refused to swallow the last mouthful.

Instead he sat, smiled to himself, and let his tongue marinate in the taste, rolling the blacksmith's sperm back and forth inside his mouth. My mouth. The masked wolf's mind basked in zen-like bliss as he dutifully worked to memorize our master's flavor.

In perfect silence, I screamed.