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And so it began, with a man near to seventy years of age. A man feeling his age, being stiff every way but that one way that specifies me as being a man. Arthritis and age coupled with E.D. tends to remind a man he has begun a countdown to eternal rest.

My son Gerald and his buddy pal Miles played rough games, as each liked heifers better than pretty girls. Their lewd fetish planted into my life a thought of disgust what they relished; and a bull animal does because of instinct.

Fate intervened, and introduced two horny fellows to the scientific rigors of research science mixed with personal dislike; gifting Miles and Gerald each their lustier preference. Whatever Miles or Gerald did to anger the farm manager at Sunrise Research, discovered then that Jake Thorn would rewrite each of the boys personal epitaph.

My good friend Samuel Bond held the root for many a criminal, warrior, pain in the ass, or simple trespassers happening to find their way where they did not belong, discovered harshly their rewritten fates, futures, and passions or fears, becoming a new reality.

My learning about what Sunrise Research owns as its beginning from a talkative stallion. Just imagine a gifted horse from the Sunrise Research stables becoming a gift given to my son Gerald. As keeping my and your imagination open to suggestions; as of that noble Anglo-Arabian could speak its thoughts from having learned the throaty art as a ventriloquist when he was a teenager in high school. "Roscoe," what a dull name for such a grand stallion; and it was a him standing sixteen hands tall, a changed human with still a college graduate intellect.

Roscoe confided to me primarily because of being his caretaker and groom; Gerald only occasionally rode his horse, but I allowed the stallion to mate and breeding with mares. Human or stallion, both find personal gratification from enjoying sex. As maybe, that fun-time that Jerome enjoyed bade me to feeling a bit jealous. My age and having lost both the love of my life, she passed away eleven years ago, and my dysfunctional masculinity became a real bother from seeing Jerome bury his twenty plus inches of horse cock deep inside a mare feeling estrus.

Miles and his foul delights infected my son, vile desires and lust guided them to mating with four-month old Angus heifers. A strange sort of competition began, as what by chance while working in my barn, did overhear Gerald bragging; he comparing his corralling, courting, mounting techniques to those of his horny friend. Naturally, they argued, begging by each as to who would dare to mate with a mature cow.

I think yet that Miles was gay, he held to no laws of legal justice, but to his own self-serving ideals of what to him seemed fair. I wonder then about his final fate, he becoming as is a Ultra-Black Angus breed animal, he a she, a heifer!

Was there some verbal exchanges made before Jake ordered a laboratory technician to injecting Miles, gifting an avid cow fucking fool with serums; medications to causing drastic bodily transitions. I laugh when reminded, as see what became of Miles, he a she, knows her name as being Millie, and that is all the cow seems to recollect.

As of Gerald/Jerome, he remembers, knowing still of whom he was, of me as his true father; when arriving home again, my son knew he had become an animal a Bull. Questioning of what acted oddly being a tame as affectionate bull animal; no bull I ever owned acted as if it felt any gratitude or affections. Thinking of Jerome the bull as being my son is a real bother. When he arrived, the bull Jerome sighed and acted as if relieved from where his benefactors had delivered Millie the heifer and him to reside.

I never saw any male animal of having its male organ as circumcised, circumcision is of a religion or hygiene,, and animals hold to no understanding of such concepts. Therefore, when the new bull reacted toward me with fancied affection, it became aroused, with penis erect, and its distal tip looked rather as if circumcised. I inquired about the bull, asking its previous owner, and possibly the person responsible for having a bull being yet as circumcised.

Sam Bond answered a host of questions I had about; much of what he said fit into and between the information told to me by Roscoe the talking stallion. He eased my pain of loss from not knowing of what had happened to Gerald; of course, and not that I would have thought my son as bettered by his becoming as herd-sire Bull. What became of Miles did not matter to me then; he was a thorn nagging at my relationship with Gerald.

Sam posed some questions, made another offer to buy what I owned, while suggesting that his Reformation Process would rejuvenate me personally as medically. The thought of becoming as young again, virile, and my gifted a renewed, different bodily self, something similar of what had happened to Roscoe; as he and how he enjoyed being a stallion had me jealous. My reason for visiting Sam was to clarify a seemingly perverted question about my new herd sire. What happened resulted of my learning all about Sunrise Research set into motion a lengthy four months of me dealing with the physical changing of my body, skeletal, and soft tissues.

My setting there in Sam's office and calmly submitting to his divisive offer, I watched with glee as each syringe infected me bodily with a virus. A life changing set of drugs that would remake what was an old man to prefer standing as on all fours, me being a young, stud Zebra.

Why I accepted what Sam offered, and allowed my past jealous feelings of watching a changed man relishing his being a animal, Roscoe, a horse, stallion, used for being a stud. The perversity that was Sunrise Research and the Reformation Process sparked my imagination to the pinnacle of taunting an old man to enjoying of lust.

My drive back toward home began as joyful, but the more I did some soul searching, the more frivolous seemed the idea of me becoming a Zebra stallion animal as then a stupid choice. Sam told me what to expect would happen and changing first; as the thought tantalized me to laughing, relishing my gaining the genitalia similar to that of a stallion Zebra.

Upon my arrival to the ranch, I drove and parked my car along, as beside the stables. As other than Roscoe, I decided to keep six horses for riding and use of roundups. Still aged and arthritic, I exited my car and walked inside the stables. All of my horses were outside, kept pastured during any daytime. I sought to consider of what I had told of, my foolish, sexual fantasy. My fantasy sold back at me to where I allowed as done to me, would after a short time span, change my lifestyle to relish living, as do my horses.

The stables held in my mind the boldly sweet smell of hay mixing to deplete the acrid odor of spent urine and manure. Still, the stables was a much filthier place to consider preferring as homey, quite different than a clean house offering a host of human comforts.

Then too, were the day's chores, most handled by younger men, my employees handled the work of my ranch. A sigh of worry and I walked toward the house, as began to feel uncomfortable about my quick acceptance of what Sam Bond suggested an offer to gain my property, as rid me from any possible change of mind. Almost funny was the thought of having diligently worked the ranch for my life's work with the idea of leaving it to my son. In essence, and from what became of my son Gerald, he became an intricate role player needed to continue the rebuilding of any cattle herd. My son was then a living thing, physically a brute beast, gifted a pedigree; he my heir?

Gerald being of an élite lineage, he then was a Ultra-Black, Angus Bull!

"You old fool," I repeatedly argued with myself; as having lost my son only to regaining him, but he being not what would his mother admit or say was her son, enlightened if she saw him as he is now!

Sam warned me that I might feel exceptionally drowsy from having had injected four different Reformation serum injections. Each step I walked while going toward my house felt weighty, a struggle; as if lying down anywhere was equally acceptable a place to snooze. I entered the rear door, as shuffled though the kitchen, thinking only of my Lazy-Boy recliner chair. As if with my last amount of diligence, this old man let himself flop into that chair only to sigh of relief and drift off to a deep slumber.

Considering the truths told and of personal trials from that day, my sleeping should have helped to quell and calm my personal apprehensions. Instead, began weird dreaming, not really nightmares per say, although my subconscious busied itself with dredging up past occasions when with my horses breeding, I helped guide the stallion's cock to touching a wet, as warm, winking vulva.

As I slept, there continued vivid scenes of mares enthralled by sexual promiscuity; but different, as I began visualizing of me to having replaced the stallion. Ideas of bestiality intervened, with me as if then capable to mounting, insert and mate with long legged mares.

Eager lust driving passion for feeling my bloomed cockhead as pushing inside the mare forced from me screams of personal delight. My visual experience felt and endured more than any memory of having had sex with her, my wife.

Moans and groans, squealing of sexual glee, feeling testicle pain, glorious male surges of sensuality te like I felt an empathy of as for a stallion ejaculating. Vivid and fond memories invaded the dreaming, seeing me doing the same pelvic thrust actions the stallions did just when they gained their release.

"Yes, yes, oh yes," I bemoaned, knowing that the lusty thrusting sensations had climaxed; my tail rising from snug to my butt, it aiding the release, frustrating me, knowing the mare feeing serviced would walk out from under me, "Oh no dearest, don't go and leave me as still feeling horny!"

My mare so casual walked away, her black lipped vulva no longer winking, as my semen dribbled from it.

I watched as my sorrel mare began grazing, she mingling with a group of other mares. My cock receded, moving inside the sheath, it feeling sticky and crusty, coated with my semen and her mare vaginal juices.

A strong sense of confinement struck me, making a struggle to regain of personal freedom. Kicking my hind legs so hard that my nailed on shoes flew off, as reeling bodily, I recalled of my teeth helping to tear, rip away, and finally leaving me as set free from those odd bonds. A screamed whinny of delight and prancing commenced, as riled the herd, as all save but one ran away. She smelled of being a mare, but wholly unlike the entire herd, this one had white and black stripes covering most of her sleek, as well muscular body.

Instantly I felt akin to her, as well from my being so tall as with ease did mate the sorrel mare; I shrank to standing equal to her my next to dominate. Why then I wondered in my dreaming, as taking a sniff of her teardrop contoured' vulva, did its winking lips reach and lay captive my muzzle. A drawing sensation began, as if some suction was pulling upon my face and head, adding an urge to come enter where I wished to plant my sticky cock.

Her sexual vagina was bonding with my mind through a unholy connection, the like made me feel nervous, fearing and asking why to what comes next?

"Bang, bang, bang-bang-bang," I heard and then a voice calling, yelling, demanding of me to stop, look, and listen, as begin a conversation. The noises befuddled my sensual dreaming, stirring me to awaken, as realize my present situation of self.

Rising up to a sitting position, my first sight was of me being naked, my clothing all ripped as torn; even the shoes I wore set tossed in different directions.

"Hey boss, you alive in there," I heard my ranch manager yelling outside the rear service door?

"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake, just hold on," I yelled, while seated before then standing free from my favorite chair; what I saw as me, I would not wish to confront anyone with the exception being of Sam Bond.

"I am sick, maybe a flu bug, what is your problem," I asked aloud, but not daring to walk into the kitchen where with so many windows my condition might be seen?

"Not seen you outside your house for four days, I was concerned," Bob Rand called to me from outside.

"All okay, not up to working yet, maybe tomorrow," I called, but wondered about the next day as my physical self would look and be very different. I stood looking down the length of what then my body, groin, and legs. As blackening pigment had invaded, it coloring my skin and hardened its texture. White and black curvy stripes similar of a zebra was then the new me.

"Oh help," I moaned, recalling much of that vivid dream, and what had delighted me most, was then a physical reality set graphically as my male self. A hand smoothed across my hindquarter worked to begin a favored arousal. Feeling my tail both touching and swaying tended to arouse me even more. Bit by black crease of penal flesh erupted from what I knew of as a/my equine' sheath. The crinkling feeling from dried, encrusted semen still clinging to my cock, added a tickling sensation that bade me smile and laugh.

The sheer bulk of what became as my equine penis, added to the wanting to know how a stiff equine cock felt. Relentlessly, my different penis turned cock unfurled, stretched, stiffened, and gained a gross shaped distal end what reminded me of a toilet plunger.

Different as correct of its angle, my sheath directing the cock for an eased entry into a also black zebra cunt.

"Vulva, cunt, pussy, vagina, mare and stud, differing words of similar jest, but becoming accountable to my changing vocabulary as the human was changing, becoming for Sam Bond as another animal prodigy!

(Chapter III )