His Humanity Broken

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Trapped in a Horse's Body

This story is a continuation of Captured, Transformed & Forced to Breed.

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Foe? Friend?

Hika started awake, head up and nostrils flared, taking short, sharp puffs of breath, his equine head turning back and forth quickly, searching for danger. There was something there, someone there, but a horse couldn't do anything about that but to react, grunting softly as his sharp eyes and ears sought it out. There had to be a threat, something to have woken him, yet a Thoroughbred like him

However... Hika had not always been a horse and, truly, there was still some of his human mind behind the equine expression, ears twitching, the sheen of humanity residing behind his eyes. Captured by the dictator in a world that, in times gone by, would have been called a dystopian post-apocalypse, everything that he had known had been stripped from him - except for his love of running. And, in a race horse, that was a very good thing indeed to be left behind.

He needed to run, stomping and snorting in his stall, other horses looking back at him - geldings and one other stallion, just like him, down at the far end. He didn't know whether they were other humans who had been turned into horses like him or if they were genuinely just horses, though it didn't really matter. Hika had not lost a single race as yet and he did not intend to, running being the only thing that brought him joy in a life that had turned upside down.

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Wake up.

He blinked. That was a voice he hadn't heard in a while, a voice that came from his own head, though not a place that he visited all that often.

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Run.

Where to? There was nowhere to go, not with the stall door closed. Best not to worry about that little voice too much. A horse didn't need to think like that, fragments of sensations floating about in his head without forming true words anymore.

Still... His human side still lingered, lurking in the darkness while the horse side took over for most of the day to day stuff. It was easier to slink back, to allow the horse brain to do what was needed. Maybe then he didn't have to think too much about what had happened to him.

He'd thought that he'd lost his human brain entirely when he had been forced (he used that term loosely) to mate the third mare when his mind wavered and broke more and more. It was as if his brain, quite literally, was attached to the inside of his skull, fragmenting and drifting away more and more as he sank down and down, falling from anything and everything that may have resembled humanity. He'd lost himself the and forgotten all about times when it had seemed like he was in control of his body, a man in the rebellion, fighting back against everything that his world had become.

After that, it had been easier, for a while, to just be a horse, a horse that obeyed commands, listened to aids, did what he needed to in order to get by. A horse did not need to do any more than that, not even as he looked out over the door, nose wavering back and forth, coming down from a state of high arousal, his nerves settling. An urge stirred in his abdomen, making his cock slip out just a little, soft and ready for something else, releasing a stream of hot, pungent urine that spattered down into the thick straw of his stable bed.

Hika groaned. Once, it would have embarrassed him to do such a thing, yet it felt so natural to the horse side of him that it overruled the human part. The human part was easily squashed those days anyway and he finished off by relieving himself too, tail lifting to deposit a fresh pile of horse-apples in the corner of the stall. Maybe it just felt better to him to be able to do it in the privacy of a stable rather than when everyone had been staring at him, though that was just another little thing that Hika told himself just to make himself feel a little bit better.

"Breakfast time, lad."

Hika snorted and lowered his face to his tub as it was tossed over the stable door for him, the stable lad the one who was there all the time. As much as his human mind still existed, the horse mind did not recognise faces like that, only seeing the hot feed, full of oats and things that would make him run fast. The human's identifying, in Hika's case, was not his face but the food that he brought every morning like clockwork, a regular schedule kept in the king's prize racing stables. As Hika was the best of the best, he always got fed first.

After breakfast, he picked at his hay net, slipping down into a softening, dreary state that didn't allow him to think too much about what was happening. The quiet sounds of other horses munching away were soothing to his mind and he could allow that to be, not thinking of anything, no thoughts forming. It was harder and harder to form sentences in his mind but he did what he could, clinging to the last shreds of his humanity in any way that he could.

At some point in the morning, they came to take him to be trained, breezing him down the gallops at a light, ground-covering run that did not stress him. It was strange to carry a man on his back but he had long ago learned that there were easier things to do than fight back, even though the strike of a whip was not something he needed, often, to go faster. If there was one thing that Hika could do, it was stretch out into a gallop, chomp at the bit, straining to go faster and faster, no longer any obstacles in his way. There had been talk about training him for steeple chasing too, the long, hunt-style races that tested endurance as well as sharp bursts of speed on the flat, though he had not yet come to that.

He remembered the jumps from his earlier days as a human boy, however, when his feet had curled with white, pink toes and not the hardness of equine hooves. He had not been able to afford tickets to the races, of course, when times had been better and had snuck in sometimes to stand in the crowd, watching the horses run, muscular beasts that roared like dragons as they powered down the tracks. What Hika really loved, however, was how the obstacles had played into his work after dark in his teenage years, as things were kicking off.

At first, he had scrambled over the massive jumps, brush sticking up, bristling and formidable. Later, he had been able to clear it in a single leap, his stronger legs lifting him forth. Things had changed since then but it had been running around the track as a scrawnier, yet swiftly fitter, young lad that had gotten him to where he had been in the rebellion, pushing on to do the best kind of good that he had ever thought he had ever been able to do in the world.

Those days, however, were long gone, but he could still appreciate the cool of water splashing over his muscles after a workout, standing in the cross-ties of the wash rack. Water streamed from him and the equine mind took over completely as his shaft dropped, the relaxation of standing there, being taken care of, so simply good that not even Hika could resist it. His human mind quivered in embarrassment at being so exposed but it was fair to say that the stable boys there and hands had seen more than their fair share of dropped stallions and what he had under his belly was most certainly of no interest to them.

That should have been the end of the day, although he did wonder why he had only been trained lightly, practically only warmed up. That, however, was revealed as he was loaded into a smooth, fancy new horse lorry that felt as if he was standing in his stall, technology having advanced within the tyrant's reign wherever it suited him. And one thing that brought in money was horse racing, a king's sport, the sport of kings - something that surely he had to continue when it pleased the powers within his tyranny.

Unloaded at the track, however, Hika was raring to go, the horse mind and the human mind in agreement with one another and champing at the bit. He pranced and reared, snorting, head held high and eyes wide, hearing only the boom of the announcer and seeing the track beyond the crowds. That was where he needed to be, out there, running, doing, feeling as if he was worth something again, as if he had not entirely lost every last bit of his power as a human. For out on the track, even though he was still, clearly, a horse, he felt like he could be more than that, the winner that he had wanted to be for so very long.

Out there, he could at least pretend. Cups and cheering meant that he had done well, though winning, to him, was something different to that.

Still, there was a hot rush of embarrassment and a snort as he knew his sheath and balls were on show, trying to clamp his tail down over his tail hole even though he knew that there was little he could do to hide his shame. But he was out there, naked, so many eyes on him... Hika breathed shortly and shallowly, whipping his head back and forth, though his trainer only took that for exuberance. They didn't know that he was a human in a horse's body and treated him as if he was nothing more than a high-spirited stallion. Yet as much as Hika tried to turn the thickness of his apple-bottom, his tail slicing between his firmly rounded glutes, away from the crowd, he knew, even then, that there was no escaping his fate.

Better just to run. To run from all his problems, charge on through it, snorting and bellowing, taking all that he could as a human-stallion, whatever he was. That was, after all, just what the crowd had come there to see at the end of it all.

He ran like his life depended on it, in full racing tack, snorting and heaving, breathing a single breath with every single stride. Galloping gave him life but there were mares too on the track to distract him, foam speckling their chests as they were ridden harder than he was, for they may as well have dropped out of the race considering how unlikely it was for any of them to beat him.

No, there could only be one winner there and he charged down the home stretch, the final furlong, with his neck stretched all the way out. The horse and the human in Hika strained and stretched, fighting with every ounce of strength in their body to break through, though they should have already have known that there were only other horses to their back. He'd left the rest of them in the dust, as usual, streaking across the finish line where a photo finish most certainly was not needed.

It took him some time to slow and pull up, to take the speed out of his strides, though his jockey was a regular who trusted him too.

"Good boy, that's a good boy..."

End preview.

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