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Within the realm of Morpheus, I had no idea of my own identity. I strode in from a crevice in the wall, into a lavish estate.

People were hurriedly moving about, amidst shadows and mirrors. There seemed to be a ruckus as they rushed about a peculiar business.

"The rest must reach completion. If it's not done by the third time through, just leave them as is. They'll be forgotten eventually."

I pondered the significance of this statement as I observed the mansion break way to industrial, kitchen-like rooms, where human beings were being hurried along a strange metamorphosis into beasts of burden. Water buckets lay set up to wash them down, the floors were wet, and the sounds of hoofbeats clipped and clopped occasionally against the tiles, as the halls echoed with braying.

Yet, the beasts themselves seemed quite relaxed, despite the rush, as their forms twisted and changed, gradually stepping away from the guise of humans, walking further down the line. Most I saw still stood upright, had two legs, and an assortment of changes from the head down. I quailed... with excitement, anticipation--and then pain.

Was it happening to me now? Yes! I winced in pain! It was terrible, and yet, exciting--relief setting in gradually as my ears stretched and crunched--I could not see them, but I could feel it, and hear it: transformation!

My body turned in its sleep. I could feel the distant world of the night, around it. A pleasant, clear, starry night, slowly melting away into an eventual morning. But I was safe from waking--still caught up in a rare, palpable dream.

They grew longer... and longer, and every inch, every twist of flesh hurt my real-life body. I felt the pain, and anticipation, and anxiety...

I looked in a mirror, as the relief from pain washed over, and saw them, long and grey with fur. The exciting part was that the change was far from done.

Why was I relishing this experience, the thought of more pain, and more changes? That is a question I ask now--but then, I did nothing more than simply relish the experience. Here it came again--my ears filled with tension, pressure, tight, stretching pain. A few more twists, and it was done--and I could move them, feel them with my fingers, how long and broad they had become, how they rose from the stretched and changed skin of my scalp--rife with fur.

I fell into the line, trembling as my nose stretched, and ass's teeth filled my mouth. The dream was exhbitionist--the line was filled with mirrors at each stop, as the faceless humans tediously groomed the changed, brushing and washing each newly changed body part--as if the creator of this bizarre estate had wanted each transformee to witness the ongoing degree of their metamorphosis.

The scent of soap mixed with that of sweat, and--as I strode down the line, getting turgidly erect--of manure. I watched one of the others, a female, relieve herself, raising a properly formed and haired jackass's tail, rump growing by the second larger, and brown furred. She just stood there--on hooves, and contendedly dropped a load--squishy, green-brown horse dung falling in big clods from her equine-ified ass. Then, the man who had been scrubbing her down, in his wet blue uniform and cap, issued to another, carrying a push mop, and the manure was scrubbed off into the unknown. She looked obliviously content as she shook her tail; cleaned off the mess.

I felt my pants split down the seams, my body filling with tension--engorging on donkey muscle. I got a look at myself in one of the mirrors--face barely showing any sign of humanity--just my eyes, and a slight remaining bend to my nose, which quickly ironed out with a *crick* of my horsey head. I knew I was next. I could feel the tightness of my shoes--the stretching above my anus, that told me I would be relieving myself--of humanity... soon.

A hand on my ass, cool, helping me out of my pants, and further, deeper--into deep donkey shit. My feet distended, my shoes swole, tore, and burst as each of my wiggling toes hardened and fused my feet into comely hooves. I could feel my fingers starting to harden and unite too, warm webs of skin knitting up between each digit.

The most arousing change yet was the growth that distended from my pelvis--a sensitive lump that grew more and more firm, jolts of nerve activity rushing through it feverishly as it pushed and grew beneath my skin. I let out an excited "Hawww!" as that part of my skin neared breaking point, and prickles of fur burst out across its length.

There was a soft squish as my teeth and gums re-aligned to perfectly suit their owner's head, big and blunt and hard, square things. I felt the surge of a mane rip down my scalp, across my neck, as it contorted, trembled, and elongated.

I closed my eyes, and repeated what I had been shown, as my tail twitched, human skin resisting and failing as it stretched and mutated further, sprouting a dark black tuft. My asscheeks grew huge, and I spread them wide, relaxing my muscles, relentlessly working my business out in hot, steaming mounds across the floor.

Oh yeah.

*Plssh! Pltt! Splat!*

"Heeeeeee!" I brayed, feeling wonderful relief from my fat ass, as my torso began to barrel out in proportion. I settled down onto my forelegs, which cemented into hooves as I dropped the last of my load with a firm and satifying thump, feeling a soft burn on the inside of my anus begin to cool. I trotted dirtily on through, making a stupid grin as a woman helped me out of my shirt--mane rippling against the fabric as it was pulled off my back.

And the dream folks whispered at my change--their eyes shrouded in the darkness of sleep--masking identities--if they had them at all.

"Faster than most, this guy really wanted it."

"Don't ask me why, I mean, it's our job, but why do you think so many of them come this way?"

"Isn't it obvious? They don't want the job, so we take it. It's easier with a psychopomp."

"Being an assistant to fantasy...fantasy of afterlife. Haha. What an odd way to want to give up yourself."

"Well, some think it beats the idea of decay. People have different ways of deluding themselves. Different heavens they'd like to visit. It's a good thing."

"Yes... funny that they find arousal in change." the dream-woman said, patting my butt down with a warm rag.

"Some people want to always remain the same--I think it's good that others aren't afraid of change. Even if it is a bit nonsensical, the changes they make. Abstract. Defiant of Physics..."

"Well, let's get it done then."

"Yep. Our job's about done--he'll wake up with this in mind, and the rest is his decision."

* * *

It was not until my waking that the thoughts carried over, and I realized what I had dreamt. Flustered, I realized how the change had come undone, in one quick *pop* of awareness.

I was in my bed, this morning--I had not changed at all. I was still 'alive'.

So I compensated. I fabricated the rest--gave the people their lines, their voices. I knew they were there, but translating their intentions into words became my work.

Of course, biology has its place too. The dream filled me with cravings--and I set about writing the rest. But stories that come from the ether are hard to finish on a waking mind. They don't wring with the same spontaneity, the same 'truth'. Craving, however, I tried anyway.

A medial ring, a Jenny. Being ushered into a pen, full of hay to rest in; a bucket of fresh water--the heat of sweat, and the splash of her urine on my snout and backside.

Longer, flared, my penis giving up its rounded tip, flattening into a scoop-shaped cylinder, for pulling out the seed of competitors.

A tight grip, pumping thrusts with friction between furred, muscular limbs. Fingers eternally bound into tight, hard hooves, which wrapped about a massive hide. Hot breath blasting from my wide equine nostrils.

My tail whipping, waving wildly as I punched in against her massive, moist lips, slipping, splitting wide, slick, offering... and... in. Deeper, undulating, tight, massaging veiny, spotted meat.

I tightened with each hot contraction over that donkey dick--brayed through ugly, and oddly attractive teeth, as the haze of arousal made all sorts of changes blatantly, inexplicably sexy.

My mind, I gave to the ass, rubbing myself fervently with a tightened blanket, amidst a stack of pornography. Only a few good pages actually had ass-folk, so the dreams were still even visually out of reach.

If only the gush was as hard, as long, and as powerful as that which entered into the ass. If I could but glean a single nervous tremble, of the arousal that dream sparked on. If I could only feel as full as the figments of the beasts I followed...

Hah, the dream will dry out, and harden, and crumble to dust on the wind of so many scornful words and voices, all seeking their own daily pleasures, without heed for my own--and an ass's form is not even the form I would most long to have, in the end. All of that, out of reach.

The biological world is just so much less sanctimonious, so interestingly driven--but oh well. We live and move on. I will sleep again tomorrow. I'll endure practicality, and reality, today.