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It was hot. Too hot and uncomfortable to stay asleep. Michael's body was ached all over and he couldn't quite find a position that was comfortable as he shifted back and forth. The movements were clumsy as he tried to roll from his side onto his stomach to try and cool himself down. The air was wrong. Each time he pulled in a breath they were sharp with strange odors that he couldn't place or even recognize. He couldn't ever remember being this uncomfortable when he tried to sleep. It only took a few moments before he stirred awake and gave up the quest to sink back into the strange formless dreams he had been enjoying. It was no good attempting it when he felt as if he were baking in the heat.

He lifted his head slowly and pried open his eyes. His head felt heavy and clumsy as he turned it about and found his vision blocked by a blind spot right between his eyes. The focus made the dizziness worse as he tilted his head to one side and closed one eye to try and ease it. The first thing he could make out was grey weathered wood that looked roughly cut and only a cursory attempt had been made to smooth the grain. There were knots and holes in it, not at all like the smooth polished walls of his bedroom. It was only one bit of strangeness in a world of it. His 'bed' wasn't a bed at all, but the floor that had been thickly covered with a scattering of golden straw.

"Rrrhurr?" He tried to ask what was going on, but the noise came out thick and animalistic around something that hugged around his face.

Around his face? Panic rushed up on him as he realized that something smooth was clinging to his features and made it almost impossible to feel the movement of air against him. He shook his head to try and dislodge it, but it was fixed on tight. Michael lifted his hand up to feel what was there when something hard bashed against the front of the 'mask' and pain blossomed along his nose. With a squealing cry he stumbled up and tried to stop the tears from welling up in his eyes from the sharp immediate pain. His body heaving itself against a form fitting outfit that wrapped around him until he could only stumble up to his hands and knees.

The material that ran along his back and chest strained and tightened until his breath came out in soft wheezing cries while he tried to wriggle free. The tightness of the outfit seemed centered around the back of his neck and chest so that when he tried to lift his head a ridge shoved against his neck and forced him to remain on all fours. He tried to scrabble with his hands against the underside of the outfit, to try and feel for an opening, but his fingers refused to spread. They were left curled in an uncomfortably strange angle as his fisted hand thumped against his underside and pawed at it. He couldn't feel a seam or anything that might make him able to tear it away. His breathing was loud in his ears as he felt the weight of the suit straining his back just to stand.

He finally dropped his hand and tilted his head to one side to try and figure out how to at least undo whatever glove had been situated on him. He contorted himself to lower his head as the padding that ran along his neck and shoulders bunched up in protest. His hand wasn't in a glove! He stared at the pale tan hoof that rested flat against the ground. He lifted his 'arm' up and watched as the horse like foreleg lifted up before dropping back down with a thud. The hide was a flea bitten grey color, but it wasn't fur. It was flat and smooth as if someone had formed the leg of a horse from stretched rubber. The bone structure looked larger than his arm and he couldn't see any of the bends he expected. He could curl the foreleg under, but not reach it up the way it should go.

"Ahh, there we are. Awake at last." A smooth voice purred from behind him and Michael twisted to see who it was.

The moment he did he stumbled and staggered. His immediate reaction had been to rise up to his feet and confront the voice standing, but he could only rear upwards. He had a dizzying sensation of being too high in the air before staggering to one side and his hooves scuffed against the ground. He brought up his legs, but to his horror he could hear the faint thud of hooves rather than his feet hitting the ground. It was an awkward position, one that left him swaying and unbalanced, but the suit allowed him to stand on all fours. His breathing was loud as the weight of the suit made his legs tremble just a touch. He couldn't feel any air brushing his skin, in fact, he felt only the heat of the latex material clinging to his body.

"Now now, you're not strong enough for that, my fine lad." The voice murmured and a door beside him opened.

The strange position of his eyes let him look to one side to see a young looking gentleman walking into his stall. A gentleman who possessed a dapper bowler hat and wore a loose dark crimson blouse tucked into a set of tight riding pants. The pants themselves were smoothed into a set knee high riding boots. It all looked quite natural in the stall, but his face was completely unfamiliar. Michael tried to open his mouth to ask a question and found he could, but the movement made the facial mask move. His eyes rolled slightly as he caught sight of a long grey muzzle that jutted out from his head and lips peeling back. What the hell was he wearing?!

"Here we go, let's get you out of the stall. We need to have you strengthened up a bit, but that will come with training." The young man brushed a hand beneath the curve of his chin and to Michael's humiliation he could feel a faint rub along his jaw.

"HurrHEEEHEEHEE!" The loud whinny broke out from Michael's lips as he tried to ask the question, but the material over his throat distorted it.

The man didn't offer him any clues on what had happened, only gripped something that was hanging on his chin and gave a pull that made him lurch forward. It was awkward, so awkward, to walk forward on the thick clunking hooves. His legs moved almost naturally in an all four position, but his mind kept screaming at him that he should be on two legs. It wasn't until the dull clop of his hooves echoed on the concrete hall outside of the stall that he realized he was large. His head was towering just above the lad's and that was with him on all fours. He tilted his head and felt the strange bonds on his head tugging as he looked down the long long length of his legs. The hooves seemed far away. The suit itself seemed to add height and weight to him, but allowed him to move.

He shivered and let himself be led along the hall. His mind was frantically trying to find a time when this had happened and trying to figure out how he had gotten into this position. He should be at home in his bed. He could recall that much. He knew his bedroom had rich dark wood for the walls and a soft bed, but when he tried to reach further his mind seemed to go slow and foggy. He knew that he was a human, he was, of course, a human. He knew that he had a job, but he didn't know where it was or what it was. He tried to grope towards specifics, but they eluded his grasp. The only things that he could recall were generalities. If he tried to sharpen those recollections he was left feeling strange and befuddled.

Michael followed the guiding hand as it pulled him outside and his hooves raised puffs of dirt beneath them as he tried to recall where he was and why. He didn't recognize this place except as a stable of some sort, but not as a place that he had been in the past. Not even the young man was terribly familiar. There was something about his features that made him think he had seen the lad another time, but it wasn't sharp enough that he could recall where or why. It made him tremble to realize that he could have come from virtually anywhere. He definitely hadn't come from here. He couldn't even recall if he had a family or, if he did, what they looked like and if they would be expecting him to come home, wherever that was.

"Easy, old boy, here we are. You get a nice drink and I'll see to the smith." The young man patted his cheek and clipped something onto whatever he had been used to lead him about.

He stared after the man's back and then down towards the edge of the fence. A large black rubber trough was leaning against the posts. It was nearly large enough to be properly called a tub and it was filled with clear water. The water wasn't what had Michael's attention, but looking down into it. He leaned and pulled at the lead as far as he could until he could peer down at himself. A large grey head looked back at him, the ears pricked up and the dark grey muzzle was nearly brushing against the surface of the water. A dark looking halter rested over his head and was loose along the underside of his jaw where the lead rope was clipped. A perfectly ordinary horse gazed up at him. A horse so ordinary that he wouldn't have even batted an eye if he'd seen it in a pasture.

Michael turned his body awkwardly and felt his hooves scuffing against the dust as he tried to get a look at his entire form. It was hard, but eventually he could look down along his side and peer down at the large grey body. The barrel chest and the powerful hind quarters that greeted him looked utterly normal, his neck was thick and arched just like he would have imagined on a horse. It even had a long spill of mane that fell down towards the rise of his shoulders. He twitched along his haunches and to his horror a long grey tail swished up high and dropped down again in reaction to muscles he couldn't quite remember having moving. It wasn't just a suit, it was something more than a suit and costume! It seemed to be controlled by him.

With his legs trembling he lifted up one hind leg and watched as the muscles and bones shifted strangely in answer to his demand. He lifted it up until the light tan hoof was visible and he could see the smooth latex hide in the water as well as in front of him. He dropped it down and crowded up against the fence so that the lead rope loosened and he could turn his head on his long neck. He stared at the large powerful body that should not have been there. When his muscles moved he could see the muscles running along the hide, but he was also aware of his tightly bound body within it. He could feel the hot weight pressing against him at all sides and clinging to him. There was no escaping its presence, even when he tried to wiggle his fingers he could feel the suit clenching down.

I'm a horse.. The thought sent a tremor down his large frame. How had he become a horse? What was going on?

The scent of something burning distracted him from the building panic attack and the young man had come back with a larger man. The second stranger was far taller and had the look of someone who had spent most of his life working. He wore a heavy leather apron and a set of thick leather gloves. He was carrying something like a miniature grill and the faint scent of smoke was issuing from it. Michael nearly yanked his head back and tried to get away, but they stopped far enough from him that he was only tormented by the scent of fire, not by the heat of it. The pit was set up on the dusty ground along with a heavy work box that clattered when it was dropped. Uncomfortably, he became aware that their attention seemed focused on him.

"I'll hold his head for you. He might be a bit antsy if you're fooling with his feet." The young man reached up and Michael's head was pulled in close to the bloused chest. "He hasn't been shod before."

"Always harder when they're older." The larger man shook his head. "Charles, you really should stop buying this older fellows. I'll wager he hasn't been broken yet either?"

"Of course not, you know I prefer a green horse that I can train up myself." The young man, Charles, laughed and Michael flinched at the stroke against his cheek. "That's why I buy them up when I see them."

Bought? Charles had bought him? How had he been bought? He wasn't for sale! There was no way a person could buy him when he wasn't for sale in the first place! He wanted to yell his own protests, but he was stopped by the feel of hands gripping him just at the ankle. He felt a moment of pressure just above the ankle and jerked his hoof up in shock. A hand rested just along the length of his foreleg and curled the hoof upwards at an angle away from his body. It was uncomfortable and he tried to turn his head to see, but he was forcibly held with his muzzle pressing against the young man's chest. The soft scent of hay and something more interesting kept him distracted as the farrier poked and prodded at his hoof.

It was strange to feel the slight pressure and even hear something scraping and scratching over a part of his 'body'. He balled his fingers up as he heard a slow rasp and jerked his head up enough to see the farrier using a wickedly curled knife to trim along the edge of the hoof. He could only imagine what would happen if the knife cut into the suit and his fingers. He shivered, but neither of them seemed to pay any attention as his hoof was trimmed and shaped. The farrier straddled it so that part of the time he couldn't even see what was done. He could only feel the faintest bit of pressure as it was worked on and only after several minutes was he allowed to drop his leg again.

"Good looking Percheron, though not quite so heavy boned as the ones I'm used to." The farrier moved behind him and Michael was nearly knocked over as his hind leg was picked up. "Is he a mix?"

"I don't think so, just a little less bulky then the big ones." Charles' voice was muffled as Michael flattened his ears, the suit responding to the flush of dismay at being talked about. "I think he'll do well enough in harness."

"Well, a cart perhaps. Wouldn't put him for log hauling. Easy there, lad. Easy.." The farrier patted one hand against his rump cheek before the continued scraping resumed.

It was so strange to be treated his way. His legs were handled and lifted without any regard to what he wanted. They were simply gripped and given a tug until he lifted it up to rest in the hand to be treated. It was stranger to feel the pressure and know that they were being trimmed down and cleaned out. The hoof pick was a shock in and of itself when it was used and he felt one of his hooves being cleaned out of something that had packed inside of it. In the end, all four hooves has been shaped and felt marginally lighter as they were allowed to drop down to the ground and he'd listened to him talk just long enough to know that he was in Westerville Stables on the outskirts of Cambridge. The owner of the stables wasn't the young man, but his father, but the young man did the buying and training.

"Cold or hot shoe?" The farrier had walked away to where he kept his tool box. "He looks like an eight I think, though a seven would fit, but be too small. I have a set of eights that should do well enough. Steel mix."

"Cold shoe, sorry for having you bring out your full kit, but I think I may switch him over to another shoe for the autumn and no use having you work your forge and him up into a state." Charles' hand stroked along his cheek. "Right, old fellow?"

_Old fellow?! I'll give him an old fellow! _ Michael nearly snapped, but he was jerked away from the idea of biting one of those arms when his forehoof was yanked up.

This time he felt something being pushed up against the bottom of his hoof until there was a thud of a hammer hitting down against his hoof. The pressure grew as the farrier began to hammer the shoe in place and his head jerked up high in alarm! He tried to yank back, but the large man just gave his hoof a tug and squeezed his legs together to keep it in place. One after another the nails were driven into his hoof and each time the hammer fell he clenched his fingers down in fear that they'd pierce into them. The sound was almost sickening as he tried to distract himself by staring out into the pasture and the horses in the distance. It wasn't until the last nail was in place that he let the tension start to leave him. He twisted his head to see a pair of large tongs brought out to clip something on the top of his hoof.

In the end each hoof was shod, filed, and dropped so that he could feel the added weight at the end of each leg. The large hooves gleamed with a mixture of ointment that had been rubbed over them and left him with all four legs planted squarely on the ground so he didn't fall over. The farrier and Charles continued their talk about horses in general and seemed to ignore his distress as he tried to figure out a way to make them understand that he wasn't a horse. There had to be some indication on the outside of the suit that it had been fastened around someone. No matter how lovely the workmanship that might have gone into creating it, there was no way that it was completely perfect. Just look at his hide, it was rubbery looking and didn't truly have fur on it! Why hadn't they noticed! He could see it even with the strange positioning of the equine face.

He was led back to the stall he had woken up in with his legs trembling and scuffing the ground under the heavy weight of the shoes. It had already been awkward moving around on four legs, but having to deal with the metal shoes made it even worse. The clopping sound was now louder as they walked down the cement walk way and he was led into the straw covered floor of his stall. It was even smaller looking and meaner looking now that he was standing up in it. The only thing of any interest came in the form of a water trough, a grain bucket and a net that held a few flakes of hay. He didn't even have a window to look out of behind him. The sun came in from a skylight cut up above him.

"Well, I'll go see to that poor filly that threw her shoe last week. Your father said he wanted me to make sure she hadn't gotten an infection." The farrier gave Michael's shoulder a slap. "You go easy on this big fellow, he seems to be a sweet heart. What's his name?"

"Mickey." Charles let go of his halter so that Michael could lift his head up in disgust. Mickey? His name was Michael! "He was foaled St. Michael's Sword if you can believe it. Don't know what people are thinking when they name colts such fancy names."

"Well, probably that they'll end up being champions. Mickey fits him much better. Fine Irish name if you ask me." The farrier grinned as they walked away and continued chatting. "Any plans to have him at stud?"

Michael glared after them and felt the tremors rocking through his body. Mickey? St. Michael's Sword? That wasn't his name! That wasn't even a name! That was preposterous! He was a human named Michael! Michael... He trailed off as he groped after his last name, but he couldn't quite reach it. He knew that his name was Michael. He knew that he was Michael someone. But Michael who? He was left with that thought as afternoon turned to evening and slowly to darkness. He was left with that thought as his stomach cramped with hunger and he shunned the grain and hay. He was a human. His name was Michael.

~ ~ * ~ ~

"Morning, Mickey!" The rich older tones of a man made his head jerk up from where it had been drooped while he slept fitfully.

He hadn't been able to sleep well and laying down was awkward. He found that he could lock the suits legs in place to sleep standing up, but it hadn't been restful. He'd finally braced himself against a wall and dozed in small amounts throughout the night. He hadn't even noticed the sun had been rising until his head jerked up to the sound of a voice. He found himself staring at a jovial looking grey haired man who grinned in at him. The man was leaning next to Charles and looking him over with possessive eyes while he tried to glare. The face, the face was almost familiar. It was almost something he could remember. Almost.

"I had him shod yesterday, so today we'll get him groomed up and see about harnessing him up." Charles gave an anxious look at his father. "He's been sweet as a lamb since he woke up yesterday. He didn't do more than flinch at the farrier."

"That's good." The older man gave Michael another long look. "Best horse I've ever picked up from a bad deal. Can't believe he gave in so quickly, but that's our gain, eh?"

"Yessir, Father." The young man gave a grin that made his face lighten a bit. "Should I have him under saddle as well?"

"No, I think we'll keep him to the harness. Make sure you relax him a bit before you tack him up." The older man stood back from the stall door. "There's that bay in the back stall you can use as a teaser if you need too, just don't let him run wild. I want him relaxed when he's in the harness, not foaming and bucking for more."

"I'll relax him, Father." The younger man sounded annoyed. "I've never lost one of your stallions yet except for Chet and you know that fellow was a lost cause the first day."

The older man paused and grinned slightly. "That's a good idea, take him by to see Chet if he gives real issues. Could inspire a better work ethic out of him." Michael glanced up to find the man watching him closely. "Be a good fellow, Mickey, a horse given in lieu of a debt should be exceptional."

On those cryptic words the man turned and left leaving Michael trembling slightly. He had no idea what any of this meant, he had no idea what it meant that he had been given in lieu of a debt. He wasn't a real horse! He couldn't be sold! He was a human and they were trying to act as if he was nothing more than a common horse. The stallion tried to turn himself about to look along his own withers and back to see if he could see any sort of seam that might let him out. They had obviously strapped him in here somehow and gotten the outfit to work, they couldn't just leave him in here! It was bad enough that he found the suit adjusted to bodily needs over night, he didn't want to continue to repeat all of this!

The stall door opened while he argued with himself and Charles' hand moved to grip under his halter and clipped a lead onto it. He tried to yank his head back, but something cold and metal wove it's way over the bridge of his nose and the next yank pulled the chain painfully over his muzzle. It bit down and felt as if he had punched himself in the nose all over again. His eyes smarted, but he stepped forward out of the stall on his heavy shod hooves. Why wouldn't anyone look at him? Why were they doing this to him? He dropped his head down as he was walked down the aisle and towards the back of the barn and a large empty space that had been cleared away on the cobblestones.

"There's a good lad, Mickey." Charles rubbed his nose lightly before exchanging the lead for twin clips that hooked on either side of his halter. "We'll get you cleaned up and relaxed, then you'll be the talk of the town, eh?"

Sure, the talk of the town. The man stuck in a rubber suit by a pair of mad men. He growled to himself as the young man puttered around him.

The suit was the key to his problem and the solution if he could only find a way to wiggle out of it. The rubber clung to him and he had tried thorough out the night to find a way out of it. He had even gone so far as to bite his own shoulder to peel it away, but the pinching teeth had met with his skin beneath it and he'd had to stop. It was ingeniously designed so that it connected with his body in the strangest ways. The head was tight around his own, but he could move the jaws and even the tongue as if they were his own. There had to be tubes inside of it to connect him to the other places he needed. He'd been almost panicked in the night when he'd had to relieve his bladder and realized that the huge dark thing drooling out of its sheath was being controlled by him.

Charles didn't seem to pay attention at all to his problems or worries; instead the young man had snatched up a brush and began to work against his mane with firm strokes that pulled out snarls and snags. The firm pulls smoothed out the long hairs and, unlike yesterday, he felt the edges of the hairs brushing against his shoulder. He shivered a bit and tried to lift his head up, but the leads held him in place as the gentle fingers smoothed and stroked his mane alternating with the brush. It should have been degrading and horrible, it should have made him want to bite or scream or become outraged. He wanted to do all these things and more, but the smooth brush strokes started to relax him. Despite himself he started to lean into them.

"All you've known is being tended and taken care of. It feels good to be taken care of. Good to be told what to do.."

_ _

The baritone words rolled through his mind as if cutting through a fog. They echoed and spread through him as if they had always been there and his body started to relax. He lowered his head a little bit at the remembered command and let himself press into the firm brush strokes as they moved up between his ears and started onto the long spill of his forelock. He tried to struggle internally against the command, but they words seemed seared into his mind until he was almost convinced that he wanted this. That he wanted to be brushed and pampered, that he wanted to be stroked and made much of. His eye lid drooped downwards and the weight of the outfit made him drop his head as the fingers began to tug and pull at the long mane.

The sound of Charles humming worked its way into his strange trance as the hazy memories of sitting in a chair came to him. The voice had been important, not the chair or what the room looked like or even what he looked like as a human. It was just the voice as it spoke passionately about how he was tired of being a human. How he should be grateful for someone to take care of him and how he should obey. The words melded together until they formed just one long rumble that had flowed through him and into nothingness. The commands remained and his eyes closed as he felt his mane being woven and pulled through braids along his neck. The tugging wasn't pleasant, but the feel of the silk ribbons against his neck was pleasing. Every few inches the fingers would stop and work a braid up and twist it about to form a nub against his neck before moving on to the next one.

"Well now, I see that you're enjoying this at least." Charles' voice was soft as the fingers pulled another bit of braided mane up into a nub against his neck. The silk ribbon was growing shorter along his neck as it was pulled in and out.

Michael flicked his ears back and shivered his skin before forcing himself to open his eyes. It was disturbing to feel the sense of pleasure at the soft touch and words. He didn't want to feel pleasure, he wanted to be upset and angry! He wanted to make this person realize he was a human. He turned his head to tug at the left lead so he could look at the young man who was braiding the rise of his mane. The edge of the ribbon formed a bow right at the end of his neck, the long spill of hair now pulled up to leave his arched neck bare. He could see the beribboned mane formed together in a proud rise much like the show horses at the fair. It was quite handsome looking against his pale grey fur and the hint of dapples just beneath it.

It is not handsome looking! It is ridiculous! He snarled to himself and tried to dismiss it.

Charles didn't seem to realize there was anything wrong as he picked up a curry comb and started to work along Michael's form. He trembled and tried to remember that he was human and that this was most certainly not what he wanted to do. The firm strokes smoothed along his muscles and stroked over his haunches. The suit that wrapped around him blurred the edges of sensation as the latex seemed to bring him the sensation of being stroked and brushed out. The smooth movements that ran along his barrel and down along the arch of his back and rump cheeks. He flicked his tail slightly as the baritone words that he remembered rolled through his mind as if demanding he acknowledge them. He lowered his head until the leads brought him up short and tried to remember something else.

He tried to remember what his home had looked like, what his family looked like or even what his work had looked like. He tried to remember the sensation of striding on two legs, but his mind was fogged over and so hazy that he couldn't even grip towards any more then vague recollections. He tried to remember the feeling, but all he could recall was standing on four legs as he was doing now. He couldn't even remember what he himself had looked at! And, worst of all, he wasn't sure about his own name. Michael. Was he Michael? Or Mickey? Had that always been his name or was his name something else and they'd made him think that his name was Michael. He shifted restlessly at his own thoughts. They sounded insane. As insane as his situation.

"Hey now, easy fella." Charles slapped a hand against his haunch. "Well, I suppose I can get you relaxed a bit before I work on your tail."

Michael snorted in annoyance back at the young man in response. He didn't want anything happening to his tail. It wasn't his tail! He didn't really have one!

"Don't act like that, Mickey. You don't want to end up like poor Chet." Charles moved up to pat his neck lightly. "You can see old Chet over there."

He wanted to ignore the tug to his halter, but he let it tug hard enough that he was forced to look over at the pasture. He could see a strangely shiny looking palomino standing in the midst of the field. The horse was cropping grass easily as he stepped about and nosed through some of the thicker patches as if searching for something. He had a bright blaze running down his long muzzle and bright dark eyes. As if he sensed being watched the head came up and the jaws worked to chew the lush grass as he stared for a long moment. He chewed for a few moments before dropping his head to continue his meal as placidly as anyone could have imagined an plow horse to be. But that wasn't want Michael was staring at in a mingling of horror and fear.

A shiver ran down his spine as he realized that the horse wasn't furred, it was glossy like himself. It was a suit. The horse out there had a latex suit like he had on, not a real horse at all, but a human locked into the suit of one and forced to behave like it. The other realization was that the suit wasn't as complete as his. As Chet walked about it was painfully obvious that the palomino wasn't a full stallion, but a gelding. Where the orbs should have hung between his haunches, there was nothing but a smooth expanse of flesh and the bulge of the sheath. He knew without looking that his own suit possessed a set of rather plump heavy orbs that were far larger than the ones he felt he should have had.

"Da' had to geld him after he got a bit too mean. Shame too, he had such potential." Charles sighed as if truly regretting it, but continued on in a brighter voice. "Not that you cause any trouble. Now, you stay here, I'll go get the bay so you can relax a little. You fellas are always so worked up the first day in a new place."

Michael glared after him and gave himself a shake as hard as he could in an attempt to dislodge the ribbons that had been worked into his mane. To his disgust that remained firmly in place so that he couldn't undo them. He didn't want to be here and he didn't want some strange man rubbing all over his body like that! Ever since he'd figured out that certain parts of the suit behaved anatomically he felt truly naked. It may not have been his human body, but it was still naked and he knew that he was exposed. The idea of Charles holding his tail up and able to see the puckered opening there or his balls just made him paw and squirm with embarrassment. Not even the threat of being gelded made his discomfort feel even a bit less.

He was lost in embarrassing thoughts when his world was suddenly turned upside down with a hot sharp scent that flooded his nose and exploded through his mind. The sweet musk was drawn into his flared nostrils and Michael froze as he found his head lifting up higher in the air. The hot taste only grew stronger as he sucked in another breath and felt the suit expanding as he inhaled it. He rolled his eyes slightly and tried to snort the scent out, but his body wouldn't let him. There was something hot and visceral about the scent, something wonderful and lovely about it that made his upper lip start to curl upwards to draw it in deeper. It was heavenly and flooded him with restless need as he stomped the ground roughly and let out an embarrassingly feral squeal.

"Here now, there's a lad." Charles came around the edge of the barn with his hand gripping the lead of a perfectly ordinary bay mare. "Meet Misty."

Michael stared and almost felt his eyes glaze over. The mare was a perfectly ordinary bay, but the hot scent of her turned her into something else. His nostrils spread wide over and over again as he twisted his upper lip up. Somewhere, somewhere in his mind he heard a whispering echoing voice murmuring about mares and something else. He couldn't quite pick them out, not when his mind was overflowing with thoughts that had nothing to do with his humanity or what had happened. He could feel the rubbery sheath spilling out beneath him and drooling down towards the ground. The dark cock extended out and swaying as he lunged forward until his chin was shoved roughly against his chest as he squealed at the mare.

Charles turned her about until he watched her long dark tail lift up to show plump folds winking just in front of him. They weren't human. They weren't rubber like him. They were real. They were wet and glistening and smelled like heaven. He squealed out again and lunged forward hotly while flattening his ear downwards. The leads held him in place as his cock extended its full length and slapped beneath his belly. The thickened head splattered out a bit of wetness and he could feel it pulsing. He knew that he was hard in the suit, he knew that the suit only reflected his own state. He didn't care! He didn't care that he was getting turned on by a mare, it was her scent that he cared about!

"Easy, easy Mickey! Good lad! Good boy!" Charles tied the mare off in front of him, with her haunches just a few inches from his straining lips. "There's a good old son."

Mickey twitched his ears up at the words and then back, he didn't care about the humans words. He wanted the mare! He danced and scuffed the ground as his cock slapped up under him again and left a drooling strand of precum down against the ground and over his rubbery chest. He could almost feel himself foaming at the mouth as Charles moved down along his side and suddenly pressure wrapped right along the tip of his straining cock. He jerked his hips forward and sprayed out a hot jet of precum against them and tensed up his haunches. It wasn't as hot and wet as a mare, but the pressure sent a tremor down his spine as he tried to lunge forward into them. The soft laughter that came from beneath him didn't matter, nothing mattered but the scent in front of him and the winking folds.

The hand moved upwards and then down along his hardened cock. It squeezed lightly and teased against him while he stamped one of his hooves down against the ground and gave a frantic attempt at bucking forward again. His nostrils were spread as wide as they would go while he hunched his back up. He never felt desire like this rush over him and he lost his grip on his humanity as he humped into the humans hands beneath him. The pulling tugs that ran from the base of his cock all the way to his medial ring made him nearly blind with rising desire. It wasn't until the clutching fingers that wrapped around the tip of his throbbing cock moved away that he lost himself entirely. He squealed out his protest and bucked his hips forward to hump the air and grind himself against his chest. The pheromones made him lose control, he couldn't even remember to be embarrassed.

"No need to complain, old lad. I'm going to help you." Mickey flicked his ears back at the nonsense words, but he felt a hand dropping down to squeeze one of his balls.

The sensation wasn't nearly as pleasurable as the hand on his cock, but it still made him rock forward with a low groan. The fingers squeezed and kneaded against him, but didn't distract him from straining forward needily at the mare in front of him. He couldn't concentrate on what was going on, all he wanted was to reach that scent! He only came back to himself when something thick and blunt pushed up under his tail and the hands on his balls moved between his haunches to massage along his sheath. The mixture of pleasurable sensation with the confusing one swirled together as a sudden push forced the bulbous tip into his taut anal ring. He clenched down around it to try and stop it, but the slippery girth plunged into him.

One of Charles' hands moved to grip his haunch as the lad pushed his way into Mickey's tailhole. It was such an unexpected violation that he had no idea how to react except the scent kept clouding his mind. The hand moved down from his haunch to wrap right around the base of his cock and squeezed and the stallion lost control. His hips jerked forward trying to thrust his tip into something, anything to give him sensation, but his glans only rubbed right along the line of chest and smeared precum there. The only other sensation he got was that of the human cock plunging into his passage and the feel of the covered chest along the rise of his back.

He should have been outraged, embarrassed or even horrified at what was happening, but instead he pushed himself backwards onto it when the tip stroked in just the right place. The tremor of pleasure mingled with his desire as he whickered out hotly to the mare in front of him. Thick dollops of his precum drooled down against the ground as inch by inch of the cock shoved into him before he felt the smaller human balls clapping against his larger equine ones and then the slow pull out. His breath caught in his throat while spreading his hind legs wide for the passage of the thick shaft that rubbed and stroked into him. The hot feel of the body pushed up tight against his back blended with his images of feeling his hardened dark cock spearing into the mare in front of him.

Charles drew his hips backwards before plunging back in again, the blunt tip rubbed through him and sent a tremor running through the stallion. His cock slapped up hard beneath him and stayed stiff as he started to thrust against his chest. The blunt glans rubbed and pulled with just enough sensation that he was left shivering with pleasure. Each hunching thrust pushed him back and pulled him off the cock that worked in and out of him. The slippery precum oozed into his passage and left him feeling embarrassingly wet, but it was only a dribble compared to how wet he was making his chest and forelegs. He spread his fore legs apart to help brace him while the human rolled his hips in firm hard slaps against his haunches.

He could almost feel every thick inch as it pulled and caressed his passage. It was pleasurable and made him grind backwards at times when he felt the tip pushing right against a stop that made his heavy equine cock pulse heavily. He didn't look back, he didn't look at anything except the bay mare in front of him. His mind losing itself as he started to thrust into the air harder and felt the smearing sticky precum clinging on his tip and the rubber suit. He squealed softly to himself while the tension started along his haunches and he clenched harder around the cock. Charles groaned out and battled through the contracting muscles to bury himself inwards before yanking back out again. The blunt head drew right along that tender spot and sent Mickey over the edge. His ears folded back and he squealed out to the mare he couldn't reach.

His cock tip blossomed open and flared wide until the urethra jutted outwards into the air. His balls drew up tight between his haunches just before the first hot creamy gush of cum erupted from his tip. He let out a feral call again as he felt the splatter hitting his chest and along the back of his front legs in thick gooey ropes. His walls squeezed and clutched around Charles' cock as the lad gave a few more hard firm thrusts forward. The rubbing only drawing out the stallion's pleasure before he felt the warm wet splatter of seed drooling into him in short spurts. His ears flicked back, but his walls continued to milk and squeeze around it as his own heavy girth drooped down towards the ground and oozed out something thicker then seed. His body was shaking under the after effects of his orgasm and he tried to drop his head down.

After what seemed like an eternity the young man pulled his cock out of his quivering pucker. A warm trickle of seed escaped from the anal ring and he felt it spilling down behind his balls as he caught his breath. The sense starting to return to him, even as that hot mare scent remained filling the air. He lifted his head and shivered as he pulled his humanity around him as best that he could. It was hard, so very hard, but he managed to affect an air of it as he shied away from what had happened moments ago. His mind had lost itself in the hot rush of a stallion and now that it left he felt the tendrils of outrage at being violated by Charles.

"Good..lad.." The young man patted his neck and Michael looked for a moment and then turned his head in disgust.

Charles was putting himself back into his pants and buttoning up the riding pants again. He didn't even want to see what he had just gleefully, joyously enjoyed. It was enough that he could feel the wetness dribbling from under his drooped tail. The humiliation wasn't at an end though. As soon as the young man had put himself away a bucket of cool water was dumped out against his belly and his softening cock. The shock of it made him shy to one side as it hit the retreating flesh and made him contract it up all the faster. The last dribble falling down as the water splashes off some of the seed from him and the rest was pooling on the floor.

He was at once grateful and upset when the bay mare was led away. The enticing smell remained behind and he couldn't stop himself from snuffing at the air. His lips quivered slightly and he tilted his head back to draw in the air a bit more eagerly to try and pick it up. He was still snorting and huffing when Charles came back and the stallion dropped his head. It was humiliating to be in such a position. He didn't even know why he'd acted like that, but it had certainly amused he young man who picked up a bucket and started to wash off his forelegs and beneath the barrel of his chest. He danced and pranced in place as the water and sponge worked along him and cleaned off the thick goo.

"Certainly a producer, eh Mickey?" One of Charles' hands slapped his foreleg. "Don't worry, I'm sure Da will let you stud a few of the field mares if you're good."

That wasn't what he wanted! He kept his ears flat and fought against the strange urge to relax into the pampering touch. Once his legs were cleaned off the young man dropped down to one knee and moved his hand between Michael's haunches. He let out a whinny of protest, but the wet fingers slipped up and INTO his sheath. It was such an invasive touch that he nearly kicked the boy into the next stall, but his legs held firm as the wriggling fingers pushed inwards and inserted a wet sponge to work in and out. The rubbing feeling made him tense his stomach up and try to stare at the wall. He didn't' want to think about having himself cleaned in this manner, but it was obvious that the lad was enjoying it as he even wrapped his fingers around the tip of his cock and gave a pull.

Charles pulled his cock out just a few inches to wipe it off and clean it before leaving it alone. Shame burned through him, but some part of him felt energized and triumphant. He couldn't say why, he only knew that his body was only slightly tired, but had the urge to crest his neck for what he had done. The conflicting emotions only puzzled him more as the wiping rag worked against his haunches and legs to dry them off. The hand that moved to grip his tail shocked him enough that he only tried a few times to pull it down, in the end Charles won. And he had to tolerate a sponge trickling water over his used pucker to clean it off and even the back of his balls. Why was it so humiliating and why did he want to bask in the attention?

The questions never answered themselves, but as the brush was brought out again and his tail began to be stroked he found himself drifting into the memory of the voice and it's deep baritone suggestions. His body started to grow less tense and more relaxed as he basked in the golden edge of the afterglow. Why did he feel so satisfied? He should feel ashamed of himself for humping and thrusting in the open, not content! But he did feel content and proud. He let his head lower as the fingers started to pull at the hairs along his tail and the ones around the base started to be worked around the tail bone. It was an odd sensation, he'd never had a tail before and the added limb perplexed him. He finally tilted his head back enough to watch what Charles was doing.

The long hairs were pulled around the tail bone and braided around the front with the same sort of silk that had been used in his mane. Charles didn't even look as if he had just mounted the stallion, he seemed more concerned about working the braid in and out to tie it up and compact around the tail bone. The long hairs were pulled up and bobbed as they were folded under and worked into the braid bit by bit. Inch by inch the banner was used to form something smaller and more like a bob. He tried to twitch his tail a few times, but the hands always caught it before he could yank it free. It almost became a game as Michael's ears flicked up and he relaxed into the simple act of being groomed. It wasn't so bad after all. It wasn't as if he were being hurt or harmed by being made up like this.

That's right. Give into the touch, give into it and let yourself become a part of it. You were made to serve mankind and serve you will...

_ _

The remembered voice wrapped around his mind as he started to lower his head. He finally turned it forward and dropped his muzzle down. His world narrowed itself down to the feel of the fingers tugging at the long hairs. The voice started to chase the haze from his memories and chase the memories themselves away as he lowered his head as far as it could go. Was it really so terrible? The thought tumbled him onto the first step of a journey he had already begun. The first step of many to become what the suit made him.

~ ~ * ~ ~

Mickey threw his weight against the collar around his neck and leaned forward until he could feel the straps of his harness digging in against his chest and shoulders. He leaned forward on his forelegs as he took one step and then another. He mouthed around the metal bit in his mouth and dismissed the foam that was starting to form on the edges of his jaws. The froth gathered there thickly, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he continue working forward. All that mattered was that he keep trying to get the cart moving. His nostrils blasted out a hot rush of breath as he strained forward again to the sound of the man behind him.

"Ho, boy! Ho!! Forward! Walk on, Micky!" Charles cried out and he felt the light sting of the whip against his muscled haunches.

The stallion threw himself forward harder until he heard the slow creak of the wheels behind him starting to roll forward. He stepped forward with a final shove against the collar and the heavily loaded cart rolled after him. His sides heaved with each breath as he continued to step forward one shaking leg at a time. His head tucked down close to his chest as step after step eased the laden cart forward. It was heavier then it had been yesterday or the day before. Each day it was harder to move, but he strained to do it for the encouragement that was called out to him. He knew that if he did a good job he'd be brushed and stroked and cleaned at the end of the day.

"There we go! Fine lad, strong lad!" The reins snapped against his back and he lunged forward again and found the cart pulling a bit more easily behind him.

He lifted his head as the initial roll had been made and found it easier going now. His bobbed and braided tail twitched behind him as he pulled the cart down the length of the rode and felt the reins being held firmly by his driver. The whip didn't crack down again, but just bobbed behind him. He knew without looking that it would be needed. Mickey didn't need to be whipped to pull the cart, he knew that it was an important job. He knew it because Charles always hooked him up and took a lot of time to fuss with his harness and brush him down before and after. He knew it because he often got treats afterwards and would be allowed to have time to roll in the field. Sometimes he would be alone, but sometimes the fillies would be there.

He arched his neck and cast his eye towards the field where several mares were watching him work. A few of them would be going into heat and it would be his duty to cover them. He'd be let into the field and breed them one after another, but only if he worked hard. He knew that part. He lifted his legs up and started out into a jogging trot that rattled the cart behind him as the reins guided him in a circle that would lead back to the barn yard. If he did very very well Charles would groom him for longer and sometimes would do more. It was almost as fun with Charles as it was with the mares. The human had the best hands and knew just how to groom him.

"He's looking good, son!" Mickey pricked up his ears as the Master waved from the barn when they came back to the stable. "Saw him get it started, rough start, but smooth finish."

"He's strong, Da. I think we'll have him ready for the fair and the logs if I keep training him." Charles spoke with possessive pride, the tone made Mickey arch his neck as he was pulled up in a stop in front of the Master.

He held still as the older man walked around him and stroked a hand along his side and even under his chin. The Master didn't come to the stables often. His son, Charles, was in charge here, but the Master often came with treats. Mickey pushed his head beneath one of the arms in an attempt to see if there was a bit of apple or carrot hidden there. To his delight the old man reached into a pocket and pulled out some peppermints for him to scoop up with his tongue and crunch. The stallion wagged his bobbed tail happily behind him as they talked. He didn't care what they said, he didn't understand most of it anyway.

"So how did Mickey come here, Da'? He's a bit too good a horse when you look at some of the others." Charles leaned against the cart as he spoke.

"Ah, Mickey's a bit well to do. New money." There was disdain in the tone. "Not that that gave him manners. He slept with everything that moved from whores to serving girls and never mind the poor wife he had at home. Only time he'd touch her was to leave her black and blue. When he ran his debts too high in our poker game he tried to give me his daughter. Can you imagine?"

"As a horse?!"

"No, for me to marry. As if I'd want a thirteen year old girl in my household. No, only talked him out of it by telling him that I'd forgive the debt for a good cart horse." The old man gave a slow lazy smile. "Never did tell him what sort of cart horse I wanted and I doubt anyone will miss the blackguard. Wife got his money, daughter has a beau and he's working off his debt to me one cart at a time. Eh Mickey?"

Mickey lifted his head up at the sound of his name and finished crunching the candy. He looked blankly at the master and whickered before trying to nose the pocket with the candy again. There was nothing better in the world then peppermints! Especially after he had worked so very very hard.