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Agent Colt stepped out of his boss's office, his face still burning with barely suppressed shame. His mood was not improved by the sight awaiting him outside the executive suite on level 9.

"Right you are sir. Time for us to head to the basement then?"

The stallion ground his teeth and fumed silently inside. Precisely what that stupid bull Dinks was doing here he had no idea, but he would be damned if the fucker was going to order him around like that.

"With the greatest respect Dinks...fuck off."

The bull's bovine smile became if anything more animated.

"Now now sir, none of that. I'm here on the orders of my boss, who happens to be your boss if I remember right. Her Highness suggested you might need an escort to Quartermaster branch for your, ahh...next meeting shall we say? Just to ensure you get there safely of course..."

And the cunt had the effrontery to reach meaningfully for his waist where a taser sat invitingly at his hip. Agent Colt watched with growing impatience. That wolfess really was trying to break him it seemed. Well, he would show her. Nobody fucks with Agent Stud Colt...except nubile girls with a death wish, it seemed.

And of course...

"Good to see you bow to the inevitable sir. I like a nice little mare, as you know well..."

He turned and stalked to the lift with the grinning bull behind. The bastard was a cocky son of a bitch, even by the standards of previous holders of his office. The head of Personal Security for the Director. His boss' personal beef, with a direct line to her ears. And a monumental cunt featured asshole to boot. What a mess. Of all the guys, in all the world...

"It will be a pity to see that magnificent horsehood chained, so to speak. I remember it well..."

He closed his eyes in shame. Unfortunately for Agent Colt, he could remember it too.

It was the beer. It must have been the beer...

They were on a corporate retreat to build teamwork and institutional culture principles or some such shit. Their boss had even hired consultants who covered the wall in post-it-notes and orange butcher's paper. Orange...it's the colour of honesty...fuck that...

Somewhere during the rope exercises and team-bonding competitions involving building towers out of copy paper, he cracked it and snuck out to the only pub in easy reach. He was shocked to find the Director's personal security bull there too, also skiving off. They got into some good natured banter, then as the beer flowed, some not so good natured banter. Somewhere during the evening, they ended up in an arm wrestling competition, then chokeholds, then seeing how long each of them could survive number 47 in the unarmed combat and interrogation techniques manual (The Black Russian Nipple Cripple), before inevitably reaching the stage of comparing dick sizes and lighting each other's farts.

At some stage thereafter things must have gone a bit pear shaped, for the next morning Agent Stud Colt woke up in his room at the hotel with a headache that would kill a bull and an actual non-killed bull in bed beside him, a serious burning pain in his ass, and a bed covered in dried and not-so-dried semen. Semen of both bull and horse, he was horrified to realise, before he slunk off to the bathroom and threw up for the next twenty-four hours.

He put it down to food poisoning, and had to fill in seventy three new OH&S forms and attend eleven root cause analysis meetings, but it was worth it to avoid owning up to the real problem. One problem still remained though; the cocky bull had become even cockier if that were possible. Well, two problems of course, if you count recurring memories of a night stuffed with bull cock screaming out for more like a two bit slut as his tailhole got reamed. Memories that even the best trained brainwashing specialists in the service had failed to remove. All they managed to get rid of was his ability to remember the difference between a talentless attention whore and Kym Kardashian.

So on the whole, nothing too noticeable.

Now he was stuck in the lift heading for further humiliation with the same bull. On the whole, he felt a long session in the Lubyanka with a team of ex KGB hard-men basting his genitals in boiling coconut oil might be a preferable outcome.

"Here we are...sir..."

He was about to scream at the bull but one look at that muzzle shut him up. It was the cocked grin, one eyebrow up, one down. He remembered it, along with what had accompanied it...

There were some things you just shouldn't do with a honeydew melon, especially from room service. His sphincter gave a sudden lurch at the thought.

The lift door opened onto the super-secret basement level B4. Many earnest furs scurried around burdened with labcoats, clipboards and poor personal hygiene. The bull and stallion cut an incongruous figure as they trotted towards the lair of the manic genius that all in the building had come to respect as much as fear. The door slid sideways with an audible squeaking noise. It didn't need to, but the occupant of this section had added the function so that it perfectly matched the sound of the bridge door on the Enterprise in the original series of Star Trek. As the two bulky figures entered, he looked up with his usual sardonic expression through a pair of perfectly fashioned rectangular framed glasses.

"Ahhh...Stud Colt. And Marcus Dinks too? What a singular pleasure."

The young meerkat felt a slight flutter in his nether regions now. The combination had a particular effect on him, for a variety of reasons that it was best that the two didn't know.

"Can it Q. I'm here...I'm here..."the stallion affected a bored drawl. How cute.

"For your gelding?" simpered Q.

"Fuck off!" and the stallion emitted a loud whinny of disapproval, while the bull and the meerkat snickered.

"That's ok Stud. Nothing so drastic. We have made some improvements, after all..."

Inside, the meerkat was feeling the building tension. One of his most cherished dreams was about to come true. He had to gulp down the rising bile that threatened to overwhelm him as it always did when he was nervous. He didn't want a repeat of the time in school when he had to give that valedictory speech and instead barfed all over the headmaster. So what if he was twelve and graduating highschool; the shame still burned. Never again...and it hadn't so far. Except that time in the cabinet office, but really, everyone barfed on David Cameron. He was that kind of guy.

Then again, he hadn't previously faced the imminent prospect of fondling the balls and sheath of his secret desire with full organisational approval and sanction. The mere thought had him sweating like a maniac, not to mention the three premature ejaculations that had stuck his boxers to his body with all the gross adhesiveness of silly putty.

"So...when you're ready?"

The secret agent ground his teeth again. "What...just like this?"

"No you Neanderthal...sit in the chair."

The meerkat grinned and pointed to his pride and joy. A multi-purpose workstation, it enabled the subject to be restrained and if necessary anaesthetised while he performed whatever ingenious operation was required. The stallion looked at it, somewhat gingerly. With a nod from the bull though, he sighed and dropped his trousers and took up a position on the leather while trying to look anywhere else but at the Quartermaster or the grinning bull.

Looking up, he noticed a poster on the wall, all lizard-like faces and spaceships.

"What's that?"

"A limited edition genuine theatrical poster for Star Trek: Nemesis"

"Good?"

"No. I have it there to remind me; even genius can create a total pile of faeces riddled bullshit at times. It keeps me humble, so I don't get like Rhianna. Or Michael Bay. Or maybe, J.J. Abrams...yes, he's going there I can feel it..."

"I have trouble imagining you as humble."

"That's funny Agent Colt; I have trouble imagining you without your cock buried in some unsuspecting pussy. How many is that now? Forty six, forty seven dead?"

The bull piped up cheerily "Forty-Eight."

That surprised the horse. "No! Even the Director agreed it was only Forty-Seven..."

"Sorry Stud. While you were in there licking carpet, the news came in. Estelle..."

"Gretchen's twin?"

"Eaten by rabid badgers escaping from a cull on the way to Gretchen's funeral. I'm sorry Colt..."

"Noooooo!"

The meerkat patted the distraught equine's balls then, soothingly.

"There there Agent Colt. We will take care of that now; no more poor women lost to The Deathcock."

He was too mortified to react at first, but soon Agent Colt became aware of something sinister in Q's paws. A grey plastic ring, with shining blue light running in a spiderweb tracery across the outer surface. It glowed menacingly and without pity, like the smile from a tax inspector, and he noticed the meerkat handling it very gingerly.

"Now, if you could please strap him in..."

Before he could respond, the bull had slid the manacles over his wrists and fetlocks, and the stallion was bound tight to the chair. It felt a little like being at the dentist, though he felt certain this was going to be worse than a root canal. The meerkat even looked like his denist, though thankfully his dentist didn't rub his scrotum like that and drool. Perhaps Q had been to the dentist himself, he seemed to have lost control of his salivary glands?

The meerkat eventually snapped out of his reverie, which consisted of gently stroking the heavy mass of his dream stud's genitals while imagining the stallion personally rubbing him down with baby oil, and managed to become business-like again. He stretched the ring over the bulging ball sack with a grunt, and snapped the ring into place tight at the top of his scrotum against the sheath.

"Now...we have made many improvements to the design Stud. No more primitive metal cages and nasty spikes. All electronic and neat. This is the Model Eleven protector. Electrodes on the inner surface direct impulses straight to critical nerves in your groin, making it impossible for you to achieve erection or ejaculation while the device remains in place. You will be about as much use to a female as Dennis Rodman is to world peace, minus the nifty soundbites. Now, let's just adjust this shall we..." and he adjusted a setting on a control box on his desk.

"Ahhhh!"

"Sorry, dialled that up a bit far, let's try this now..."

The stallion felt it then, a sort of hollow ache in his groin. His balls felt tingly, like they did before a night with a beautiful woman, but somehow it wasn't happening. He let his cock slide from his sheath, a long fat lolling worm, but nothing happened, no zing, no hard throbbing pumping stallionhood, just a massive disappointment.

"Congratulations, we appear to have achieved the Scottish Independence Referendum level of frustrated excitement mixed with ennui."

"This feels terrible!"

"It could be worse, you could be Scottish. Now, the ultimate test."

The meerkat now reached for one of his most prized inventions. The stallion watched apprehensively as he approached, holding what appeared to be an equine patterned motorcycle helmet.

"This is a total immersion virtual reality environment, with feedback cycles."

"Translation from nerd please?"

The grinning meerkat fitted the helmet to his charge, with a condescending pat on the head.

"It will create a fully realistic experience based on your own thoughts and feelings. Your own personal virtual world, within limitations; in this instance, we will be probing your sexual thoughts. You will be able to create your own perfect fantasy, and we will watch to see if the protective equipment on your 'dangerous goods' does the job, so to speak. Now, let's see..."

*****

The stallion found his world suddenly dark, and he felt himself floating as if in an endless sea of nothingness and void. It felt strangely good, kind of like Belgium really, but soon things started to coalesce out of the nothing, so really not like Belgium. He found himself in an office, perfectly reproduced, perfectly detailed down to the carpet. One he had left only recently.

"Hello Stud. You have been a very naughty colt."

It was his boss. And as he looked down, he realised he was wearing his old school uniform, complete with grey flannel shorts. And his boss was dressed just like his old headmistress, Miss Hargreave, except topless.

"Oh fuck this is a bad idea..."

"Such language Colt. That gets you extras..."

"No, wait, you don't understand, this is my own subconscious and this is supposed to be my fantasy and it can't be!"

"You have a terrible problem with authority, don't you colt?" the wolfess smiled down at him with all the sympathy of a traffic warden. And he noticed, to his horror, that she was carrying a riding crop. One she was nibbling the tip of with an erotic intensity before stroking her swelling nipples.

"I'm serious, this is not happening, something is wrong! Get me out of this!"

"What's wrong is your behaviour colt. We will do something about that though. Bend over the desk!"

"N.....ahhhh!" the stallion felt himself obeying, instantly, in spite of what he wanted. His body at least in this world was in the grip of powers beyond his control. And they wanted him bent over the desk, with his muscled rump tensed for punishment.

"Now, are you ready to be forgiven?"

"Yes Miss. Please Miss..."

"Good. I want to forgive you Colt, I really do. And cuddle you afterwards...you remember how good that feels don't you..."

"Ohhh yes Miss...*smack* ARGHHH!"

The first swat landed square on his cheeks, and he felt a sudden stinging burn in his hindquarters. He also felt his cock, hardening instantly, as it sprung from his sheath to fill his school shorts to overflowing. And they really did overflow, with his stallionhood finding a path to freedom, the flared end poking below the leg of his shorts along his inside thigh.

He hoped to God she hadn't seen it...

_"Such a bad Colt...."_His boss, now also his school mistress, flicked the tip of his cock with the riding crop.

Nope...bad luck Colt.

"M...Miss...please..."

"This is what happens to bad colts Stud...try to take it like a stallion...otherwise your mother will be even more disappointed in you."

"My mother? What?!"

"Hello Stud. I am so disappointed in you son...so disappointed..." the mare stood by the side of the room, shaking her head in frustration like she always did. And she was not alone.

"Mother! Why is Uncle Roger there, naked?"

"You are such a bad colt you made me cheat on your father just to get back at you. Now take it like a stallion and stop whining!"

"But why the fuck are you here?!"

"This is your sexual fantasy son, so you tell me. If I'd known this was what was going on when your sheets started getting all sticky when you were thirteen though I think I might have had you gelded. Do carry on..."

His mother pointed at the wolfess, before going down on his uncle. She kept one eye on his humiliation though.

*smack* "ARGHHH!" a second blow landed on his ass.

"Go on, cry colt. Let it out..."

"No!...*smack* ARGHHHH!"

"Do you want it harder you bad colt?"

"Yes!...wait, what? *smack* ARGHHHH!" again, the crop lanced across his ass, harder than before. His cock gave a slight shudder, and he tensed.

*SMACK* "ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" with this, hardest blow, he shook like a leaf and unloaded a mammoth ejaculation, right on the carpet under his hooves. The humiliation broke him, and he began to cry. The wolfess went to soothe him though, stroking his mane and whispering in his ears.

"There there...it's ok. You are a good colt again...and mummy will kiss it better...won't you, Mrs Colt?"

And she did, right on his sore rump. That drew another ejaculation, but Stud Colt didn't mind. At least he got his cuddles...

*****

The stallion blinked as light returned. He was back in the chair, in Q's office...and Q and the bull were both standing in front of a monitor at the meerkat's desk, jaws dropped, eyes wide. He still felt a little disoriented and groggy.

"Ahhh....guys?"

The meerkat turned to look at him, and managed a fake smile.

"Stud! Great to have you back! Looks like it was a success."

"How do you mean? I came didn't I?"

The stallion looked down over his body, to the mound of his genitals with the evil glowing band still attached, gripping the top of his scrotum just as it had before. His cock was soft, lying against his belly, but the puddle of spoo he expected to find wasn't there.

"So...I didn't cum after all?"

"No, in spite of your mind being instructed to seek out and enact the most sexually enticing scenario you could imagine...though what the actual fuck is going on in your sick mind I don't even..."

"Wait, what do you mean?"

The bull and meerkat exchanged a look.

"Nothing."

"Nothing at all mate..."

"Wait...you don't get a playback of what I'm seeing do you...?"

"No...No...really...no..."

"Phew! I mean...well, ok. Lucky, hey?"

The two nodded slowly. The meerkat knew better of course. Inside, he knew he had struck pure twenty four carat gold in the carefully saved record of the agent's fantasy. When he showed this at the Quartermaster department Christmas drinks, he was going to be elevated to the ranks of Legend. He might even get laid.

It might even feel as good as fondling the stallion's scrotum had.

Agent Stud Colt began to dress slowly, with occasional worried glances at the other two males. They seemed unfazed though, which was more than he could say for himself. Miss Hargreave...ahhhh...now that was a memory...

"Um...Stud..."

"Yes Q?"

"When was your last psych evaluation?"

"Last month, why?"

"Nothing. Just...might be good to get one again soon, that's all."

The puzzled stallion wondered what he meant all the way to the carpark to retrieve his Rover.

*****

When the door closed on a grinning bull, who the meerkat had barely managed to swear to secrecy, the Quartermaster gave a satisfied sigh and collapsed into his chair. He pulled up the personal files from his computer and fondled them with his mouse like a lover.

Stud Colt surveillance file 101357/11...his sweet horse asleep, naked, just as he liked. That was one of his favourites. Then there was good old 121553/10, where he got to watch the stud jack off while tentatively fingering his ass. He always enjoyed imagining it was his own paw thrust up that magnificent tailhole, prodding a horse prostate to deliver that prodigious fountain of creamy goodness.

Or of course, the most recent favourite, 149565/3. He double clicked on that one, and the screen filled with the sight of a drunk and semi-lucid stallion, laid on his bed in a hotel, tail raised, legs spread, begging incoherently for someone to do it "harder" while the bull, Dinks, piledrove into his ass. He reached for his cock, which had been aching since he first touched that ineffable pawfull of stallion scrotum, and began to jack off slowly.

"Yeah...how do you want it Stud Colt?"

The image on the screen responded as always.

"Oh fuck...harder....so close..."

"How does it feel Stud?"

"Oh fuck...so big...harder...there...more...yes...yes...yes..."

As the stallion on the screen whinnied and came, so did Q. Very neatly.

He knew it was wrong, but really, he was just trying to perfect remote miniature surveillance systems, like his job required. He just had an unusual way of testing them.