FSE

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formerly SoFurry search engine

Horseplay, pt. 1

Chapter 7 of "Full Transfer"

by H. A. Kirsch

Copyright 2015

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Leo went out to check the mail. He had actually checked it upon returning from work, but he figured no one would find a trip to the mailbox odd; he could just be forgetful, or eccentric. While he was out at the front of his condo, he looked over towards his neighbor Mark's window. The coyote always left lights on if he was home, and there was nothing at all showing inside. The two shared one wall, and Leo wanted to ensure that his neighbor would hear nothing.

The fox trembled with paranoid excitement as he surveyed the parking lot, trying to see how many people were home. Almost everyone else was, which meant little traffic past his condo. He checked the box, found nothing as expected, then went back inside. His actual mail sat in a puddle of junk mail on his front table.

Leo started to take his clothes off before even setting foot in his bedroom. He tripped over his underwear as he stumbled for the bed, and spent a moment of sexual panic squirming out of them, heart pounding at the simple feel of having his legs restrained just the slightest bit. He rolled around against the sheets, then cuddled a pillow, imagining that he was cuddling someone real.

He squirmed and cuddled his way over to the edge of the bed, then reached down and opened up his nightstand's drawers. The smell of rubber and elastic, along with heady musk, flowed out. He paused what he was doing to listen as the purr of the refrigerator died off and left things silent. Truly no sounds from next door.

The fox began taking things out of the drawer. The top one was mostly garment pieces, although the only piece of clothing was a black spandex zentai suit. He sniffed at it; musk, sex, his own, although it was not quite dirty. His black-furred fingers twitched as he worked the zipper open, then slid his lower body into the stretchy suit. His black fox-socks, ruddy legs, cream groin and black cock all disappeared, replaced by the smooth generic male curve of a slender body. He instantly looked smaller, thanks to the fur compression. His tail even fit into a sleeve, turning it into a rat-tail by comparison.

The suit alone was enough to turn Leo's cock into a throbbing banana curve between his legs, and it only ached more as he fed the rest of his body into the suit, hands turning into sleek semi-glossy spandex gloves, fox coloring giving way to even black. The head portion was the last, a full hood save for an open mouth for his muzzle. From the outside, he looked blinded, but he could see well enough to move around and even read signs. He zipped up the front, then rolled around on the bed a few more times, whimpering to himself as the spandex zipped across his sheets.

He reached into the drawer, feeling around with his muted, fabric-coated fingers, and withdrew a set of what looked like heavy leather boots with buckles up the calves. Instead of regular feet, they were horse hooves. He leaned back against the pillows and slid his feet in, pointing them as if entering a pair of snug riding boots. They never went flat, instead hugged in the digitigrade hooves against the weight supports. He buckled them on snug, then stroked from shiny black hoof up to where the hoof-boots were cuffed at his knees.

Leo climbed out of bed and walked around the room, rump hiked up and back by having to tiptoe, feet losing all of their delicacy and feel as he tromped about with the hooves. Clop. Clop. He looked in the mirror, and saw himself beginning to look like a pony through the dark haze of the zentai suit.

Next, something that embarrassed him so much that the fox whimpered to himself and almost put it back in the drawer. It was a black latex horse hood, a halloween-rental quality item that was subtly painted to look like glossy horse fur, even complete with a show mane worthy of a romance novel cover.

On it went. Inside the hood, Leo smelled only rubber and an irritating scent of vanilla meant to hide the chemical stench. He heard mostly his own breathing reflected back by the rubber. The hood made his face hot and forced him to breathe hard, and that made him excited, and that made him breathe harder.

He carefully clopped over to the bedroom mirror and pranced in a circle. It was remotely possible that he actually was a pony in a spandex suit and fetish hood, the illusion only spoiled by his fox brush that bustled around behind him. He climbed back into bed and squirmed around, then clutched onto a pillow and straddled it. Dressing like a pony made him feel terrifically naughty, even though no one would ever find out. Not his father, whom still lived in the family house. Not his sister, who had left in a fit when she was sixteen and was now traipsing around Somewhere. Not his neighbor, not any strangers, no one. Leo himself knew what he himself was up to, and he could never shake the feeling that it would ooze out of him and spread like a mist to betray his deviances.

Then, a slightly more pressing problem. All dressed up, Leo had nothing to do. Roiling fantasies only kept him entertained for a few minutes. After that, the final toy from the drawer. A Fleshlight. The idea was so goofy, a pun on an actual flashlight lantern, a sex toy that looked anything but until the user unscrewed the end. Then, an orifice: disembodied vagina, disembodied mouth, disembodied asshole. Leo's version was the latter, and he thought it was strangely appropriate as he got out a bottle of lube and drizzled it over the Hole.

A fake asshole to fuck with a fake cock.

No matter how much he thought of his cock as fake, when he thought of something arousing, it grew hard. Every sensation spiraled up into tingling sexual pleasure. If he toyed with the trigger too long, it was bound to go off, for real. He tucked the toy underneath his pillow, stood on it with his hands, not bent because horses rarely bend down, and entered.

Cold!

Leo thought of the years he'd spent working himself to orgasm with a prostate toy jammed in his asshole. This was the exact complement. The fantasies streamed back and assembled. No more was Leo just some horse doing horsey things in a horse pasture. He was being sampled.

Sampled by gloved hands, sampled for breeding, relieved of his troublesome stall habits, relieved by gloved hands, gloved hands. He looked up and saw a white lab coat, and white fur, and pink eyes, and it was too late to put away the thought of One Of His Doctors masturbating him as a horse. He whimpered and whinnied out into the muzzle of the hood, the sound terrifically fake but earnest, and his whole body quivered as the almost overstimulated orgasm wracked through his cock.

With the pleasure behind him, the hood was too much, and Leo pulled it off, gasping at cool air. He pulled out of the fleshlight and a big slobber of semen slopped out the hole and drizzled onto the sheets. He hissed and swore, then swiped it up and went into the bathroom to wash it out.

As the toy dried, Leo wandered out into the living room. Walking with hooves was a chore, like wearing heeled boots with no heel, or walking on tip-toes with no way to settle back down. It made him extra, hyper conscious of how his cybernetics turned nearly useless thigh stumps into fully capable legs, feet trapped inside buckled leather and-

Something caught Leo's eye out the window and he gave it just a second's too much of attention. One of his hoof-boot edges caught onto his living room rug and he tripped. Leo contracted into a ball and crashed down onto his side, smashing hip-first onto the rug and stunning himself. He stayed paralyzed, gripped with panic that he might have hit something important on the table on the way down, like his wrist, like his leg, like something mechanical, like something that could be broken. Never mind that his entire body was as fragile as any mammal's.

He finally relaxed and moved to sit up, and brushed a large mailing envelope off his chest. He was about to set it aside when he noticed that his name was scripted on in pen. At a closer look, it was actual handwriting, not the irritatingly 'realistic' computer printing used by the phone company trying to get him to sign up for fiber-optic television service. It had no return address.

He opened the envelope and pulled out a print catalog along with a handwritten letter on top. It matched the envelope. The catalog was fairly thick and came from a company named "AnimaLogic"; the cover was a collage of different species' body parts.

The letter distracted him away from the catalog. Aside from being handwriting, it seemed familiar somehow. He took the packet over to the sofa and started reading:

"Dear Leo,"

Already, that was a bad sign. Official mail always came addressed to Francis, since it was his legal name.

"It has been some time since we've spoken. I hope you are doing well. I trust you haven't had any more issues since your last appointment. I can only imagine that despite our little chat, that I would be the first one you would contact with any problems."

Oh no.

"I have been consulting with a spinoff company at Davidson. In fact, that is why I am writing to you. It is surely presumptuous of me, but you may find this catalog interesting. Due to your enhancements, the door is now open for you to experiment with your body image. I think you will find that to be very rewarding.

Sincerely,

Dr. Angelo Soren, M.D, M.S, Ph.D"

The fox stared down at the letter. He held the catalog side by side. He remembered Dr. Soren, how the doctor rebuffed his advances after accommodating them, how the doctor was the first person to touch him That Way, how every time he saw the white jackal his heart started to pound like a cloud of dread had descended down on him. Now, this.

He flipped through the catalog and that same dread only intensified. Decidedly low tech compared to Davidson's catalogs, it was nonetheless packed with cybernetics. These were very different, not practical or functional or even meant to blend in with the wearer. They were meant to change the wearer. Anatomically correct animal limbs of all varieties filled the pages in close up shots or life action photographs. Digitigrade feet, hands with clawnails, simple things at the front. Further in, more complex prosthetics, including a human who appeared to have the face of a lynx, a black stallion who had all four hooves and was posed as if racing on all fours and making a sudden turn, fog even visible out of his nostrils. The style of the horse photograph was even familiar, excessively artistic and forbidding. Leo was sure he'd even seen it before.

The back section of the catalog included artful nude photographs of men with continued enhancements, wolves with sheaths and knotted cocks like domestic dog hybrids, another horse with a profound mushroom-headed cock and its telltale ring two thirds to the base.

Leo's head swam with the images. AnimaLogic made 'animal' prosthetics. He couldn't immediately figure out why Dr. Soren, of all people, would send it to him. The jackal had to be plugging some new business opportunity - Davidson seemed all too eager to accommodate the extremes of cybernetics if only because they were expensive.

Then he remembered. Lying in the isolator, dredging up memories to ensure he climaxed, horses and horse cocks and riding and galloping and being a horse. Had he said something? Had he spoken up? Leo's playtime only minutes earlier, his embarrassing and overstimulating session as a faux pony, memories of Dr. Soren, the fascinating and inherently ghastly catalog, the knowing letter. The only reason Leo didn't start to cry was because he was simply too shocked.