|The Transformation Story Archive||Horses and Doggies and Cats, Oh my...|
Bobby Joe and Matty were in a very tight spot. It was over a hundred degrees already, and not yet nine in the morning. The pair had been robbed and left for dead, a plan with which the Mojave would be only too happy to cooperate. There was no shade to be had, not anywhere and the old friends were trudging along hopelessly across the burning sand.
"We cain't possibly walk out of here," Bobby Joe said after an endless silence. "No one walks out of the Mojave."
"No," agreed Matty. "Without horses we're dead men. But I aim to go down trying." He seemed a bit preoccupied, which was natural enough under the circumstances.
"Me too," Bobby agreed. "A man owes it to himself to make the buzzards wait as long as he's able."
Silently they walked on a little further, sweat still pouring out of them. Soon, they knew, there would be nothing left to sweat. And then the real suffering would begin. Suddenly Matty stopped. "Damnit, Bobby Joe, stop a minute. We've got to talk."
Obediently the older man came to a halt and turned around. "What's left to say?" he asked. "That it's been nice knowing you? You already knew that. And what else could matter, here and now?"
Matty looked like he'd bit into something sour. "I'm holding out on you, Bob." he said softly. "Damned if I ain't holding out on you. Not that I think you'll blame me."
Bobby sighed. "If you managed to hide out some water somewhere on you, man, no I don't blame you. Not now that you've spoken up. In fact, I'm glad to hear it. Let's drink, then, and move on."
"No," Mattie whispered. "It's not like that, not like that at all. My family was cursed, Bobby. A long time ago."
The older cowboy tilted his head to one side. "What kind of shit are you talkin', Mattie? The sun gettin' to you already? Come on, partner, and let's keep walking. Might make it yet!"
"No," Mattie whispered. "No, we won't make it at all. You know it and I know it. The game's over."
Bobby sighed. "Come on Mattie, let's not waste no more time. We've gotta walk, or else I've got to leave you, not that I want to."
Mattie looked Bobby Joe up and down, a curiously vulnerable expression on his face. "I mean it, Bob. There's a curse. And it could save you, though not me."
Bobby's eyes narrowed, and he made a very difficult choice. "I'm goin' on, Mattie. So help me, if I get out I'll send back help. I swear it." And with that he turned and began walking once more, hoping deep in his heart that his friend would choose to follow. Truly, he did not wish to abandon his old friend. Nor did he wish to die alone. But slender as his hopes were, they would wither and die entirely if he began to listen to the ravings of a sun-baked brain.
"Wait!" Mattie cried out. "Wait! This will only take a second, if the stories are true. And it's forever! Please, Bobby, take care of me!"
The sunburned cowhand froze in his tracks. How could he walk away from a cry for help from Mattie, who had always been there to help him? He turned around to make one last attempt at reasoning with his buddy...
...and found himself standing face to face with the most beautiful bay stallion he'd ever seen. The big horse whinnied and reared, eyes rolling in terror. "Whoa!" Bobby called out reflexively. "Easy there, big guy! Where did you come from? Mattie, did you see..." But then his voice trailed off as he realized that his friend was gone. Shading his eyes, the old cowhand searched the barren horizon, but there wasn't enough cover to hide a rattlesnake, much less a man. Or, for that matter, a horse. It took what seemed like a very long time but eventually, out there in the desert all by himself, Bob slowly came to accept the simple truth. In time the big horse eventually calmed down, walked over, snuffled at him gently, and then waited to be mounted.
"Mattie?" Bob asked in wonder. "Is that you?"
The horse whinnied and nodded his big head repeatedly.
"You've saved my life," the cowboy whispered. "Yes, of course I'll take care of you. The very best care." The big horse whinnied and nodded again.
They made it out, of course, and had many happy years together. How else could this story end?
The barn smelled of manure and ammonia, and the hay had gone bad long since. But none of this mattered to the two young lovers. They were on a hike, and it was raining cats and dogs outside. In the distance a storm grumbled away.
"Let's do it here," Glenda suggested on impulse. "In a barn."
Thomas smiled eagerly, easily persuaded. "All right. Lets." Together they gathered enough straw to make a soft bed, then lay down together and began toying with the fastenings on each other's clothing. Presently time they were clad only in skin and passion, rolling and tossing amidst the abandoned stalls.
"Oh!" she said. "Oh, Thomas! It smells of horses in here! Can we... Can we do something special?"
Thomas's skin was hot and flushed, his heart pounding with passion. But just the very idea swelled his manhood beyond anything he had ever known before. "Would it be safe?" he whispered. "I'd love to, but what if someone saw us?"
She giggled. "Silly boy! Won't you be my stallion?"
That was all the encouragement he needed. He hugged her tight, and together their bodies bent and twisted and writhed in change. Hooves replaced hands and feet, horsehair covered naked skin, muzzles grew and Thomas's erection grew much stronger and larger than ever. Glenda recovered first, and galloped teasingly out into the thunderstorm outside. Then Thomas whinnied his frustration and followed.
The filly proved hard to catch; indeed Thomas suspected he might not have corralled her at all had she not wished to be taken. Stimulated by the chase beyond anything he had ever known before, Thomas mounted his prize and thrust repeatedly into her warm, dark secret place. His pleasure grew and grew until eventually he came with a tremendous power far beyond merely human experience. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, and Thomas screamed out in his moment of triumph, of glory, of masculine passion more potent than anything he'd ever dreamed. And under him Glenda kicked and bit and twisted in an intense storm of passion of her own.
For a time the rain continued to fall steadily on the lovers as steam rose gently from their flanks. They gently rubbed muzzles and simply stood together, unable to speak but not needing words to communicate their love and bliss. The thunder and lightning passed on and grew distant, and the rain faded to nothing. Gently Thomas pushed his mare towards the old barn and their human identities. It was time to go. Glenda came along only with reluctance, but eventually followed him into the old structure...
...where a young farmer with a shotgun was waiting patiently for them. "Don't move, witches!" he ordered, voice an evil hiss. "Don't move!"
Eric could not believe it was actually going to happen. "Are you sure?" he asked his roommate one last time. "They really can do magic?"
"Of course!" Frank replied, smiling. "I've been in the coven for three years. We're as real as it gets."
"But what?" Frank asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face his younger companion. "These people are willing to help you. Now, are you going to go through with it or not?"
Eric stuttered, trying to find the right words. "But... I'm kind of afraid, really. I mean, there can't be a lot of people like me."
Frank smiled reassuringly. "Sure, there's a whole Internet full of people who think they ought to have been born various kinds of animals. Their souls are of a different species than their bodies, just like you. There are even other donkey-people out there. We've done this before."
"Getting cold feet?" Frank asked, a slightly nasty note creeping into his tone. "Or cold hooves, should I say? I warned you, Eric, a lot of time and effort has been spent on setting up this spell. And you've already mailed letters to your folks explaining what you are about to do. It's too late to back out now. Unless maybe you want to get a bunch of witches very angry with you, and for your folks to commit you to a funny-farm until who knows when?"
"Ken's farm does sound a lot nicer," Eric agreed, relaxing a bit to the inevitable. "I can't wait to get there. As a donkey, of course."
"Of course," Frank agreed. And then they walked on up to the broken-down old house where the ceremony was to be performed. Frank knocked, and a solemn voice answered.
"Equus," Frank replied solemnly. Then the door swung open and they were inside. The light was dim in the living room, provided only by a few black candles. It was just sufficient, in fact, to allow Eric to make out a dozen figures standing before him in midnight-colored robes. He swallowed, frightened, but managed to stand firm.
Will I still know who I am? the young man asked himself. Will I like having an owner? He'd wondered about these kinds of things for a very long time, but now he began to wonder if he'd really known what he was asking for. But Frank was right, it had been too late to back out for hours now.
"Is the subject ready?" asked a deep voice from the darkness.
Eric's jaws worked, but no sound came out. Then Frank stepped on his toe. "Ow! Yes."
"Very well," the deep voice intoned formally. "Let it be done. Follow me." The dark figure turned around solemnly, and gently but firmly Frank pushed Eric into place behind him. Black robes closed in all around him, and Eric began to be truly afraid. But it was too late, too late, too late...
The group took the steps one at a time, pausing several times for some sort of incantation. Then, in the absolute blackness of the cellar hands reached out of nowhere and unfastened Eric's clothing. "You will need these no longer," the voice said solemnly. "Now and forever." There were more incantations then, and something greasy and obnoxious was smeared all over him. The stuff tingled slightly, and in the darkness Eric wondered if new hair was starting to grow. His penis, already stiff, began to throb at the thought, and his breathing became rapid from fear and overstimulation.
"Steady, donkey!" the deep voice commanded. "Steady, for we are not done yet! Let us now dress you as appropriate for your new body." In the darkness Eric felt leather straps encircle him in odd places, and there was even a halter and bit. The metal felt very cold going into his mouth.
"Try to speak, donkey," the voice commanded. Eric tried, but could only mumble unintelligibly. "Enough," the voice cut him off. "You will never speak again. Sit him down."
Seemingly dozens of hands herded Eric towards a hard, uncomfortable chair, to which his leather tack was attached. "Shoe him," came the words from the darkness. "But cause him no needless pain. He has been a good donkey." Simultaneously four of the robed ones came at once and began working on Eric's hands and feet. He felt more cold metal being placed up against his palms and soles, and some kind of gunk being smeared over them. Soon he could not move his fingers or toes, and the weight of the metal shoes hung uncomfortably from his skin. Had they just been glued on? Or did he have the beginnings of hooves already? Truly, the sensations were so strange that he could not say. Desperately he tried to ask, but the bit kept him from doing so
"Quiet, donkey!" the voice ordered. "Quiet, or so help me I'll geld you! Get the knife!"
Eric froze in terror then, until he felt the gentle kiss of cold steel at his scrotum. Then screamed in terror as best he was able, and began struggling heroically against his bonds. No, he didn't want to be gelded!
"Say 'hee-haw'" the voice of darkness commanded. "Say 'hee-haw','" little donkey, and maybe I'll let you keep your balls."
Eric struggled in desperation. Saying 'hee-haw' wasn't supposed to be so bad! It was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, after all. So why did it feel so degrading now?
The knife pressed closer, and Eric felt the first pain. "Hee-haw!" he cried out against the bit. The sound was legible, but barely. "Hee-haw! Hee-haw! Hee-haw!"
The knife pulled back some, but did not go away. "Louder!" the voice hissed. "Bray as loudly as you can!"
"HEE-HAW!" Eric screamed in terror, tears streaming down his face. The change was coming any second now and he knew it and he no longer wanted it and his dick was hard as steel and how had he been such a damn fool? "HEE-HAW! HEE-"
But the last syllable was never spoken. For even as his lips formed the last part of his bray, the lights came on and Eric saw that there were dozens of his fellow students crowded into the basement around him. Spontaneously, they burst into laughter and applause.
"My GOD that was great!" said one voice from the crowd, then others voiced their agreement in rush.
"I got the whole thing on infra-red tape!" crowed another triumphantly. "Where in the world did you find this guy?"
"He's my head-case of a roommate," Frank said easily, accepting a beer from one of his robed colleagues. "The whole thing was my idea."
Seemingly dozens of people murmured in admiration as they closed in around Frank, sometimes stealing a glance at the would-be donkey and snickering. Meanwhile, the victim sat tightly trussed up in bondage gear and tack, unable to do anything more than shift his "hooves" uncomfortably and glare in reply and pray that his huge erection would go away. From time to time over the course of the evening he tried to speak, but no one seemed to notice over the loud music. The party went on and on and on...
"For the love of m'Tawnbee, spare us this!" the mother cried out in anguish, but the witch doctor did not even hesitate in his incantation.
"Who do I seek?" an old man asked, staring intently into the prisoner's cage. He was chief of his village, and behaved with dignity in his role of judge.
"I cannot know!" The words sounded torn from her throat.
The chief's face remained hard. "Then you will not be spared. Nor your son. Think hard, woman, for very soon it will be too late." He did not even wince as his distant cousin wailed again in wordless anguish. Then the monotonous chanting came to an end and a young colt zebra dashed in terror and confusion from the magician's grass hut. The horse-like creature was long-legged and awkward in the little corral, but clearly he still recognized his mother. Bleating, he trotted towards her until stopped by two spear-wielding warriors.
"Your son," the chief said coldly. "Your only son. He has become what he is forever; it cannot be reversed. But if you tell me the truth now, I will let him live. I swear it. At least he can still enjoy what life might be left to him."
Tears streamed from the woman's eyes, and wordlessly she ripped at her clothing and tore at her hair. But she did not speak. The chief nodded towards the hut, and from inside the chanting became again.
"It is your daughter this time," he said emotionlessly. "She is very beautiful, and dances well. I might have married her myself. But no longer. Not unless you tell me."
"I... I..." the woman sounded uncertain for a moment.
"Who?" the chief roared in anger. "Who was it that killed my sons and boiled their bones to make an unclean potion? Who was it that stalked through our village at night and stole the babies of her tribe-sisters away, never to be seen again? Was it perhaps you, N'bele?"
"No!" she screamed in seeming mortal agony. "I swear to you, it was not me! I slept outside the village that night, out gathering herbs! And I do not know who it was!"
"Then why do your children thrive, when all the others are dead?"
"I... How can I know?"
"You know," the chief replied calmly. "Witch. Baby killer. Demon. Admit it!"
"No!" she declared. "I will not be fed to the crocodiles as a witch! Not even at the price of my babies!"
"Very well. Then they shall pay your debt in full."
The chanting went on for a while longer, and then a second young zebra emerged skittishly into the twilight and piteously sought its mother. But this time the mother, seemingly exhausted, merely hung her head and wept. "I'm sorry, my children!" she said loud enough for them to hear. "I am so very sorry." Together they tried to run to her cage once again, but the spearmen frustrated them a second time. They whinnied and brayed their anger, but the warriors confidently stood their ground. Killing zebras was easy, after all, and killing young ones easier still. They had nothing to fear.
The chief let his prisoner look upon her young for a very long time, but she shed no further tears and showed no sign of breaking. And it was getting late as well.
"So be it," declared the chief, looking tired and defeated. This woman had borne all the tortures he could devise, had held her tongue despite terrible privation and now maintained her silence even after watching her own babies being turned into animals. He did not know what to do next, but no one would sleep well until she confessed. "In the morning, your children will meet the crocodiles in your place." But there was no reaction. She only hung her head low looking totally defeated, though the zebras whinnied and danced around their enclosure in terror.
N'bele did not speak another word, in fact, until it was very dark and quiet outside her cage. She lay seemingly bereaved and insensible, ignoring even the tiny ration of food meant to keep her alive a little longer. Shrugging, her guards withdrew to drink and make love to their wives. And presently the mother was alone with her young.
"Psst!" she whispered. "Psst!"
The two animals came trotting up close as the corral allowed, nickering softly.
"Wait, my precious ones!" she whispered urgently. "Wait just a little bit longer, and we shall be free." The colt nickered gently in reply, and the filly bobbed her head up and down.
It was almost midnight before it happened, but eventually a patch of the light of the full moon fell upon N'bele's cage. Eagerly she pulled up her dress and exposed the soft dark skin of her thigh to the gentle light. The pain came then, as it always did, and the hot blood. A mound formed in the center of the bare skin, and then a tiny teat coalesced atop it. Giggling with delight, M'bele gently squeezed her new nipple. A thin jet of blood squirted out, and she gasped in pleasure.
"Come, my servant," she said softly, though fire danced in her eyes. "Come, and be fed."
There was a rustling in the bush just outside the corral, and a reptilian head bigger than those of the young zebra's rose from the cover. The equines started at the sight, then brayed in terror.
"Shh, fools!" she ordered brusquely. "Would you be fed to the crocodiles?"
But it was too late. There was a babble of voices from the village, and the two spearmen came out to look things over. N'bele lowered her dress over the grotesquely swollen teat, and the huge scaly head eased itself back into the brush.
"Did you hear anything, woman?" one of her guards demanded.
"No," she replied, head hanging hopelessly once again.
"But the zebras were frightened! Perhaps a lion?"
"They are not true zebras, they are my children. And they have often awakened frightened in the night after a bad dream."
The guard pressed his lips together suspiciously, then nodded sharply and went back to his woman. When he was gone, N'bele exposed her thigh to the moonlight once again; already the mound had begun to shrink away. But under the cold light it festered up rapidly once again, and the woman pinched a drop of blood from the nipple and exposed it to the air. 'See, my servant? The flavor is still fine. Come and be fed!"
The reptilian head reared up again, and N'bele could see its need clearly in the cold, flat eyes. It surged forward, and the fat, obscene body of a serpent perhaps forty feet long surged along behind it.
"Come, most beautiful one!" N'bele commanded. "Come, come, come!"
The demon-serpent coiled around its mistress's cage protectively, then rubbed its cold dry nose up against the wooden bars, frustrated. It hissed angrily.
N'bele laughed gleefully. "Come, my truest child! Come and feed! Do not let a few splinters stop you!"
The serpent hissed again, then batted its head into the bars.
"Harder!" N'bele urged. "Harder!"
Again the snake butted its head against the sturdy wood. But it did not break.
"Harder!" the witch cried. "Harder, harder, harder!" And with her words, she squirted blood from the teat on her thigh into the air.
The snake's body quivered in greed and frustration, then swung its mighty head like a club. The cage smashed open, and instantly the serpent was upon his mistress for the promised meal. "Ah!" N'bele moaned in pleasure as the scaly lips pumped rhythmically at her sensitive flesh and the cold forked tongue caressed her swollen magical organ. "Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Then it was done, and N'bele lay limp for just a few moments, utterly drained, serpent protectively coiled around her. But there was little time to lose. "Hunt them down," she finally commanded, voice still breathless from her excitement. "The whole village. Hunt them down, and they are yours to do with as you choose. By now most of them must have seen you and fled. But it will not matter. Will it?"
The serpent reared his head proudly and hissed, dribbles of poison running down his chest from twin fangs that looked more like young elephant tusks. Then it rose from the ground and took flight. Indeed, running was useless.
Then N'bele climbed out of her cage, standing on unsteady legs for the first time in more than two weeks. A pity she'd had to wait for the moon... "Children! Come here!"
The zebras came galloping up, their sharp fangs and leatherlike skins and red glowing eyes looking surprisingly normal until you got very close. "I must find a new host," she declared. "I regret that you have been locked into a lesser form. But you will still be of use, when the moon is full. Feed now, and then go hide until I summon you once again." One at a time, the pair suckled her blood and trotted off into the darkness.
Then, under the cold glory of the moon's full face, N'bele stripped herself naked in the center of the little corral and began to dance far better than her daughter ever had, curtseying and making supplication six times. Swirling plumes of fog flowed into the open area, and then grew thicker and thicker. Hyenas laughed, lions roared, and birds and apes alike chattered restlessly in the trees. And then as the noise passed away into silence, the fog began to clear, revealing...
...nothing. Nothing at all.
Equine Mosaic copyright 2001 by Phil Geusz.
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