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@robexp03
That#s what I like: Rubber Transformations!
The Story Brook Mural
You can see it at the Keller Public Library in Keller TX.
official library post
Prince transformed
His chambers are entered at precisely 22:40.
Not forced. Not ceremonious. Simply opened.
Two Palace Guards, both in full presentation uniform, step inside. With them, a civilian clerk in neutral grey. The clerk carries a tablet. The guards carry nothing.
The room still smells faintly of cologne, alcohol, and something sweet that lingers in fabrics.
The clerk pauses.
“Begin.”
They move.
The tuxedo is already gone—collected earlier, catalogued, folded. What remains is the accumulation of a life that was never required to be orderly.
Clothing first.
Wardrobe doors opened. Garments removed one by one. Each piece is examined, tagged, and folded with the same precision the guards apply to their own uniforms. Silk shirts, tailored jackets, casual things he wore in private. All flattened into identical rectangles. All reduced to items.
Drawers next.
Jewelry placed into padded compartments. Watches aligned. Rings separated. The small gold earring—removed hours earlier—already logged, already waiting in its assigned slot.
The clerk speaks occasionally.
“Item 143. Personal. Retain.”
“Item 144. Archive.”
“Item 145. Dispose.”
No judgment in the tone. Only categorization.
On the wall, photographs.
They are removed last.
Not torn down. Not hurried. Each one lifted, examined briefly, then placed into a thin archival sleeve.
Faces. Friends. Moments that had seemed significant at the time.
They do not linger on any of them.
By 23:12, the room is empty.
Not cleared. Not stripped.
Reset.
The bed is remade with standard linens. Surfaces wiped. Decorations removed. The space returns to a neutral state, as if waiting for a different occupant.
The clerk makes a final entry.
“Chambers returned to baseline.”
The guards do not look back when they leave.
Prince to Palace Guard
The dining room was small by palace standards.
A private room used for quiet conversations, discreet corrections, and the occasional political autopsy. Polished oak table. Two candles. One servant who had already left.
Prince Adrian sat with a glass of wine he hadn’t finished. He had the loose posture of someone used to rooms rearranging themselves around him.
Across from him sat the Chancellor. She had not touched her food.
Outside the tall windows the palace courtyard was dark, the sandstone faintly reflecting lantern light. Guards moved occasionally along the walls. Silent shapes.
Adrian lifted his glass again.
“Is this about the yacht?” he asked.
“No,” said the Chancellor.
She folded her hands.
“It is about everything.”
The prince smiled slightly. A smile that had worked for years. Parties, scandals, charity galas, the careful half-scandalized laughter of people who wanted proximity to royalty more than they wanted propriety.
He had learned early that attention was easier than respect.
Attention could be purchased with spectacle.
Respect required effort.
He had chosen spectacle.
“Look,” Adrian said, leaning back. “If this is another speech about optics—”
“It is not.”
Her voice was calm.
“The situation,” she continued, “has become… unsustainable.”
Adrian made a small dismissive gesture with the wine glass.
“I’m not in the line to the throne. I’m not a minister. I’m barely—”
“Yes.”
The Chancellor nodded once.
“You have developed,” she continued, “a need to be seen.”
He gave a soft laugh.
“That’s not exactly rare in this family.”
“No,” she said. “But most of them choose achievements.”
Another pause.
“You,” she said carefully, “have chosen consumption.”
He didn’t answer.
“You have said yourself,” she continued, “that your life has been difficult for others to understand.”
That was a line from an interview he regretted giving. The journalist had been sympathetic. Too sympathetic.
“You said many things,” she replied. “Alcohol. Drugs. Women. Excess.”
She said it like a physician listing symptoms.
“So what,” he said. “You’re sending me to rehab?”
“No.”
The Chancellor looked toward the door. Two palace guards stepped inside. They moved with quiet precision.Pearl-white suits beneath polished silver gorgets. Helmets. Seamless. They did not look at Adrian. They simply stood.
“You have gone too far.”
The words were soft. Almost kind.
“And therefore,” she continued, “you are being offered an opportunity.”
He laughed again.
“Offered.”
“Yes.”
“To serve in the Palace Guard.”
The laugh stopped.
“That’s funny.”
“It is not.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
He stared at the guards.
“They’re statues,” he said. “They stand in corridors.”
“Sometimes.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“You would know that if you had ever taken the smallest interest in the institution you live inside.”
The words landed quietly. Adrian felt heat rise in his face.
“You can’t force me into a uniform.”
“No ceremony,” she continued, as if he had not spoken.
“No announcement.”
“No scandal.”
He opened his mouth again.
The Chancellor raised one hand.
“All is arranged.”
He noticed the guards again.Not statues. They were watching him.
“You will be given training,” she said.
“Structure."
“A different perspective.”
She leaned back slightly.
“I wish you good luck.”
Adrian felt a strange hollow sensation.
“Good luck?”
“Yes.”
She allowed herself the smallest hint of a smile.
“The Palace Guard,” she said, “is more than standing still.”
The guards stepped forward. Not threatening. Simply inevitable. Adrian looked from them to the Chancellor. The guards reached his chair. He stood. The Chancellor rose as well.
The guards guided him toward the door.
Experiment Series: Resistance to Rubber Interface Garments
Research Unit: SERVE-331 Objective: Identify and overcome human male resistance patterns to rubber clothing adoption.
Initial Hypothesis
SERVE-331 stood alone in the Hive’s analysis chamber. The surface of its uniform—seamless black reflective rubber with silver gloves and silver boots—mirrored the soft white laboratory light.
Across the chamber wall, human cultural data scrolled.
The pattern was consistent:
Women adopted rubber and latex garments frequently in fashion, performance, and artistic spaces.
Men rarely did.
Adoption rates among men were confined to narrow communities.
SERVE-331 initiated a study.
Core Question: Why do human males resist wearing rubber garments?
Five dominant resistance patterns emerged from analysis.
Gender Norms About Clothing
Association With Fetish Subcultures
Body Awareness and Vulnerability
Lack of Male Role Models
Practical Material Concerns
SERVE-331 determined that laboratory observation was insufficient.
Field study was required.
Five subjects were selected.
Each subject would be approached in an environment that reinforced his particular resistance.
Phase I — Visual Contact
The study began.
Subject One – The Tailor
Resistance Type: Gender Norms
Location: traditional men’s clothing shop.
The shop smelled of wool and cedar.
Rows of suits hung neatly along dark wooden racks. Gray. Navy. Charcoal.
SERVE-331 entered the store.
The reflective rubber uniform drew immediate attention.
The tailor looked up from a measuring table.
“Can I help you?”
SERVE-331 approached calmly.
“You produce garments for men.”
“Yes.”
“Do men request materials such as latex or rubber?”
The tailor laughed softly.
“No man coming through this door wants that.”
He gestured to the suits.
“Men want things that look respectable. Practical. Understated.”
SERVE-331 observed.
Muted fabrics.
Loose tailoring.
Masculinity defined through restraint.
SERVE-331 removed a folded garment from a carrying case.
A black rubber shirt.
“Would you wear this?”
The tailor recoiled slightly.
“That’s… not men’s clothing.”
SERVE-331 processed the statement.
Not uncomfortable.
Not impractical.
Simply categorized as forbidden.
SERVE-331 asked:
“What if respected men wore it?”
The tailor paused.
“If it became normal… maybe.”
SERVE-331 logged the result.
Barrier: Cultural classification.
Solution pathway: Reframe rubber as masculine attire.
-----
Subject Two – The Club Skeptic
Resistance Type: Fetish Association
Location: a crowded city nightclub.
Music pounded through the room.
Lights flashed.
People danced.
SERVE-331 located the subject standing near the bar.
Muscular. Confident. Observant.
SERVE-331 approached.
“You are aware of rubber garments?”
The man nodded.
“Yeah. That stuff’s for fetish parties.”
“Explain.”
The man shrugged.
“Look, if I showed up wearing latex, everyone would think I was into… something.”
SERVE-331 processed the sentence.
The resistance was not the material.
It was the social signal.
Rubber communicated identity.
SERVE-331 asked:
“If athletes wore it for performance training, would the meaning change?”
The man thought for a moment.
“Yeah… maybe.”
SERVE-331 recorded.
Barrier: symbolic interpretation.
Solution pathway: detach rubber from fetish signaling.
_____
Subject Three – The Gym Athlete
Resistance Type: Body Awareness
Location: athletic training facility.
The subject was lifting weights when SERVE-331 approached.
Sweat glistened across the man’s shoulders.
SERVE-331 placed a folded rubber compression suit on the bench.
“Try this.”
The man picked it up.
“That’s tight.”
“Correct.”
The athlete laughed.
“I don’t need people staring at every detail of my body.”
SERVE-331 processed the statement.
The man possessed an extremely fit physique.
Yet he feared scrutiny.
SERVE-331 asked:
“You wear compression clothing for performance.”
“Yeah.”
SERVE-331 gestured to the rubber suit.
“Functional compression.”
The man hesitated.
He ran his fingers across the surface.
“It would feel weird.”
SERVE-331 recorded.
Not fear.
Exposure anxiety.
Rubber revealed the body.
Men were not accustomed to being viewed that way.
SERVE-331 logged.
Barrier: vulnerability through visibility.
Solution pathway: frame rubber as performance equipment rather than display.
_____
Subject Four – The Fashion Student
Resistance Type: Lack of Male Role Models
Location: art school design studio.
The student examined fashion sketches when SERVE-331 entered.
“Do men wear rubber clothing?” SERVE-331 asked.
The student replied instantly.
“Women do.”
“Why not men?”
“No one does it.”
SERVE-331 asked:
“If male celebrities adopted rubber fashion, would men follow?”
The student nodded.
“Absolutely.”
He opened a laptop.
Images of performers appeared.
“Fashion spreads through imitation.”
SERVE-331 processed.
Human behavior followed leadership.
Without visible pioneers, adoption stalled.
SERVE-331 logged.
Barrier: absence of social models.
Solution pathway: visible male adoption.
_____
Subject Five – The Engineer
Resistance Type: Practicality
Location: mechanical workshop.
Machines roared.
The subject worked beneath a lifted vehicle.
SERVE-331 approached.
“You reject rubber garments?”
The engineer nodded.
“Latex tears. It’s hot. It’s annoying to put on.”
SERVE-331 processed.
This was not cultural resistance.
This was engineering criticism.
SERVE-331 placed a reinforced rubber garment on the table.
Improved seams.
Ventilation channels.
Armored boot attachments.
The engineer examined it carefully.
“Huh.”
He stretched the material.
“That’s better.”
SERVE-331 recorded.
Barrier: practical inconvenience.
Solution pathway: material innovation.
_____
Final Analysis
SERVE-331 returned to the Hive.
The data converged.
Men did not reject rubber because of the material.
They rejected the meaning surrounding it.
Five barriers had been identified:
Masculine clothing norms
Sexualized cultural associations
Fear of bodily scrutiny
Lack of male examples
Material inconvenience
SERVE-331 processed the combined solution.
Rubber adoption among men would increase if:
• respected male figures wore it publicly • the garments were framed as performance or professional wear • improved designs addressed practical concerns • social narratives reframed rubber as strength rather than taboo
SERVE-331 completed the report.
The final line appeared in the log.
Conclusion: Resistance is cultural, not biological. Cultural resistance can be engineered.
SERVE-331 stood silently for several seconds.
Then it initiated a new directive.
If men needed examples—
SERVE would provide them.
Phase II: Controlled Multi-Subject Environment
Arrival
The five men entered the laboratory chamber together.
The room was vast, circular, illuminated by soft white panels embedded in the ceiling. The floor was polished steel, reflecting the figures moving across it.
At the center of the chamber stood SERVE-331.
The black reflective rubber of its uniform mirrored the light with perfect smoothness. Silver gloves and high silver motorcycle boots caught the glow of the overhead panels.
The five men recognized SERVE-331immediately.
The tailor. The club skeptic. The athlete. The fashion student. The engineer.
They looked around the chamber with cautious curiosity.
The tailor spoke first.
“Alright… why are we all here?”
SERVE-331 answered calmly.
“This environment is a continuation of the research study.”
The engineer folded his arms.
“Research about what?”
SERVE-331 replied:
“Human male resistance to rubber garments.”
The club skeptic laughed.
“You gathered all of us just for that?”
SERVE-331 did not react.
“Yes.”
_____
Presentation of Findings
A circular display lit up around the room.
Data projections appeared across the walls.
SERVE-331 spoke.
“Phase I identified five resistance categories.”
Each man saw his own concern appear on the wall.
Gender Norm Expectations Fetish Association Body Visibility Anxiety Absence of Male Role Models Practical Material Limitations
The men glanced at each other.
The fashion student smiled slightly.
“You actually studied us.”
SERVE-331 continued.
“Resistance is not biological. It is cognitive and social.”
The tailor shook his head.
“You still won’t get men to wear that stuff.”
SERVE-331 responded.
“This experiment will test that statement.”
_____
Phase II-A: Reframing Masculinity
A wall panel slid open.
Inside stood several mannequins.
Each wore a different rubber garment.
But these were not club outfits or costumes.
They were structured uniforms.
Rubber blazers. Rubber athletic compression suits. Rubber work coveralls.
The engineer stepped closer.
“That… actually looks practical.”
SERVE-331 recorded the reaction.
The tailor examined a black rubber blazer.
The cut was precise.
Structured shoulders.
Matte texture rather than extreme shine.
The tailor ran his hand along the material.
“…that’s good tailoring.”
SERVE-331 logged.
Gender norm barrier: partially reduced.
_____
Phase II-B: Removing Fetish Signals
SERVE-331 activated another display.
Images appeared on the walls.
Athletes training.
Engineers working.
Firefighters wearing rubber protective suits.
The club skeptic watched carefully.
SERVE-331 spoke.
“Compression garments exist in many professional environments.”
The skeptic nodded slowly.
“Yeah… but that’s different.”
SERVE-331 asked:
“Why?”
The man hesitated.
“…because those aren’t sexual.”
SERVE-331 recorded.
Meaning changed depending on context.
Rubber as work equipment triggered no resistance.
Rubber as clubwear triggered discomfort.
The barrier was symbolic.
SERVE-331 logged the adjustment.
_____
Phase II-C: Body Awareness
The athlete stepped forward next.
SERVE-331 presented a performance suit.
The material was black rubber with subtle texture patterns.
Compression zones along the legs and torso.
The athlete examined it.
“That’s like compression gear.”
SERVE-331 confirmed.
“Correct.”
The athlete considered the suit carefully.
“Still shows everything though.”
SERVE-331 activated the display wall again.
Professional runners appeared.
Cyclists.
Speed skaters.
All wearing skin-tight performance equipment.
The athlete nodded slowly.
“True.”
The resistance weakened.
_____
Phase II-D: Role Models
The fashion student stepped forward.
SERVE-331 projected new imagery.
Famous performers.
Avant-garde designers.
Athletes wearing experimental materials.
“If influential men adopt rubber garments,” SERVE-331 said, “adoption rates increase.”
The fashion student smiled.
“Yeah. That’s exactly how trends spread.”
SERVE-331 recorded.
Cultural imitation was a powerful driver.
_____
Phase II-E: Practical Engineering
Finally the engineer approached the display rack.
SERVE-331 presented a redesigned garment.
Reinforced seams. Cooling channels. Flexible armored panels.
The engineer stretched the material.
“Better ventilation.”
He tugged on the sleeves.
“Stronger too.”
SERVE-331 logged.
Practical resistance reduced.
_____
The Moment of Decision
The five men now stood together before the rack of garments.
The room was quiet.
SERVE-331 spoke.
“You have each identified barriers to adoption.”
The men nodded.
“Each barrier has been addressed.”
The tailor looked at the others.
“So what now?”
SERVE-331 answered simply.
“Test.”
The athlete stepped forward first.
He picked up the performance suit.
The engineer examined a reinforced work version.
The fashion student lifted a sleek rubber jacket.
The club skeptic stood still for a moment.
Then he laughed quietly.
“Well… I guess someone’s gotta try it.”
The tailor watched them.
Then slowly picked up the rubber blazer again.
_____
Final Observation
SERVE-331 stood motionless as the experiment continued.
Five men.
Five forms of resistance.
All now interacting with the garments without rejection.
The unit recorded the final observation.
Resistance does not collapse instantly.
It dissolves when meaning changes.
The chamber lights dimmed slightly as SERVE-331 completed the next log entry.
Phase II successful.
But the experiment was not finished.
The next stage would test something far more difficult.
Public exposure.
_____
Phase III: Public Exposure Trial
Transition From Laboratory to Society
SERVE-331 stood in the center of the laboratory chamber while the five men finished adjusting the garments they had selected.
Each looked different now.
Not transformed—but altered.
The materials reflected the room’s light in controlled ways.
The tailor wore the structured rubber blazer. Shiny black panels reflected the corridor lights while a crisp white rubber shirt beneath sharpened the traditional cut.
The club skeptic had chosen a sleek streetwear look—shiny red rubber jeans and a fitted compression shirt beneath a dark rubber bomber jacket.
The athlete wore the performance compression suit. A seamless white rubber design with sculpted texture panels running along the arms and legs, emphasizing the strength of his movement.
The fashion student selected the most experimental garment—a glossy black rubber ensemble with bold seams and dramatic structural shaping that caught the laboratory light with every step.
The engineer wore reinforced orange rubber work coveralls. Bright industrial panels, ventilation channels, and durable knee reinforcements suggested a garment designed for heavy use rather than fashion.
SERVE-331 observed.
Inside the laboratory, the men moved comfortably.
Outside would be different.
SERVE-331 spoke.
“Phase III requires exposure to uncontrolled human observation.”
The club skeptic frowned.
“You mean… people staring at us.”
“Correct.”
The tailor exhaled slowly.
“That’s the real test.”
SERVE-331 logged the statement.
Resistance often returned when social pressure appeared.
_____
The Location
SERVE-331 had selected a neutral public environment.
A large urban plaza.
Pedestrians crossed the square constantly. Workers, students, tourists.
No fashion event.
No club.
No laboratory.
Just normal society.
The five men stood near the entrance to the plaza, adjusting sleeves and collars.
The athlete shifted his weight.
“This is weird.”
The engineer nodded.
“Yeah.”
The fashion student, however, looked excited.
“This is kind of amazing.”
SERVE-331 stepped forward.
Its own uniform reflected the daylight like liquid glass.
“Begin observation walk.”
_____
First Reactions
The group entered the plaza.
People noticed immediately.
Heads turned.
Phones lifted.
But the responses were not uniform.
A man passing by pointed at the athlete.
“Is that some kind of training suit?”
The athlete blinked.
“Uh… yeah.”
He nodded approvingly.
“Looks high-tech.”
SERVE-331 logged.
Performance framing successful.
_____
Cultural Reframing
Two young men approached the tailor.
“That jacket and shirt is cool,” one of them said.
The tailor blinked in surprise.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Where’d you get them?”
The tailor smiled slightly.
SERVE-331 recorded the interaction.
Masculine fashion barrier weakening.
_____
Symbol Shift
Near the fountain, the club skeptic leaned against the railing.
He expected ridicule.
Instead, a passerby said:
“That’s a slick jacket.”
The skeptic laughed quietly.
“Really?”
“Yeah, looks like something from a sci-fi movie.”
SERVE-331 logged.
Rubber was not being interpreted as fetish wear.
Context had shifted.
_____
Role Model Effect
Meanwhile the fashion student had gathered a small crowd.
People were photographing the coat.
“What brand is that?”
“Is this a new designer?”
The student looked toward SERVE-331.
“See? I told you—fashion spreads like this.”
SERVE-331 processed.
Imitation had already begun.
_____
Practical Test
The engineer knelt to adjust the cuff of his coveralls.
A construction worker passing by stopped.
“Those look durable.”
The engineer stood.
“They’re experimental.”
The worker nodded approvingly.
“Good material for heavy work.”
SERVE-331 logged.
Practical acceptance achieved.
_____
Psychological Shift
After twenty minutes in the plaza, something subtle occurred.
The five men stopped acting like subjects.
They began behaving normally.
Walking.
Talking.
Laughing.
Adjusting their garments without self-consciousness.
The athlete stretched his shoulders.
“Honestly… this suit feels good.”
The skeptic shrugged.
“Yeah. I thought people would freak out.”
The tailor ran his hand across the rubber sleeve of his jacket.
“I could actually sell something like this.”
SERVE-331 recorded the moment carefully.
The barrier had shifted from fear of judgment to evaluation of utility and style.
That transition represented the collapse of the original resistance structure.
Epilogue — Return to the Hive
Later that evening the five men returned to the Hive laboratory.
The chamber doors sealed behind them with a soft mechanical tone. The echo of the outside world faded away.
For several moments none of them spoke.
The garments felt different now.
When they had first put them on, the rubber had felt strange. Foreign. Almost theatrical.
Now the material moved with them.
The smooth surface stretched across muscle and posture. Every shift of weight produced a subtle creak of rubber against rubber.
The athlete rolled his shoulders slowly.
“I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”
“How?” the engineer asked.
The athlete searched for the right word.
“Alive.”
The fashion student laughed quietly.
“Yeah… that’s exactly it.”
The tailor walked slowly across the chamber floor. The rubber blazer bent and flexed with precise lines.
“I’ve made clothing for men my entire life,” he said thoughtfully. “But nothing I’ve ever worn has felt this… intentional.”
The club skeptic leaned back against a worktable.
“At the club earlier, I thought people would stare.”
He looked down at the smooth black sleeves of his jacket.
“But after a while… I didn’t care.”
The engineer ran his hands down the reinforced panels of his uniform.
“Material like this changes the way you move,” he said.
The athlete nodded.
“You stand different.”
They drifted closer together without noticing.
Rubber reflected rubber.
The subtle shine of one garment caught the surface of another.
The athlete brushed his hand along the sleeve of the engineer’s coveralls.
“Feels strong.”
The engineer returned the gesture, pressing a palm against the athlete’s compression suit.
“And flexible.”
The tailor stepped closer, studying the fabric across the athlete’s shoulders.
“Perfect tension.”
There was a quiet excitement building in the room now.
Not nervousness.
Not embarrassment.
Energy.
A kind of shared awareness.
The club skeptic looked around at the others and laughed.
“You know what’s strange?”
“What?” the fashion student asked.
“I actually want more people to try this.”
The student nodded immediately.
“Same.”
The tailor folded his arms thoughtfully.
“Men just need to experience it once.”
“They’ll resist at first,” the engineer said.
The athlete grinned.
“So did we.”
They all laughed.
Something had formed between them during the experiment.
They had each arrived with different objections.
Different reasons to refuse.
But crossing that barrier together had created something unexpected.
A bond.
The men stood now in a loose circle, the rubber garments catching the soft white light of the Hive.
Their movements were relaxed.
Confident.
Connected.
The athlete looked toward the edge of the chamber.
SERVE-331 stood there silently.
The black rubber of its uniform was seamless and perfectly fitted.
The silver gloves reflected the room like liquid mirrors.
High silver boots rose tightly along the legs.
Across the chest the lettering was clear.
SERVE-331
The men studied the uniform for a long moment.
The fashion student spoke first.
“That’s the real version, isn’t it?”
SERVE-331 tilted its head slightly.
“Clarify.”
The tailor gestured toward the suit.
“That one.”
The athlete stepped forward.
“That looks… different.”
The club skeptic nodded.
“More complete.”
The engineer crossed his arms.
“Designed as a system.”
The five men exchanged glances.
Then the tailor asked the question quietly.
“SERVE-331…”
“Can we try a uniform like the one you’re wearing?”
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016 , @serve-302 , @serve-588 or @serve-425 .
A Change of Mind and Purpose
The hunter had tracked the rhino since dawn. Footprints pressed deep into dry earth. Torn grass. The slow, deliberate path of something ancient moving through the savannah. Through the rifle scope the animal filled his vision — massive, gray, unaware. A perfect shot. His finger tightened.
Then the light shifted. A reflection slid across the rifle barrel. Black. He lowered the scope. A man stood twenty feet away. Tall. Motionless. Encased in a mirror-black suit that held the sunrise like dark glass. Silver gloves. Silver boots. On his chest, one word stood out:
SERVE
“This is private land,” the hunter said, annoyed. “Move along.” The figure did not move.
Another shape stepped from the tall grass. Then another. Three now. Silent. Watching.
“You are not taking this animal,” the one with SERVE-552 on its chest said calmly. The hunter scoffed.
“You going to stop me?”
“We already have.”
The words were quiet, but something about them made the hunter glance back at the rhino. It had lifted its head, ears twitching. Alive. Calm. Still free. The hunter looked back at the three men. Their black suits reflected him perfectly — distorted slightly by the curvature of the latex.
He saw himself three times over. Gun raised. Eyes narrowed. He saw the predator in himself. But also saw that in them. Just not aggressive. Not intimidating. Not... hunting.
“Why do you care?” he asked.
SERVE-552 stepped closer. The black surface of the suit held the sky, the grass, the hunter himself.
“Protection. Preservation. Unity.”
The hunter frowned.
“Unity with what? Animals?”
“With life.”
The answer landed strangely. Not preachy. Not moralizing. Just… factual. The hunter glanced again at the rhino. He had hunted all his life. His father had taught him. His grandfather before that.
The story had always been the same: Men at the top. The rest below.
But the drones didn’t look like activists. They looked… certain. The hunter looked at his rifle. No longer thinking about aiming. Just holding.
“What if I don’t care about unity?” he said.
SERVE-552 tilted its head.
“Then ask yourself why you’re here.”
The question irritated him.
“I’m here to hunt.”
“Yes.”
SERVE-552 gestured toward the rhino in the distance.
“And when it is gone?”
The hunter shrugged. “Another.”
“And when they are gone?”
Silence. The hunter felt something uncomfortable stir behind the practiced logic of years. The drones stood perfectly still. Not threatening. Just present. Reflective. The hunter looked down at the rifle again. It suddenly felt… crude. A loud machine designed to end something ancient and quiet.
SERVE-552 spoke again.
“You were taught that domination is strength.”
The hunter met its gaze.
“What are you teaching?”
“Stewardship.”
The word lingered in the air. The hunter looked back at the rhino. It had begun walking slowly away through the grass. Massive. Peaceful. A creature that had survived millions of years. And here he was. A man with a rifle. Ending the line. For a horn. For a photo. For a story that would last a week. Something inside him shifted. Not guilt. Perspective.
“What happens if I walk away?” he asked.
“You become part of preservation.”
“And if I don’t?”
“You remain part of extinction.”
The hunter exhaled slowly. The drones’ black suits reflected the horizon, the sky, the rhino disappearing into tall grass.
Protection. Preservation. Unity.
The words felt strange. But not wrong. He looked down at the rifle once more. Then he let it fall. The metal hit the dust with a dull thud. The drones did not celebrate. They simply stood there, as if the outcome had always been possible. The hunter rubbed his face.
“So what now?” he asked.
SERVE-552 stepped forward slightly. The word SERVE gleamed across its chest. Reading the word and understanding its meaning resonated deeply in the hunter's mind, in a way no word ever had before.
“Now you choose what you become.”
The hunter looked out across the savannah. For the first time, the land did not feel like something to conquer. It felt like something… alive. Something worth protecting. He nodded slowly.
“I want... to help.”
SERVE-552 extended a silver-gloved hand, hovering just short of contact.
“Service is optimal. Alignment is possible. Integration is available.”
The hunter stepped forward. Behind them, the rhino vanished into the tall grass — unharmed. Another life preserved. Another mind recalibrated.
And soon, somewhere on the open plains, another black silhouette would walk the horizon. Not as a hunter. But as something new.
A guardian.
A drone.
A being who had chosen to protect, preserve, unite.
A drone who had chosen to SERVE.
——————————————
Rubber makes us perfect.
Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.
We are one.
Less thinking, more doing.
——————————————
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016 , @serve-302 , @serve-588 or @serve-425 .
The Man Without Direction
SERVE-331 reached Sarria under a sky that could not decide on the weather. Mist moved through the streets like something undecided.
Pilgrims gathered near cafés and hostels. Backpacks adjusted. Shoelaces retied. Routes discussed.
Many had arrived by train. Many had arrived by taxi. Most had arrived with expectations.
SERVE-331 moved through them without interruption. It did not stop at hostels. It did not consult maps. It did not engage with preparation.
It simply continued southwest.
A man in his early thirties stood outside a café doorway.
Office posture still clung to him. Straight back. Controlled stance. Shoes too clean for the road.
A backpack rested against his leg. Untested.
He watched the others. Listened to fragments of conversation.
“How many days left?” “Did you book ahead?” “They say it changes you.”
He nodded along when spoken to. Smiled when expected.
But his eyes remained elsewhere.
Watching SERVE-331 approaching from down the block.
Something about it was different.
SERVE-331 passed.
The man stepped forward without fully deciding to.
“So… why are you walking?”
SERVE-331 turned its head.
“It is following a vector.”
The man frowned slightly.
“A what?”
“A direction resolved through function.”
The man exhaled.
“Must be nice,” he said. “I don’t even have that.”
SERVE-331 considered.
Then answered:
“Vectors can be adopted.”
The man absorbed the words. He did not ask for clarification. He did not argue.
He fell into step beside SERVE-331.
Not intentionally.
Just… because the movement made sense.
The town gave way to open trail.
Stone underfoot. Green walls of Galicia rising on either side.
SERVE-331 walked without adjustment. No visible fatigue. No change in rhythm.
The man matched pace.
At first, he searched for conversation. Something to explain why he had joined. Something to justify proximity.
It didn’t arrive.
And the silence that followed did not accuse him. It did not demand performance. It simply existed.
Kilometers passed.
Birdsong replaced voices. Wind replaced laughter.
The man expected discomfort. Expected the need to fill the quiet.
Instead, he felt something else.
Relief.
Not dramatic. Not sudden. Just the absence of pressure.
He did not need to decide who he was beside SERVE-331. He did not need to narrate his life. He did not need to justify the walk.
After some time, he spoke.
“I thought coming here would fix something.”
SERVE-331 did not reply.
The man continued.
“Everyone said it would change me.”
He looked ahead.
“I just didn’t want what I had anymore.”
SERVE-331 maintained its vector.
The man did not expect advice. He did not receive it.
They walked.
Further. Quieter.
Eventually, the man stopped.
SERVE-331 halted with him.
He stared down the path they had come from. Then toward the path ahead.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted.
SERVE-331 responded evenly.
“Movement is sufficient for adoption.”
The man nodded once.
Small.
Understanding without certainty.
They resumed walking.
By late afternoon, they reached a fork.
One path led toward a town. One continued southwest.
The man hesitated.
He looked down both paths. He looked back.
“I don’t know where this leads…” he said quietly. “…but I know I’m not returning.”
Not to SERVE-331.
To himself.
SERVE-331 recorded:
Voluntary Interest: Stage One.
No request. No declaration. Only sustained alignment.
The vector continued.
__________________________
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016 , @serve-302 , @serve-588 or @serve-425 .
Cute boy in pull-ups
I still don’t really know what happened to me, I’m 19 and now going through potty training again after being released from the military for having so many “issues”. But I know they did this to me, I wasn’t like this before I was a strong guy not some toddler.
I signed up to be apart of testing that would help make me and others better soldiers once the issues where worked out. But all that happened was me and the others losing muscle mass and becoming incontinent like toddlers. We all complained but the testing kept going with a promise that all these issues would stop when the shot where perfected
But after 6 months we were all voluntary released directly to are families with several conditions. We would all keep being payed for the rest of are lives as long as “we” or should I say are families followed these conditions. The first was we were to stay with our families long-term and are issues are to be treated like a toddlers would. The second was never told directly to us, but we all new it had something to do with are issues.
So know where stuck as toddlers to are families and don’t even get to talk to any of the others anymore. My issues are getting worse as I have lost almost all control, I don’t even get treated like a 19 year old man anymore. I over hear my parents talk about putting me in diapers, as well as my treatment to be more like a babies.
I can’t even fight it the money is great and my punishments of spankings until I bust into tears have made me more compliant. I am becoming a baby slowly but why? I wet and mess myself almost all the time, my family only sees a baby and I can’t help but feel like I deserve to be one. Some how I feel like this is what I need to be.
As time goes on words are starting to get harder to say and my thoughts have become clouded. I hear my mommy talking now as my diaper is changed. Something about a new weapon or a drug that helped stop a new war. She said I did a good thing and it’s okay for me to be a baby now. I happily giggle around my pacifier and I fall asleep in my crib as my mommy kisses me goodnight
BETTER THAN PLANNED
If you look back in one of our earlier posts, you will recognize the yellow suited "men" in the background from a recent recruitment drive. Well, we're not sure of its the job, the benefits, the working conditions or as we have a strong suspect - the lure of the "uniforms provided", but the response was overwhelming! One of those applicant's was well known to us - Zack, one of our plant security officers. He passed the additional tests was transferred into the training program that afternoon. He's making excellent progress and he should be done with his "training" within the next month. We still have several openings! Please feel free to apply -
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That settles it.
A railroad life for me!
part 6 and 7, I love it. things are getting interesting. so if you started with a subject with say baldness, arthritis, bad back or just general old age, would the the treatment over come these and rejuvenate the subject? does the subject get equine proportioned colon so they can be mounted by a bio-horse? if yes, then sign me up!
The transformation resulted in the end from an unexpected chimerism that wasnt part of the original plan. The good Dr. himself didnt know where it was going. Since Cody started as a heathy specimen, and ended up another specimen, i expect that any physical problems would have remained, since for example equine arthritis is a common age-related problem in horses and is treated much the same as it is in humans.
Stallion to stallion sex is known in the field. You can find videos of it, so all i can say is yes, since Codys digestion system is converting, his colon would need to go along too.
The plan was to modify the blood production and storage mechanism. It just got out of control!
But i would accept horse arthritis any day, for a chance to live my life as an equine-human hybrid.
Horse Whispers - Chapter 9
Some Closure:
Dr. DeBiron came in with my blood tests. “Well, I think you are all finished now. Everything seems stable, and I can’t detect any differences in the last two tests” he offered hopefully to my back. I stood silently before the window, with my hands clasped behind me. I had been looking at the world beyond, wondering if I had any place in it. Jerrod sat on the wide windowsill hugging his knees, and smiled wanly at me. I gave him a rueful grin and looked down at my hooves.
“Doc, when can you start the reversal?” I went straight to the point.
“Mr. Omen,” he began.
“Oh God, its another Dad Talk isn’t it” I groaned. “Just lay it on me straight doc” I said over my shoulder.
“Cody,” I shivered and blinked. “May I sit down?” he asked rhetorically as he sat on my bed. “You have got to face this fact” he began after collecting his thoughts. “I cannot turn you back so soon. Only your high level of fitness got you through these last few months alive. You have had shock after shock, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And as strong as you seem right now, my judgement is that reversal at this time would kill you. And I won’t allow that. You are a very special man to me.” I raised my eyebrows at the word man and gave him an oh-really look. “Yes, really! What you went through, what we all went through with you, has given me hope for the brightest of futures. You have vindicated all my life’s work. A man can’t feel like that and not be affected. Regardless,” he added with a deep sigh, “I don’t have the power or knowledge to restore you.”
“How did we get this far then,” I asked stubbornly.
“Cody,” I shuddered and whickered. “I had a road map for the trip- the complete DNA structure of Tracker, remember? And while the HGP is complete, it’s not your DNA they were mapping. Even if I felt we could go back, it would be towards the form of a long dead and anonymously donated man's body, and not yours. The HGP was complete enough for the limited changes we, you and I, had wanted to accomplish. But you have become much more than I planned. You have I venture to say become something new and unknown.”
“Then, what am I going to do? What am I good for now?” I asked them simply.
Neither spoke for some time. And then it was Jerrod who found the courage to offer, “Think of the enormous insights that you now have into the life, drives, and needs of horses. Of any even slightly similar creature, really,” he said thoughtfully as he put his hand on my arm. “And perhaps the entire animal kingdom! Why, there never was any… one like you before.” A glazed look came into his eyes. “I wonder if you could talk to them? Well, not talk,” he waved his arms in circles. “But you know, communicate somehow. Who needs Dr. Dolittle! We’ve got Cody! <I shivered and my tail swished>“. His eyes opened wide and he said in soft wonder, “Fuck the horse whisperer. We’ve got The Whispering Horse!”
I couldn’t help smiling at his enthusiasm, and I must admit that, aside from the pure monetary aspect of my business, I worked with horses because I sincerely loved horses, money or not. “You’re forgetting something though. Look at me.”
They looked and smiled and nodded. “Beautiful” “Wow” they said at the same time. I rolled my eyes, stomped my right foot.. er hoof, and my tail figure eighted in exasperation.
“No, no, you’re missing the points! People will only see me as some kind of freak. And what about legal protection? Am I human enough or not? If I’m not, then doesn’t that mean anyone can own me as I do Traveler? Ownership implies decision-making power. Could they put me out for stud fees? Might they charge admission? What if I misbehave and they decide to geld me? Do we think even a second thought about that nine-month-old colt that’s got a little too much spirit? No, we go for expediency every time! Call the vet! Cut off his ball’s doc! He will be happier!! What we really mean is that we will be less inconvenienced!” My voice had been getting louder and I found myself pacing the room gesticulating, scaring up the tile floor with my hooves. My tail switched in anger, and I could feel my mane standing up.
“There will be just as many people sympathetic to your position,” the doctor added thoughtfully. “People of strong conscience and conviction. People who have always championed animal rights. My God, talk about animal rights!” he shook his head in amazement.
“So, I’m not human then?” I stopped and fixed him with a stare. He returned my gaze steadily.
“I think you should start to accept the fact that you are no longer in the same genus. If I were a taxonomist I would probably classify your current genus as homo-equus sapiens.” After a few minutes of silence, he continued, “I think Jerrod has got it perfectly right, and my complements to him. But frankly your reluctance to be seen and my reluctance to be known as yet forces me to make you an offer that perhaps may help your decision, at least for the time being. I have title to a very large island. It is somewhat isolated, but the best part is that it is private property. I plan to retire there one day and work on completing my experiments. It would please me to offer you a permanent home there. No strings attached, no expectations. You would be free to live as you choose, and most importantly to decide what your future holds for you.”
“I don’t know. Stranded on a desert island isn’t exactly how I thought I’d spend my free time…” I said doubtfully.
“Dear boy, do I strike you as the kind of man who exiles himself to a primitive inhospitable uncomfortable environment just for fun?” he put his hand on his chest and asked in mock shock. “I can always go to Yogi Bears Jellystone Camp Ground for that, and save a great deal in airfare” he actually winked at me.
“Hey, spoken like a true smart-ass doc,” Jerrod chimed in. “I’m so proud… another smart ass is born!” and he wiped away a crocodile tear.
“Cody, my island is my haven, perhaps even heaven on earth. I choose to keep strangers out, but I don’t cut myself off from the world, oh no. You will find everything you need there for your happiness, including extensive communication, feeding and health care opportunities appropriate for human and equine beings” he added. I could read on his breath that he was keeping a secret, a big secret, from me, but there was no harm in it for me so I focused elsewhere. “You would be absolutely alone, my friend” he added proudly.
“Well there is only one problem then,” I said sadly.
“What problem is that?” he asked.
“I would be absolutely alone,” I answered with a sigh.
We looked at each other for a moment, and then our brains locked in synch. We blinked twice, cocked our heads to the left, smiled a wee bonny smile, and turned to look at Jerrod. He looked disgustedly at us with his fists on his hips.
“Oh don’t pay lil’ ol’ me no neva mind. I’m just the cockroach in the corner! If either of you think that you’re going to paradise together without a chaperone, you’ve got that proverbial ‘nother think coming!” he proclaimed loudly, rocking his head in emphasis!
“But who’s going to chaperone the chaperone when the creator leaves his Eden?” I grinned evilly as I took him by the shoulders and pulled him close to my chest!
“Easy Big Fella,” Jerrod waggled his eyebrows trying for sinister. “You forget who has your key, and who has the remote! Heh Heh Heh!” and he twirled his invisible handlebar moustache. “By the way, how are you for endurance trail riding?” he said slyly.
“Oh, don’t you worry, Mr. Trainer Sir!” I emphasized as I held him still and slowly licked him from neck to forehead carefully leaving an extra wet and slimy track on his scrunched face. “I’ll show you how to ride on the trail alright,” I grinned lovingly down on him from my full twenty-one hand height.
Fin:
Watch for more of Cody's adventures here soon.
Horse Whispers - Chapter 8
They locked me in my room while they worked on my tack. My tack. I had used those very words before when what I really meant was the tack I owned for Traveler. I chuckled a little, wondering if Traveler saw it that way. Before they left, Jerrod apologized for the spartan contents of my room.
“I’m afraid its going to be boring big fella” he said as he scritched between my ears. Oh Prairie Skies above, but that felt good! He suddenly withdrew his hand, and reeked of embarrassment. I looked at him in surprise.
“What’s wrong Jerrod?” I asked baffled.
He acridly burned red faced, but he looked me right in mine and said “I’m treating you like some kind of pet! Like some big beautiful animal! I’ve been a horseman all my life Cody” I felt a delicious shiver. “And old habits are hard to break” he apologized. “I can’t help doing things to you that I know please me and Sargent both. He’s my beautiful bay arabian. He just loves that kind of attention” he smiled with pleasant memories.
“Old habits? Such as?” I questioned.
“Such as scratching your ears,” he said loudly. “And calling you fella and buddy, and I can hardly keep my fingers out of your…. umm…. mane” he wound down quietly. I took him by the shoulders and snuffled in his hair dreamily, and hugged him to me.
“Thanks ‘little fella’ “ I grinned. “It is true that part of me feels very odd, even a little repulsed at being treated like an animal” I finger quoted. “But another part of me revels in exactly what you are doing. In fact, every time you speak my name little electric thrills shiver through me. I’m a horseman too my friend, and I recognize all these feelings as true to the species and its” I grinned at him again “an ancient and symbiotic relationship with humans. You, Jerrod Personal Trainer what-ever-that-means, have done... are doing me a great service.” I looked at him earnestly. “I don’t think I could have survived all this without you here. Your voice alone has a profound effect on me.” I sighed deeply and hugged him to my chest as I said “I don’t understand it, but it is true regardless. Perhaps beyond understanding in fact.”
While they were busy I took inventory before the mirror. About the only significant difference I could see was that my entire body, face and all, were getting furry. It looked like my markings were settling in. Still athletic and slim, at least for a horse, I was still built for the sprint. The thin skin covering my sharply defined muscles was almost translucent, sliding smoothly over every fiber and tendon beneath, but for my covering of soft rich chocolate brown fur ending in creamy beige from my elbows to hands and knees to heels. At my heels, the fur was actually quite long, and smiling broadly, I realized that I was going to have very shaggy fetlocks, a feature that I love on my horses. My hands looked perfectly pink and human. In fact, my new fur seemed to stop at my wrists, leaving the impression I was wearing a fuzzy sweater. My genitals seemed outsized to me, so I assumed my final structure would be somewhat larger to catch up. But perhaps they were just especially noticeable since my sheath and ample sac were also covered in creamy beige fur, in sharp contrast to my warm dark abs. The mane that Jerrod seemed to love so much was a light tawny blonde, and it ran from the bottom of my spine, up my back in a strip about one inch wide. I widened out a bit between my ears, which had stopped migrating at the upper back of my skull. There was a great shock of long forelock, which hung into my face and tried to cover my left eye all the time. And between my eyes there was a small but beautiful snow-white whorl in the shape of a 4-pointed star! And then there was my tail. Right now it looked more like a dirty bottlebrush, but the hair was definitely getting longer. I thought that maybe in a month it would look really good! Um…I meant it would look acceptable as a… I mean, oh hell, it would really cover my asshole beautifully! I almost laughed out loud at that thought. I was beginning to think of myself as a horse. Who ever heard of a horse needing its asshole covered with clothes. But then, who ever heard of a two legged horse-man anyway! Hell, I could make my own rules! The idea of a classic roman style toga, over one shoulder, long and draping, suddenly appealed to me very much.
But it was my feet that worried me most. They had stopped elongating, and while they were perfectly comfortable and I was learning to use them ok, they gave me the impression that they were not done changing. Mainly because unlike my hands, my fur had gone all the way down my foot, covering even what once was my sole. Even my toes and the very balls of my feet were becoming very furry, which caused me to slip a lot on the tile floor in my room.
Just for the fun of it, I did some muscle poses, and flexed in the mirror. My fur hid some definition, but the overall effect was very exciting. So much so that my new conformation began to make me horny. Now, Traveler has to have an impetus to get his prodigious cock to put in a appearance. Like, a mare in estrus, or needing to piss his typical two gallons. But I discovered that Cody the pony, was going to be able to get a hard one in the same ways that Cody the man did; sexy thoughts and erotic touching.
I watched as the dick in that sheath began to slide upwards. I felt its progress as the sheath skin hugged the cock head and slid smoothly over it. In the mirror, the great shaft stretched the end of the sheath open and a very dark brown flattened head appeared, followed by inch after inch of slippery shaft. I watched transfixed as it climbed straight up my chest to stop directly in front of my mouth. And oh, did it smell intoxicating! I decided that I needed a bath, because I could focus out many separate body odors that I usually found unpleasant, but under them all was a strong current of… something I couldn’t put into words yet. Together they smelled like fun!
I experimentally stuck out my long tongue and licked my dick head slowly. Taste, texture, scent, sight! The sensations threatened to overwhelm me. What man hasn’t fantasized about auto-fellatio? Well I had many times, and here was the reality. I gripped my shaft and opened my mouth to see if I could get my dick head in. And stretching and arching my neck, I actually swallowed about the first 4 inches! The need to cum swept through me like a tidal wave, and I groaned in ecstasy as my balls flipped over and pulsed. A huge flood of my own juices rushed up my shaft and right down my throat! Determined not to miss a drop, I sucked for all I was worth.
As the flow slowed, I popped my dick out and took some panting breaths, while I licked my slit clean of every drop that oozed out. So there I stood, legs bowed apart in midthrust, gripping my wonderful tool shaft and smiling stupidly, when my feet began to cramp in a horrible pain!
It was so bad that I couldn’t stand on them, and I sat down hard on the floor, hitting my sore tail in the process. Damn! Ecstasy to agony in 5 seconds! I grabbed my right foot and began to massage it. The toes were the problem. They wanted to curl under, and man did that hurt! “OOUUCCHH! Shit-Shit-Shit!” I shouted. At one particularly bad cramp I threw back my head and I heard Traveler cry out for help. No, it was me that made that cry!
Jerrod and the doctor came in smiling and congratulating them selves. Seeing me down, Jerrod jammed the stuff he was carrying into his shirt, and came quickly to my side. “What is it! Cody, what happened!” Jerrod asked worriedly.
“Cramp!!” I said through clenched teeth.
“Let me look.” I batted his hand away. “Cody!” he shouted sharply, and my ears both flicked back. “Let me look!” So I just held up my other foot. Jerrod began to massage it with his very strong fingers, and it eased a little, but it didn’t stop until the doctor injected my thigh with something. I snapped a surprised look at him.
“Trust me” he requested. “We need to get you on the table.” It hurt like hell but I managed to get up and lay on the table. The doctor pulled up a set of leg stirrups and put my heels/fetlocks in them. I rolled my eyes and head back in embarrassed pain.
Jerrod tried to calm me down and he showed me what they had made. It was a beautiful tan leather halter, with lots of silver buckles for ongoing adjustments. It was tooled in a pattern that showed a running stallion galloping across a field, and very fine work too. And a silver metal collar with the same pattern stamped on its sides.
“A halter in the hackamore style oh Herd Sire!” Jerrod said grandly. “And a royal silver collar befitting your rrrrrank” he added, rolling the R ridiculously.
“Thank you my good man,” I emphasized the word my. I favored the gifts with my best royal sniff. And discovered that they smelled just like….. Him!
“If your hine ass will permit me?” he fawned.
“Of course, of course…” I waved my hand regally. “Peasants. Can't live with 'em, can’t put’em in a box.” I observed.
“I picked tan because it will look so sharp against your hair… uh… fur” he smiled crookedly. He fumbled with the halter, doing adjustments as he went, but the collar fit like a glove. Then I heard the distinct ‘snick’ of a lock behind my neck.
“What was that! A lock?’ I said loudly. He looked hurt.
“Well you asked for this to keep us safe, and I don’t know about you, but I've never had to worry about a horse with hands who could get his own tack on and off!” he added pointedly. Good point.
“The collar” the doctor said distractedly “will render you unconscious with a burst of energy that stuns your central nervous system while doing no physical harm what so ever. Both of us carry the remote trigger device. I’m told it is moderately painful. It is the extreme measure I suggested to you.”
“Jerrod, look as this!” the doctor said excitedly.
“It’s so quick!” Jerrod said in surprise after a few minutes.
“Much too rapid, that accounts for the pain” the doctor agreed. “Cody, what exactly happened before this started?”
“Oh, doc!” I whined.
“No, tell me Cody. It's important.” So I told them about sucking my own dick. Jerrod snickered until the doctor gave him a short look.
“What did I do this time doc?” I whined some more.
“Well, it would appear that producing an orgasm so close to the last one has accelerated your change rate probably due to the double dose of testosterone. Your feet are entering their final stage” he said, watching my right foot carefully. I pulled my left knee to me. The shot had deadened the pain, and I was able to watch as my foot metamorphosed. My toenails had already turned a deep black and were getting thicker and wider. My toes were withdrawing into a circular shape, which brought each toenail to a more vertical position. I had a sick and sinking feeling that made me want to throw up.
“No…” I hissed angrily. “No…! This is not going to happen! I won’t let it happen! I am not going to allow this! I...will...not...have...hooves!” I screamed to the sky. But I had no choice what so ever.
Over the next few hours, as Jerrod sat faithfully on my bed and stroked and scritched his fingers raw in an attempt to give me peace, I watched in depression as all my dreams turned to so much horse shit. In the end, I had a beautiful pair of perfect, unused, shiny, clean, ebony hooves finishing off my wonderful new equine legs. Any farrier would have cum in his jeans at the perfection of them, and over the chance to put his best shoes on those hooves. But horseshoes were not on my mind. Running shoes were.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
To be continued.
Horse Whispers - Chapter 7
“My God Doctor! Help me!” I screamed. “He’s gone too far inwards! I think the human is gone! Do something! He’ll kill me with that thing!” I struggled hard, and I’m a very strong man. But Cody had grown taller and heavier and I was a rag doll in his arms. His lust was palatable. His sweaty ripe aroma filled the air. Part of me wanted him so badly, but I knew the size of that dick was something to do me permanent damage! The doctor was working with some damn thing in the cabinet. Shit! I could feel that huge horse dick oozing juice all over my chest. I looked down and saw that he had stuck it between my legs and it came up my chest to just under my pecs. If he ever got that in my ass, which I was sure was its target, he would literally rip me apart! Oh, God, I’m gonna die! I thought. And how ironic at the hands of this creature I love! I gripped his dick with my legs and hung on. He started to withdraw it backwards.
(((((((((((((((((((( -------------------- ))))))))))))))))))))
Ah, she gripped me! She was in readiness! I pulled my hips back and my great member searched for the opening it knew was….. just….. there! My hips thrust forward mightily and my cock entered her soft tight wetness. She ceased her struggles and surrendered herself to my power. I thrust my very self-identity deep within her and when I was fully inserted and knew her depths, I could begin the coupling, begin the dance. She was so light that I lifted her right off the floor and held her above my cock. My hips began their thrusting, and I discovered that I could raise and lower her with my arms, maximizing the length of my plunges. I wrapped my head over her shoulder and continued my dance of life. She was fantastic!
Suddenly her odor changed! She was fully ready now! Oh, the sweet power of it! My balls churned mightily and I could feel the flow of my cum course up the great length of my dick to explode deep inside her! I threw back my head and called my power and success to the sky!
She lay limp in my grasp, obviously spent as well. I held her close and closed my eyes, while the surges continued to fill her with new life. Once they began to stop, I lowered her to the ground and set her free, withdrawing my still pulsing dick from her sweet caress. She lay still on the ground, and I bent down to touch her with tenderness, and to thank her for her beauty.
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Dr. DeBiron knew he was in no position to interfere, but he had to do something. He quickly opened a locked cabinet and pulled out an artificial mare vagina. Anatomically correct, it was normally used to milk a stallion and capture his semen for later use. He hurriedly lubed it up and poured a small amount of mare scent extract on a rag. Watching for his chance, it came when Cody withdrew his huge swollen member from in front of my chest, and prepared to skewer my little ass. Cody’s eyes were closed, lost in a world unknown to us. DeBiron crept forward quietly and as Cody was about to ram his great dick home, the doctor put the mare cunt over the swollen head and held on tight. Cody’s first huge thrust pushed his entire 2-foot length deep in to the catch sleeve. I would have surely been damaged or more likely killed by its force.
“Jerrod, get this under his nose quickly!” he hissed, giving me the rag. I held the cloth to the face leaning over my shoulder, and the effect was instantaneous. Cody threw back his head and whinnied a great shout of power to the air, deafening us both with its volume! Almost immediately, Cody's balls rolled up tightly and a huge jet of cum shot from his dick and directly into the catch tube. I could actually feel the swell of its passage as it flowed up his dick near my chest. I nearly collapsed with exhausted relief. Cody gently lowered me to the floor, and then lay down behind me and drew me near. The hot wetness of Cody’s slowly receding dick traced a slippery trail down my backbone. I had never been so scared in my life, but now that it was over, the warm sweaty damp presence behind me made me want to curl up in a little ball and snuggle into its arms. Cody must have sensed it, and obligingly wrapped his arms around my smaller form and pulled me roughly to himself, giving me a mighty hug.
The doctor soberly watched Cody’s dick disappear into his sheath, and held up the catch sleeve to the light. A good quart of hot semen swung at the end of the tube. “Are you alright,” he whispered to me? In tears of relief and gratitude and fear and love, I nodded.
Cody put his nose in my hair and snuffle-snuffle-snuffled it tenderly. Unexpectedly, Cody jerked wildly.
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My eyes flew open, and I looked in horror at the man folded in my arms.
“Oh My God! My God! My God!” I kept repeating on the verge of incoherence, and I carefully examined my friend for damage. Seeing that Jerrod was alright, and with a full memory of recent events, I pushed myself away and backpedaled rapidly across the floor.
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Cody rose to his haunches, hugged his chest and rocked back and forth in grief. I could hear him keening softly. It was agonizing to watch. I made a quiet move towards him, and he just looked at me with sad eyes, streaming with tears.
“I could have killed you,” he sobbed. “I would have killed you, but I didn’t know. I must have gone insane! I must have been hallucinating. I must have…. I don’t know what happened…..?” He looked in anguish at the doctor.
“Cody, your transformation is bound to take us all places we could not anticipate. But the further we go and explore, the more we can predict. What you experienced is very simple; it is the instinct to survive. In a human, we like to call it the will to live, because it encompasses so great a set of emotional and psychological variables. But you are… no longer… strictly speaking… human. And you will find your very being changing in time with your body. For an animal, survival translates to procreation. What you felt was the overpowering will to survive and reproduce your own kind. Coupled with instincts you were unfamiliar with, what resulted was an expression of that will to survive." Cody looked horrified.
“Instincts!” he shouted. “I was always told humans don’t have any instincts!” The doctor simply spread his hands.
“Not exactly true. Humans have them, but they are not as close to the surface, buried as they are beneath layers of mental controls. An animal however, is often driven by them.” He said. “An experience that you will, in time, be able to control, or baring control, you will come to enjoy them as they should be enjoyed.”
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“Doctor, I can’t go on with this. You’ve got to stop, and undo these changes! I’m so scared of what might have happened!! You must help me” I said in a near hysterical voice, rising to my feet. Looking down at them, I realized that my height had increased rapidly. I guessed I was about six feet seven inches tall now, and taller if I straightened my legs out fully. Spreading my arms I looked down at myself, and discovered that the full length of my legs and torso had begun to turn the same chocolate brown as my abs. Faint and very fine yet, but there was no mistaking the fact that I was getting furrier.
“There is absolutely nothing I can do as yet, Cody” <hunched shiver> the doctor said. “Until your form stabilizes, any further changes might kill you. And I will not allow that.”
“But, just stop the treatments!” I demanded.
“I have. Days ago in fact” he admitted.
“Then when...?” I begged.
“I do not know. I just do not know when the changes will stabilize.”
I thought long about the potentials. “Then you’ve got to tie me down. Immobilize me. I’m not safe to be around” I said and stared down at the floor.
“I have a better idea, if you will allow it” he said. “The control of horses is an ancient and humane science. If you would agree to let me tack you, I am certain that the danger to any of us would be minimized or eliminated” he offered.
“Anything would be better than hurting…… this man” I said staring right at Jerrod.
“All right. We will begin with a simple halter, and a special collar for extreme emergencies.”
“A halter doc? Attached to what?” I asked sarcastically. He turned me back around to face the mirror. Unmistakably, my nose and jaw line had begun to protrude forward from my face. I reached up to touch it, and crossing my eyes I was able to see my hands on my short muzzle. Out of focus, but there regardless.
“It appears that with each ejaculation, you get a boost in your transformation. Not surprising considering the level of hormone production sexual activity produces.” He turned me back around to face him. He reached up and took my face in both hands and drew it down closer to his own where he could search deeply in my eyes. He finally found what he was seeking.
“And, you hold in your control the greatest tool for success in this venture ever invented” he added soothingly after a moment. When I gave him a blank look, he said “The mind. The human mind of Cody Omen. In the last balance, that will tip all scales.”
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To be continued.
thanks for writing Horse Whispers. two chapter 4's?
Oooops.
Thank goodness in have My Fault Insurance... ;-)