FSE

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Morgan whuffled. The rubber horse was standing in his nice, well-polished stall in the stable. From the dark point of his muzzle through the light gray of his body all the way to his dark point hooves, he was an image of a stallion, but with much of the knobbier bits smoothed out in the leg. His mane and tail were also black, but appeared to be semifluid, each phasing through itself rather than tangling together as he moved.

He was not a natural horse, obviously. Upon applying for a new position, Morgan had been taken to be transformed into what he was now. The management had the idea that the best way to have people know how to take care of horses was to have them experience life as a horse for a bit, until they could pass tests that horses were expected to do well. To be a good horse handler, one must first be a good horse.

Morgan had mostly lost any motivation to take up the position he applied for. Being a horse was just so much nicer than anything he'd do in his old body, in his opinion. He raised a forehoof, tucking his head down to look at the silvery horseshoe there. It had been affixed yesterday, prepping him for the steeple chase test.

The glossy stallion had baffled the examiners by eating the bars for the first jump rather than run the course. He licked his lips at the memory, before looking over at the door to the stall.

There were a few smooth round cutouts in it where he'd taken bites out of boredom and hunger.

A fox wearing a lab coat over a riding outfit, bafflingly, came to the door of the stall. He looked over the bite marks and sighed, before opening the door. "Come along, Morgan. Time for another test."

Morgan stood up straighter and nodded, tossing his mane, before he started out of his stall. There was no need to be rude to the examiner, even if he had no desire to pass the tests. Life on four hooves had been good to him so far.

The examiner brought Morgan outside of the stable, to an earthen spread of sod cut out of the grassy pasture. Sitting at one end was a plow with a horse collar balanced on top of it. "Stand in front of the plow, Morgan."

The horse did so, frowning a little at the feeling of the earth creeping up around his hoof on either side, compacting into the frog at their center.

"Honestly, Morgan, dancing around the pasture, staying out after curfew..." The fox lifted the collar and carried it over to the horse's head to ease it over his shoulders with a grunt. "I don't know why but I think you want to escape. But if you do that..." He walked back towards the plow, getting one of the leather ties to wrap around one of the fasteners on the collar. "We're best able to revert your form if you are here. Further away you get, the less effective our attempts will be."

Morgan was more focused on the feeling of the polished wood against his neck and shoulders. Despite the effort it took the examiner to lift, the horse barely felt it. He had heard this spiel before. Why would he run away just yet? He was being a pampered horse just fine here. Maybe when they were preparing to turn him back...

"I want no more slip-ups, or else you'll be stuck like this." The examiner was saying, crossing behind the horse to grasp the other strap of the plow.

Smirking at an idea that gave him, the stallion sat right onto the fox.

A muffled noise was all that could come from the examiner as he was suddenly enveloped in tight, warm slick.

Morgan shuddered, eyes wide. He hadn't realized that the fox would go in. His simple prank had turned quite more intense quickly. He wasn't really complaining, however, whickering and chasing the pleasure by pushing at the soil with his forehooves to help drive his rear towards the ground.

The fox was still complaining, but the vocal component was quite well muffled by a foot of rubber horse surrounding his head in most directions. He was squirming quite a bit, though, struggling and trying to work backward.

Clenching down, the stallion felt his shaft drop, swelling from pleasure rolling through his bowels. He stood upright again, legs dangling from under his tail, and looked around. No other examiners to be seen, but he was still quite in the open. He started back towards the stable, then grunted as half of the plow pulled to follow him. As gracefully as he could with a fox disappearing between his cheeks, Morgan turned about to bite through the strap, before cantering inside.

The examiner's booted feet wiggled in the air, the only thing still exposed. But they were fairly constantly sinking in. By the time the horse had gotten fully inside, they had sunk entirely out of sight. Morgan's barrel showed no sign of the extra weight or mass of the fox, though it was receiving the hefty slaps of an equine arousal.

He flexed again and again, having learned that when you had hooves this was a far easier way to self-stimulate. Morgan clenched down tightly around the buried fox, trembling as his hindlegs grew weak from pleasure. His slick, silvered horseshoes slipped on the polished floor and he landed in a seated position. The jolt to the fox inside him and rippling across his body set him off, the black horsehood flaring out as it began to shoot cord after cord of glistening white rubber up and forward. Most of it splattered the wall of the stable that stored the majority of the tools, as well as the stool stowed in front of the work bench.

A few lumps pressed out as the fox was pulled to a part of the horse shallow enough for him to make a visible difference from the outside, but a wet gurgle sounded from Morgan's barrel, ceasing the movement there.

As the stallion came down from his peak, he panted, instinctively flexing his shaft again. It was at this point that he noticed a series of strands connected to his flare from where he'd shot his seed forth. Mostly because with his flex, one of them had grown taut.

The stool in front of the work bench was suddenly dragged across the ground seat-first towards Morgan. It collided with the head of his shaft forcefully.

Morgan whickered in surprise that not only did this not hurt, but his shaft perfectly stretched to accept the large object. He bent his head down to look at his shaft as it sank all the way in, the large bulge vanishing as it passed into his body. He could feel his sac swell, but it hardly appeared to even pulse to his eye. He looked from the strands to the wall, and flexed again.

Tool after tool was yanked from their mount on the wall, clattering across the stable floor to follow the stool.

Morgan threw his head back and brayed as his shaft fed on everything it had ensnared in sequence... Definitely had to slip out of the facility tonight. No way was he giving up this new life.