FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Here we are," the stoat rideshare driver said as he pulled the car around to the building's front entrance.

The tall, snowflake-patterned Appaloosa horse crammed in the Prius's backseat took a deep breath before he looked through the window at his destination.

The Lespri Running Partners Training Hub was an incredible complex of glass and steel; Paul could see the giant indoor track through the enormous wall of windows, and the front doors gleamed invitingly.

His heart hammered in his chest--he'd been counting down the days, hours, and minutes until today, this moment. Part of him still couldn't process that he'd actually been selected for professional coaching and representation, especially by Lespri Running Partners. LRP was one of the most prestigious athletic management firms in the country for runners; they'd produced legends like Desmond Harbert, who'd set two new world records for steeplechase, and Umazi Mitsugi, who had won the Pendleton Ultra Marathon four times in a row. They and so many others had walked through the doors and run on the track that Paul was looking at now from the backseat of his Ryde car. To someone like Paul--who'd grown up in a podunk little town like Buenaview and idolized Harbert and Mitsugi from the moment he first saw them on TV, who'd been desperate to get out into the world and be seen by someone who could recognize his talent for running, and who'd had to scrimp and save for every racing opportunity he could get--getting coached and managed by a firm like Lespri was the stuff of dreams.

"Thanks," Paul heard himself say as he pushed open the Prius's back door and unfolded himself from the seat. Still in a daze of disbelief and nerves, he watched the stoat drive off, leaving him behind on the sidewalk.

Paul turned back to the SRP facility's doors--he'd seen the firm's logo so many times on TV, on sponsorship walls, on their website, on business cards...and now, here he was, seeing it in person, being welcomed inside by it. He ran a hand through his white mane before he shook himself from his reverie; he was actually here! After all the work he'd put in, all the sweat, all the training, all the races he'd pushed himself through to win, he'd made it to Day 1 of his new life--everything was going to change for him, and it all started here.

The horse pushed through the doors to the impressive lobby. The subway tile and concrete walls were adorned with pictures of various running stars--the best of the best, all with multiple gold medals and records to their names. The faint scent of sandalwood drifted through the space, and soft rock music played over the speakers, the sound mixing with the light bubbling wash of the water feature in the middle of the lobby. Paul started to approach the wide, white granite front desk, preparing himself to speak to one of the receptionists, to tell them who he was, why he was there, who he needed to meet with...

"Paul! Hey, there you are, son!"

Paul stopped in his tracks and looked in the direction of the voice that had called for him: In the waiting area, a muscular bull who wore a Lespri-branded red polo and black shorts and held a brown leather padfolio had pushed himself up from one of the cushy chairs. Paul recognized him immediately and walked over to meet the bull who approached him with an outstretched hand.

"Mist--Coach Kale!" Paul corrected himself, sliding his hand into the bull's broad, warm grip.

After Paul had accepted Lespri's offer and signed his contract, he'd been paired with Kale for coaching and management; the black-furred bull had over 20 years of experience turning potential into tangible victories at the finish line. Paul had been shocked to learn that the man who had coached Esteban Montero to take the coveted Juniper Cup twice (even once was practically unheard of) would be coaching him--he'd even asked his offer liaison to repeat herself to make sure he hadn't misheard Kale's name. And here he was, shaking Paul's hand like it was nothing.

"Glad to have you on board. Welcome to the Training Hub. How're you doing? Feeling good?" Coach Kale asked, smirking at Paul's awestruck expression.

"I--yeah, it's...a lot to take in," Paul managed to say, numbly continuing the handshake. "You've always been a real insp--I mean, I can't even tell you--all of this, and you, and it's just..."

"Easy there, bud, take a breath," Kale said genially, releasing Paul's hand. "You good on fluids and everything?"

"Sorry, I...yep, all set," Paul replied, forcing himself to stay even-keeled and not start freaking out like a fanboy.

"Need to use the bathroom?"

"Nope, I'm good."

"Pinch yourself yet?"

It took Paul a second to get the joke--when it landed, he snorted and nodded.

"Yeah, it's all real, all happening," Kale told him. He patted Paul's shoulder with the padfolio. "My advice, don't take it too seriously. This isn't the serious stuff right here--we'll get to that when we start your training. In the meantime, how about we get moving? We've got a lot of ground to cover."

"Sounds good to me."

Kale motioned for Paul to follow him, and he led the way from the lobby to one of the back hallways.

"I'll show you around first, that's the easy part. I've got your official orientation and welcome pack in my office; you won't be needing it just yet, that's got your training schedule, diet regimen, fitness tracker, corporate swag and standards, public relations materials, all that good shit," Kale said as he and Paul walked through the halls, passing offices and conference rooms along the way. He gestured at the workers in their more formal attire and continued, "A lot of these folks, you won't even meet, they'll just put stuff together for you; mainly your press guidelines and approved interview questions and answers, and we've also got an intern somewhere who's going to manage your social media accounts. You don't have to worry about any of that. For the most part, it's going to be just you and me working together."

"Sounds great," Paul said, his eyes flitting over the offices and the people within them who had their eyes glued to their computer screens. He followed Kale down another hallway, and soon the scent on the air shifted from sandalwood to sweat and musk, and more motivational posters began to appear on the painted cinderblock walls.

Kale toured Paul around the locker rooms, showing off the open shower stalls, steam rooms, saunas, massage chairs, and cryotherapy pods. They then stopped by Kale's office, which was in a row of offices next to the locker rooms, before they transitioned to the gym, where Paul got a good look at the dozens of industrial treadmills and weightlifting equipment. From there, they finally made their way to the large indoor track.

"Wow," Paul breathed as he stepped onto the turf next to the Olympic-sized, polyurethane oval track.

The atrium-like space yawned immensely before him, bordered by the television screens lining one wall and the wall of windows on the far side. The ceiling was so high and broad that it felt like they were in an airplane hangar instead of a training facility.

"Like everything else at the Training Hub, this place is open to you 24/7," Kale explained while Paul looked around the space--halogen floodlights and giant fans hung from the ceiling, an impressive sprinkler system snaked through the rafters, and he saw that the television screens on the wall were devoted to individual runners managed by Lespri; statistics and information about each runner flashed on the screens, ranging from current paces and goals to diets, training programs, and frequently played songs for training runs.

"If you want to run anytime, you come here," Kale continued. "Part of your contract with us is that you don't run outside in public anymore."

Paul froze, taken aback. He always loved running outdoors, and he didn't remember seeing that stipulation in his contact. "What?"

Kale smiled reassuringly. "We don't want to risk any injuries with you, and it helps elevate your profile to not be seen running on the street or at the park. You can still go for walks and all that, but for running, this is where you're going to do it. Plus this way we can track your progress consistently."

Paul scratched his chin, listening to Kale's reasoning. "Okay...makes sense...although what about training for stuff like running in the rain or high winds?"

Kale grinned, then motioned for Paul to take a closer look at the television screens with him. "The great thing about this track is that we can actually simulate all that." Kale tapped on the screen for Felix Warbuck's profile--Paul saw that the monitor was touchscreen capable, and a whole set of training programs appeared at Kale's fingertip. "Rain, sunshine, sleet, snow, high humidity or desert conditions; we've got state of the art systems at the Training Hub. Hell, we've got fans in here that can make it feel like you're running in a hurricane or a blizzard if you really want to challenge yourself."

Paul looked closer to see that Felix had recently run seven miles in freezing rain, and he shivered at the temperatures. "Dang, he's really pushing hard."

"Yeah, he's gearing up for a race in Konagrad in November, it's going to be brutal," Kale noted with a smirk. He turned to Paul and continued, "Really, the only thing the system can't do is set you up for running at altitude and trail running. On the bright side, we can hook you up to one of our oxygen simulators on a treadmill for altitude training, and we're not bringing you on for trail races. So, we've got your bases covered. Really, when you're not at home, you're here."

Paul nodded--so far, everything made sense to him.

"Any questions?"

The horse shook his head. "I think I'm good."

Kale clapped him on the shoulder. "Alright, last stop on the tour is also where we've got some important stuff for you--let's go to the medical wing, we'll get you checked out and set up to run."

Paul followed his coach from the track room to another corridor, then down another hallway until they reached an expansive medical wing. As they strode towards the unit's front desk, Paul saw a large bear in a lab coat and blue scrubs talking with a lioness in yellow scrubs.

"Well, well, well, look who's finally here," the bear quipped when he noticed Paul and Kale approaching. "Took the scenic route?"

"Had to show the newbie around, what can I say?" Kale shrugged. "Paul, this is Dr. Klineman, our head physician, he's gonna be taking care of you."

"Great to meet you," Klineman said, reaching across the desk to shake Paul's hand. "Come on back and we can get started with your physical."

Paul started to circle around the desk, but stopped when Kale began to follow him. Surprised that the bull would try to join his medical exam, Paul stammered, "Oh, I-I thought... I'd...uh...solo?"

Kale chuckled and shook his head. "If something's going on with you, I gotta know about it--both from a regular coaching perspective, and there's a clause in your contract that doctor/patient confidentiality extends to me, too. No secrets between us, bud."

Paul sucked his teeth--he hadn't been expecting that, and he didn't remember seeing it in his contract either, but then again, he hadn't read it too closely in the first place. But if that was the way things worked, who was he to argue? He sighed, then nodded, accepting Kale's explanation. "Alright, then let's roll."

Both Paul and Kale followed Klineman from the medical unit's front desk down the hall to one of the large, private exam rooms. The horse and bull stepped into Exam Room 4, and as the bear closed the door behind them, Paul saw that the gleaming office had everything a standard exam room needed, in addition to equipment from both the operating room and medical laboratory.

"Go ahead and strip down, then hop on up," Dr. Klineman said, patting the extra large exam table.

Paul glanced back at his coach, who had casually settled into one of the chairs as if this was an everyday occurrence. The horse shrugged to himself, then pulled off his shirt, deposited it in the empty chair next to Kale, and then slipped his shorts and underwear down his legs, revealing his pendulous balls and the wide, button-like head of his cock withdrawn in his sheath. He placed the rest of his clothes in the chair and, without further ado, hopped up onto the pleather cushioned exam table; the thin microfiber cloth under him made the exam table much more comfortable than the regular crinkly paper he'd encountered in other doctors' offices, and he settled into his seat while Klineman, now wearing a pair of purple nitrile gloves, stepped up next to him with an otoscope in hand.

"Just going to look in your ears first," Klineman muttered; Paul shivered as the plastic tip of the otoscope entered his ear canal and rested there as Klineman peered inside. The doctor hummed for a second, then took up, "I heard you took the gold in the San Claro Classic--was it as brutal as they say?"

Paul chuckled as Klineman withdrew and stepped around to his other side. "Yeah, the hills were no joke. 800 feet elevation changes, it was rough."

Klineman inserted the otoscope in Paul's other ear. "What's the distance on that one?"

"20 miles, which I like," Paul said before Klineman withdrew again. "It's not a full marathon, but still need a lot of endurance for it."

"I bet," the bear said as he traded his otoscope for an ophthalmoscope and then shined the light into Paul's eyes. "How long have you been running?"

"Since I was a kid," Paul replied enthusiastically. "Desmond Harbert was...well, he inspired me a lot. I'll always remember watching him take the gold in Breviken back in 2000, it was like..."

"Like watching water run," Kale finished from his seat. "Yeah, he was one of the greats. Want to try beating him?"

Paul laughed while Klineman finished his eye exam. "I don't know, that's a pretty tall order."

Kale shrugged while the doctor reached for Paul's neck and began to palpate the thick column of muscle with his fingers to feel the horse's glands. "I think we can get you there--you did a great job in San Claro; this guy was running 6:15 splits," he said proudly to Klineman.

The bear examining Paul whistled low. "Damn, plus the hills for it? Did you set a course record?"

Paul shook his head as the doctor's hands went down to his chest, feeling for any abnormal lumps. "Not this time around, but I'd like to next year."

Klineman nodded. "There's always next year. Okay, so far so good, let me just take a listen to your lungs." He readied his stethoscope and held one hand on Paul's chest, feeling the rise and fall, while he placed the cold metal against the horse's back. "Deep breaths for me."

Paul inhaled, then slowly released.

"Good, again," Klineman said after shifting the stethoscope to another location.

Paul breathed in, then out.

"Again."

Slowly in, slowly out.

"And one more." Klineman held the stethoscope against his lower back now.

Paul inhaled, then exhaled.

"Okay, all clear there," Klineman said, looping his stethoscope over his shoulders again. He pressed a button on the side of the exam table, and a motor reclined the back further until it was completely flat. "Lie back for me, I'm going to check your legs."

Paul obliged the doctor and scooted back on the exam table, then sank to his back while his ankles dangled off the end of the table. Klineman squeezed and pressed on different muscle groups--Paul appreciated how warm and broad the doctor's hands were as they felt up his thighs, quads, calves, and feet. He then lifted the horse's legs one at a time and rotated them in his hips, then checked his knees and ankles. As he felt the pulse in Paul's ankles, he took up, "What do you have lined up for him?"

"Going for the Jasper Crown for his debut," Kale replied while Paul stared up at the ceiling. "Then the Peralta Series, a Laufeyson relay, and then the Bellamy Half after that."

Klineman chuckled. "Get ready, Paul, Kale's gonna be the only person you see for the next few months with all that training." He sighed, then stepped towards Paul's exposed groin and placed a hand on the horse's pelvis, mere inches away from his sheath. "You alright if I check you for any lumps?"

"Y-yeah, I don't mind," Paul muttered, more to himself than Klineman, who smoothly reached between his legs and rubbed over his grapefruit-sized balls.

The bear's hand felt like a large, warm compress on his testicles, and Paul kept staring determinedly at the ceiling, trying to focus on something--anything--to distract himself from enjoying the sensation...but when the doctor started cupping and palpating his nuts, his cock twitched in his sheath. Heat rose in Paul's face as he felt himself start to chub up while Klineman examined him, and he bit his lip, mortified and angry at himself, when the first few inches of thick meat engorged and flopped over on his pelvis. "Oh...I--"

"Perfectly natural, no need to worry," Klineman said soothingly as he continued his exam. He rolled the fat horse nuts between his fingers and over his palm, concentrating on the smooth, plump, leathery scrotum in his hand and the round, heavy testicles he held. "And...all normal. Go ahead and sit back up for me."

Klineman retreated to one of the desks lining the wall as Paul, still embarrassed, sat up and slumped forward, subconsciously closing in on himself as the free inches of his cock lay against his thigh.

"Hey, it's fine, happens to the best of us," Kale said reassuringly from his seat. "Though you don't have to worry about that much after today."

Paul nodded and sighed. "Works for me," he huffed, thinking that this was the only physical he'd be receiving from Klineman in front of Kale--if he could just go to his own medical provider in the future and get his test results forwarded to Kale, that would save on so much embarrassment the next time he got an exam. He just hoped that his dick would settle down in the meantime, but the flaccid length was refusing to retract back into his sheath.

"In the meantime, got a couple more tests for you," Klineman said, turning back to face Paul with a cup in his hand. "Just a urinalysis and blood test, if you please."

"Oh! Oh, sure," Paul said; he slid off of the exam table--ignoring the blunt end of his semi-engorged penis the swung back and forth against his legs--and took the cup that Klineman held out for him. He started reaching for his clothes to get dressed again as he began, "Is there a bathroom, or..."

Klineman shook his head. "We both need to watch, so you can do that in here."

Paul froze, his fingers inches away from his clothes in the chair next to Kale. "I...what?"

"Part of the ethics clause in your contract. Any urine and blood testing needs to be witnessed by both a licensed doctor and your coach," Kale took up. "So..."

Paul looked between the two of them--both Klineman and Kale were watching him expectantly, and he felt his stomach flip. "Well, I...oh, come on, this..."

"Gotta get this done, Paul, it's just the way the game is played," Kale said breezily from his seat. "We don't care if you're pee-shy, or if you don't have much in the tank, but we need to make sure the test is clean."

A dozen protests died in Paul's throat--it was becoming rapidly clear just how much privacy and dignity he'd signed away, and he hadn't even made his proper debut with Lespri yet. He tried to form some half-hearted attempt at getting out of this, to not let two strangers ogle him as he pissed into a cup...but judging by the serious, expectant--though somehow non-judgmental--faces both Kale and Klineman wore, Paul realized that there was nothing he could do. He sighed and grumbled, then stepped back from his clothes once more. "Okay, fine...just...right here?"

"Actually here," Klineman said motioning for Paul to step a few feet to the left--the horse saw that there was a large drain set into the floor, and as he positioned himself to straddle the drain, Kale shifted his chair to get a better look at him while the doctor stood next to Paul, keeping an eye on him.

Paul unscrewed the top of the cup, opening the vessel to fill, and held it under his cock while he used his free hand to aim. Even though only the first few flaccid inches were hanging out of his sheath, his girth was enough to fill his hand, and he began forcing himself to breathe calmly and clear his mind, focusing on the task in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to block out the expectant gazes coming from Klineman and Kale.

Save for the humming of the overhead lights and the sound of the air conditioner, it was silent in the exam room for a minute.

Then another minute.

Then...the tapping of fluid hitting plastic and bubbling on top of itself as it filled the cup. It started as a trickle, then increased to form a heavy stream.

"Aaahh..." Paul couldn't stop himself from sighing--the relief of his bladder relaxing was just too good, and he looked down to watch the thick band of translucent yellow fluid gushing from his urethra and into the cup he held. The acrid, musky smell of ammonia filled the room, and Paul could feel the warmth of the urine through the plastic cup in his hand; in his peripheral vision he caught glimpses of both Kale and Klineman smiling. His dick involuntarily flexed--Paul's brow rose and he felt a rush in his chest--and the torrent surged out of him even harder.

In mere moments, he'd filled the cup to the brim with clear yellow piss.

"That's great, I'll take that," Klineman said, and Paul handed the cup and its cap over to him before it overflowed. While the doctor took charge of the urine sample and carried it over to one of the machines on the counter, Paul aimed for the drain in the floor, letting his piss splatter over the metal grate and drip through the openings into the pipe below.

"Forget about the fire department, I'll just call you," Kale quipped as Paul continued pissing into the floor drain.

"Maybe for small fires," Paul forced himself to say, playing along with Kale's remark. He didn't want to think about Kale or Klineman enjoying the show, or the fact that, on some deeply perverted level, part of him liked being watched as he was pissing. He could see the flare starting to form around the crown of his glans, a sure sign that he was getting aroused, but Paul concentrated hard on intentionally emptying himself out--he bore down, making the piss spill out as fast as he could. His flaccid cock grew by another inch as more of it emerged from his sheath, and it began gently throbbing in his hand. Paul groaned to himself; all he wanted was to get this whole experience over with and start running.

After another minute, the surge of urine began to abate, and Paul flexed the last few jets out of his cock; they arced beyond his aim, hitting the floor before trickling down the subtly sloped tile to flow into the drain. He sighed when he felt he was completely done, then shook the remaining drops off.

"Appreciate you doing that," Kale said, leaning back in his seat.

"Well, if I had to..." Paul trailed off. He started for his clothes, then remembered the blood test, and rolled his eyes to himself. He'd been naked this long, part of his dick was already hanging out for the world to see, and he'd pissed in front of two people; he could be naked for one more test, what was the difference? He rolled his eyes to himself and plopped back onto the exam table.

Klineman, in the meantime, had poured Paul's sample into the urine analyzer, which was currently spinning up the results. The doctor watched the measurements and statistics filter into the fields on the unit's screen. "Aaaand...all clear," he announced once the analyzer had completed its testing cycle. He strode back over to the exam table, picking up a test tube, venipuncture needle , and latex tourniquet from the counter along the way. "Just need to do your blood test, and that should give us the green light for any necessary medical procedures."

"Procedures like..." Paul began as he held his arm forward.

"Oh, nothing major, it'll depend on your blood work," Klineman said evasively as he tied the tourniquet around Paul's lower bicep and tapped the inner crook of his elbow. When he saw the raised vein he was looking for, the doctor held the venipuncture needle aloft and positioned it on top of Paul's arm. "Slight pinch."

Paul inhaled, then exhaled as Klineman slid the needle in; he inserted the test tube into the venipuncture housing, then untied the tourniquet with one hand, and the blood began to flow into the test tube. Paul intentionally breathed through the pinching sensation in his arm--he'd never liked blood draws, but he'd learned to power through them.

After a minute, Klineman withdrew the needle and swiftly replaced it with an adhesive bandage. "Alright, let's get this checked out."

"Mind if I get dressed again?" Paul asked.

"Actually, hang on for me," Klineman said as he took his equipment and Paul's blood sample back to the counter. He hummed to himself as he plugged the full test tube into the countertop analysis unit. The machine ran a quick diagnostic, then initiated the testing program as Paul sat on the exam table, lightly swinging his legs back and forth while Kale kept to himself. Klineman drummed his fingers on the countertop as the results came back, and he reviewed them for another minute.

"Great news," he announced with a grin as he turned to face Paul again. "Everything's good across the board--cholesterol, white blood cell count, thyroid, kidney function; nothing's out of the ordinary. And no toxins or drugs, either."

Paul smiled. "That's great! So I'm all clear?"

Klineman's grin grew even wider. "Well..."

Kale cleared his throat. "Almost--actually got one more medical procedure for you. We had to be sure you weren't hiding anything from us first, though."

Paul frowned, confused. "What is it?"

Kale shifted in his seat and rubbed his chin, studying Paul. "I'm gonna be honest--I've got real high hopes for you, I see a lot of potential. I wasn't kidding when I asked if you wanted to try beating Desmond Harbert. I really believe you can do it, we just have to work hard to get you there. I've done this with only a few other runners who had a lot of promise, and they all made huge improvements."

Paul felt his heart start beating faster. Something was telling him that Kale was leading up to something big.

"Thing is, some of the hard work means making a really big sacrifice up front to get those gains in the future," Kale continued. He sat up straighter in his seat as he went on, "Part of it is just from a basic weight perspective--lighter runners are faster runners. And another part of it is keeping your mind clear. We're all men here, we all know we're thinking with our dicks more than our brains. And to be better than someone like Desmond Harbert, you need to be using your brain more than your dick. So...we're gonna need to take it off."

Paul blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his ears. "What?"

Kale nodded. "Yeah, I know, but we're gonna need to give you a penectomy--chopping off that guy between your legs."

As Kale spoke, it was like the whole world was slamming into Paul all at once. "I...you're serious? No way, I'm not gonna agree to that, that's just...what the hell, how do you even...I'm not--"

"I know, I know, but you might want to take a good look at your contract again," Kale said as he opened his leather padfolio and produced a sheet of paper--as he brought it over to Paul, the horse saw that there was a highlighted passage, and at the bottom were his initials.

"I...wait..." Paul muttered as he took the paper from Kale. He remembered seeing the section header for the medical care clause, and he'd skimmed over some of the larger paragraphs related to insurance benefits, but overall he hadn't read the whole clause...and somehow he'd completely glossed over the highlighted section he read now.

"'The athlete's coach is granted power of attorney and guardianship to identify and authorize medical procedures to enhance performance...'" Paul squinted, then looked up at Kale. "What? You mean you...wait..." He returned to reading the rest of the paragraph aloud. "'Failure to comply with any and all identified and authorized medical procedures will result in termination of management and breach of contract. Any breach of contract is subject to litigation in a court of law before a federally-appointed judge, with the athlete responsible for legal fees incurred on the part of Lespri Running Partners, Incorporated. Furthermore, the athlete will be permanently barred from participating in any and all sporting events sponsored or co-sponsored by Lespri Running Partners, Incorporated.'"

Paul paused, letting the significance of that one paragraph sink in. "So if I say no, I'm...fired? And on the hook for paying for a contract breach AND banned from--"

"From every event we'll ever work on in the future," Kale finished for him. "Which is nearly everything you'd ever want to compete in, except for a local 5K here and there."

The paper shook as Paul's hand trembled from nerves and rage. "This...this can't be legal...this is extortion or something..."

"And yet our lawyers said it's okay," Kale said casually, taking the contract section back from Paul. He continued, "So, if you've got the money to pay the legal fees and you're alright with never running professionally again, then no penectomy for you and you can walk right out of here. But if you want to run, get rich doing it, and win more titles than you can remember..."

Paul gulped, and nausea settled in the pit of his stomach while his cock at last began to retract into his sheath--the thought of losing his meat was horrifying enough to shake off any aspect of arousal. But what was even more horrifying to Paul was the fact that he was seriously considering saying goodbye to the impressive tool he'd had his entire life...all for the sake of his dreams of becoming a racing champion. Never again would he pop a boner; never again would he reach into his pants to readjust a semi-hard chub; never again would he just casually slip a hand under the covers and tease himself; never again would he feel the heavy weight or the delightful tension of pulling down on his hard cock and letting it spring back again; never again would he enjoy the sensations of rubbing his hand over his preputial ring or squeezing his glans; never again would he feel the pleasure of penetrating any kind of warm, wet hole; and never again would he feel the satisfying throbs and pulses of shooting a load...

But he'd be a winner.

He'd be living out every fantasy of professional running he'd ever had since he was a kid.

He'd be making his family proud beyond belief.

He'd be walking and running in the shoes of his idols.

He'd be inspiring others.

He'd be a star--so what if he didn't have a dick anymore?

Paul's cock--still retreating back into his sheath, with only the broad, bulbous head still exposed--twitched involuntarily, as if reminding him of what he'd be missing, desperately pleading with him not to say yes.

But with the way his contract was structured...did he really have a choice?

"Then this is what you're gonna have to do," Kale finished.

Paul sighed and hung his head.

The bull clapped him on the shoulder. "I promise you, it's not all bad--everyone who's done this before has talked about how free and limitless they feel, it just takes some time. And we'll have ways to make it worth your while. You're still going to feel pleasure, don't you worry--part of my job is going to be to teach you how to do that and get you trained up to enjoy things differently. And hey, it's not like we're asking you to cut your balls off, you'll still have your family jewels."

Paul looked up at Kale again, who gazed down at him sincerely. "Legal stuff aside, if I didn't think you could benefit from this, I wouldn't have even brought it up. But when you ran the San Claro Classic and took the gold, I knew you were something special. I can help you be even more than that...you just have to trust me."

The horse looked from his coach to the doctor, who stood at the ready by one of the medical supply cabinets. Paul took a deep breath, envisioning all of the races he would sail through.

"Okay...let's do it," he heard himself say, as if from a long distance.

Kale smiled and patted him on the back again. "Glad you're on board, you won't regret it at all. And I'll be with you every step of the way." The bull looked at Klineman and said, "Ready to get started?"

"Gladly," the doctor replied, still grinning. He opened the supply cabinet next to him, revealing shelves full of surgical equipment, medications, mold-making materials, and a few digital cameras.

"Oh...so we're doing this today?" Paul asked with an apprehensive shiver.

"No time like the present," Kale replied as he strode over to the cabinet and plucked one of the cameras from a shelf. The bull turned to Paul with the camera in hand. "But we're going to start with some 'before' photos and take a mold of your dick."

"What? Why?" Paul asked as Kale motioned for him to stand from the exam table.

"They're both going to be for you--the photos can go into your scrapbook or album or whatever," Kale answered as he led Paul to stand in front of the deep blue medical curtain that also served as a backdrop. "The mold is going to be for a dildo for you; you're going to use it on yourself as part of your training program, to help you get loosened up and relaxed in your glutes and core."

"Are...are you serious?"

"Never seen better results than in runners who have opened holes and trained prostates," Kale said matter-of-factly as he held the camera aloft. "Good, stand just like that..."

After Kale snapped a few frontal and profile-view photos of Paul in front of the blue backdrop, Klineman approached with a full syringe.

"We got you flaccid, now we need to get you hard for some more photos, the mold, and the surgery," Kale explained as Klineman knelt in front of Paul with the needle in hand.

"Here's a small pinch," Klineman warned, positioning the needle just under the partly exposed crown of Paul's glans.

Paul took a deep breath, and Klineman pushed in, sinking the syringe into the horse's corpus cavernosum. Paul bit his lip at the sensation of the needle piercing his shaft and medication being injected into his cock. After another moment, Klineman withdrew the now empty syringe and massaged the underside of the horse's flaccid length.

"That'll get you stiff pretty fast, nothing to worry about," Klineman said as he stood again. He dropped the used syringe in one of the sharps waste boxes and returned to the medical supply cabinet while Paul stood still and looked down at his cock, watching...

It didn't take long for the horse to see and feel the effects of the medicine Klineman had injected. A familiar warmth and pressure began building in his loins, and Paul groaned under his breath as his cock filled with blood and spilled out of his sheath--whereas during Klineman's testicular exam, the horse's penis had tentatively peeked out and hung limply over his balls and against his legs, this time it was like a locomotive barrelling straight out of his groin. The shaft thickened up to be as girthy as a wine bottle, and all 18 inches of musky meat were soon swelling out of him and in the open air, gently curving upward and bouncing as Paul involuntarily flexed.

Kale whistled low. "Man, that thing's even bigger than I thought--where were you hiding all that?"

Paul chuckled nervously, "It's a neat trick, huh?"

The veins prominently protruded from the dark gray column, his preputial ring was like a donut wrapped around the middle of his shaft, and Paul was stunned to see his flare fully engorged with no stimulation at all--every centimeter of his length tingled as if electrified, the nerves overwhelmed with chemical signals from Klineman's injection.

Paul's cock throbbed hard from wide base to broad tip, and he gently cradled it in his hand, feeling the heft of the wide underside against his palm. He huffed at the sensation, the wonderful heat radiating from his cock and the smoothness of his hand against the delicate skin...it was hard to believe that he was saying goodbye to one of his defining attributes of manliness. He'd plowed more asses and mouths than he could count, whipped it out to jack off multiple times a day, teased himself and others with his tremendous tool...and he was giving it up. Maybe it was because he was so aroused, or maybe the medication Klineman had given him was messing with his mind, or maybe it was something else, but the prospect of losing his cock...now didn't seem as horrifying as it did only moments ago when Kale first told him. Maybe seeing it in all its stiff, veiny glory before having it lopped off, knowing he was touching something he would never touch again, feeling a weight in his loins he would never know again, pressing a finger against a urethra that would no longer belong to him by the end of the day...and yet he was excited. Paul couldn't explain it, but on some level he was ready and almost eager to part ways with his dick, even though he was enjoying fondling it now.

Kale, meanwhile, started snapping photos and getting better angles while Paul flexed his cock and gently stroked his shaft. The horse was so turned on that beads of pre began welling out of his urethra with hardly any effort.

"Give it a squeeze...there, that's it, keep stroking like that," Kale directed intermittently. "Turn this way for me...beautiful, man...almost a shame to have to cut that thing off...oh yeah, hold it just like that...keep still right there, that's perfect..."

As Kale racked up more and more pictures of Paul with his erection, Klineman had been setting up the mold-making materials he needed. By the time Kale finally announced that he'd gotten enough pictures for Paul, Klineman was waiting for the horse by the exam table with a long, wide tube of mixed alginate, wet towels, and a loaded silicone injector full of black liquid silicone. The doctor directed Paul to settle on the exam table again, this time practically straddling it as he spread his legs wide enough for his cock to rest on the cushioned table like a slab of beef. Once the horse was in position, Klineman expertly slid the tube of alginate over Paul's cock like a sheath over a sword, forming a seal around the base so not a drop of molding fluid escaped.

"Oooh man," Paul shivered at the sensation of the lukewarm alginate smothering his dick.

"Try to hold as still as you can," Klineman advised with a chuckle.

After five minutes, Klineman had Paul brace himself and lean back while he tugged the tube of now-set alginate off of his still-erect cock.

"Mmff," Paul groaned as his flare squeezed backward through the comparatively narrower tube created by his shaft. With a soft pop, Klineman pulled the column of alginate completely off of the horse's cock, leaving behind a residue of the molding material. Paul used one of the wet towels to wipe himself off while Klineman quickly set the casting negative on a nearby counter and began injecting the liquid silicone.

"We'll let that set for about 36 hours, just to make sure it's completely firm before we give it to you," Klineman explained once he was done. He'd cleaned up the molding materials as he had worked, and now was pulling out the surgical equipment he needed. "In the meantime, I think we're ready."

Paul shivered in anticipation. "And...everything's going to be okay, right? You're not going to take anything else off?"

"I promise, the only thing we're cutting is that dick," Kale said soothingly--he now stood next to Paul and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He nodded at Klineman, who turned around and busied himself with something on the counter. "I'll be here the whole time."

"And...well, I guess if you think this is the right thing to do..." Paul nervously began as a last half-hearted protest.

"Trust me, after this, you're going to be legendary," Kale said. "Just need to lose a few pounds down here--" he patted Paul's erection, which twitched under his hand "--to make you better up here." The bull gently tapped Paul's temple.

Paul sighed and nodded dejectedly, keeping any lingering reservations to himself--what else could he do but accept his fate?

Klineman turned back around, another full syringe in his hand. "How about you lean back for me," he suggested as he approached Paul.

The horse did as he was told, leaning against the reclined back of the exam table. His chest shakily swelled and shrank as he breathed in and out, in and out...

"There's going to be nothing to this," Klineman said as he held Paul's hand and pressed the syringe into one of the horse's wrist veins. He depressed the plunger as he continued, "It'll be a piece of cake. All you need to do is start counting backwards from 20 for me."

Paul closed his eyes, sighed, then took up, "20...19...18...seven..."

He trailed off as the sedative took hold, and his erratic breathing steadied and slowed to an even, slumbering rhythm. Kale and Klineman grinned at each other.

It took a few minutes for Klineman to lay Paul flat on his back and connect him to a remote anesthesia regulator, a saline IV drip, and a heart monitor--soon the horse was hooked up to everything Klineman needed while Kale arranged the surgical lights, rolling table of equipment, and towels. By the time the two of them donned their surgical masks, the exam room had been effectively converted into a functional OR, complete with an anesthetized patient for the doctor to work on and soft rock music playing on the stereo.

Klineman began by draping a couple surgical towels over Paul's stomach, hips, and legs, forming an opening in the fabric to frame his stiff erection. Kale watched as the doctor took up the loaded elastrator from the rolling equipment table and, with a gloved hand, squeezed the handles to expand the tight rubber ring hooked over the prongs. The bull had observed this particular procedure a handful of times, so he knew the drill, but he still enjoyed the show as Klineman roughly handled Paul's cockhead and slid the open band over it, then down his shaft until it was snugly embedded around the base just within his sheath.

"So...any plans for the weekend?" Klineman asked casually as he repeated the process, sliding another elastrator band snugly around the horse's penis, leaving a few centimeters between it and the first one he'd placed.

"Hayward and Ash have the Coulson Relay, so I'll be busy with that," Kale replied before he nodded down at Paul. "Otherwise I'd be checking in on him as he recovers, but I think he's going to be fine. He just needs a little adjustment period before we get to work next week."

Klineman shrugged as he replaced the now empty elastrator on the equipment table and took up a pair of retractors. "You think so?"

"If he's got the mental endurance to get through San Claro, he can do this easily," Kale said, watching the doctor set the retractors into Paul's sheath and pull to spread the opening apart for better access to the elastrated base of the horse's cock--the thick shaft bulged around the tight rubber bands that squeezed into the flesh and cut off the blood flow. "What about you, any plans yourself?"

"Just a little getaway for some fishing," Klineman answered. He stepped back and checked the watch on his wrist. The large, naked horse simply lay on the table before him as he turned to Kale and continued, "There's a spot on the Dialgo River I've been wanting to get to for a while, finally pulled the trigger on getting some camping equipment for it, too."

"Nice, are you going for just trout, or anything else?"

"That's mainly it, I don't think there's anything else in that area this time of year. But even if I don't catch anything, it'll be good to just have some time to myself and get away from the boys for a little bit," Klineman said. He shook his head. "I swear, it's one thing after another with them--school, soccer, this one's got a broken leg, that one's needing a biology tutor, this one needs to get to play rehearsals, that one wants to start driving lessons...I just need some me time!"

"Occupational hazard when having kids," Kale said flippantly.

Klineman rolled his eyes. "Oh, now you tell me. Thanks a bunch."

Kale chuckled at the bear's sarcasm. "Taylor's alright handling them while you're away?"

The doctor nodded. "Plus Sandy's coming for the weekend, so there's going to be some extra help while I'm gone." He checked his watch again. "That should be long enough, looks like we can get to it."

Without further ado, Klineman picked up the scalpel from his equipment table and firmly grasped Paul's cock--which still occasionally twitched--just above the elastrator bands. He leaned in for a good view, angling the scalpel into the groove between the two tight rubber rings constricting the horse penis. With the retractors spreading Paul's sheath open, Klineman was able to maneuver the scalpel without any obstructions. With deliberate strokes, the thin, razor-sharp blade circled around the first few layers of flesh, cleanly and easily slicing through them while the elastrator bands kept the blood vessels closed. Klineman watched the taut skin and tissue separate under the cold steel as he drew his knife through them, and he began to press harder as he circled the shaft again and again, precisely cutting through the denser corpus cavernosum before easily slicing through the empty urethra. The bear felt the cock's twitching and throbbing--the pulse of life--come to standstill in his hand as he severed the nerves and veins. Little by little, the girthy shaft leaned further and further back on the towel covering Paul's stomach, until it lay almost completely flat--only a few centimeters of sinew kept it connected to the horse. With one last swipe of the scalpel, the final strand was cut, and Paul's heavy, disembodied cock rolled freely to the side, still fully engorged and completely untethered. Klineman swiftly caught the stiff, flared, 18-inch column before it rolled off of Paul's abdomen and onto the floor, and he handed it off to Kale.

"Do you mind?" the bear asked.

"Not at all," Kale said with a grin under his surgical mask.

Kale squeezed the meaty cock in his hands for a moment before he took the cutoff over to one of the counters, where, next to the stereo, a desktop grill had been set up. The bull oiled the metal grate before turning on the grill, then placed the severed horse dick on the softly sizzling surface. Meanwhile, Klineman removed the elastrator band still encircling the base of Paul's remaining stump and began cleaning the wound before suturing it closed to form a trim and tidy opening around his urethra. The bear smiled to himself--he always loved finishing off a procedure like this with a neat package; while nature had originally crafted the cock he'd sliced off, he would be the one to make the new stub inside Paul's sheath, leaving his mark on the soon-to-be-famous athlete, something that the horse would have for the rest of his life...and he, in return, would get the perfect snack to tide him over until dinner. Klineman's mouth began to water as he finished tying off the last suture.

---

Something smelled smoky. Paul sniffed the air groggily...was he at a barbecue?

No...no, he remembered...

He grunted and huffed as he slowly opened his eyes; he was looking up at the ceiling, and his vision was blurry for a moment before the medications in his system fully took effect, making him more fully alert.

"Wha..." he started, but his tongue was too loose. Paul shook his head and cleared his throat, then tried again. "What...is it over?"

"Oh yeah, you're going to be a racing star," Kale's voice boomed jovially.

Paul shifted on the exam table and propped himself up on his elbows to see his coach and doctor standing next to each other near one of the counters. It looked like Klineman was chewing on something--the horse squinted to get a better look at what the bear had in his hand, and saw the large ursine was holding a large, half-eaten hot dog bun, and there was a girthy, smoked sausage resting between the bread folds. Paul looked closer and saw that the sausage had a broad, flared end hanging over the end of the bun...a flare that somehow looked both familiar and so strange from this angle...

His eyes widened, and Paul's stomach dropped when he realized the bear was chowing down on his penis. He watched, stunned, as Klineman nonchalantly opened his mouth and bit down on another muzzleful of cooked cock and bun--his incisors tore into the flesh, and the bear closed his lips around the bite, his tongue rolling the chunk of equine cock and hot dog bun further into his mouth, where he began chewing again, savoring the flavors on his palate.

"Mm...gotta say, you taste pretty good," Klineman mumbled through his mouthful as thick juice dribbled down his chin.

Nausea rose in his stomach, and Paul just had to look away...but his gaze fell down upon his groin, where he saw the result of the doctor's work: all that was left of his 18-inch manhood was just a broad stub, no longer than a single inch, with a featureless hole in it for his urethra. Paul tried to flex the remnants of his once-gigantic cock, and he felt and saw the nub in his sheath twitch pathetically.

"Oh fuck," he breathed--he could feel his heart beating faster and faster as the horror of what he'd agreed to sank in. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck, fuck..."

"Hey, hey, easy now," Kale said, stepping toward him with his hands raised, conciliatory. "Trust me, this is going to be the best thing for you. You're not even going to think about it when you're out on the track, and it's going to be the last thing on your mind when you're winning all those medals." The bull approached Paul and placed a hand on his shoulder. "How about let's get you up and out of here. Been a crazy first day with us, huh?"

---

Paul had been silent for the ride home, and he'd kept his eyes on his lap as Kale drove him away from the training facility. The horse couldn't stop thinking about how the bulge in his crotch now looked so much more...deflated. Flat. Empty. Useless.

Objectively, any casual passerby wouldn't really notice or comment on what lay between the horse's legs when he was wearing clothes.

But in Paul's mind, even the most far-sighted person would be able to see that he was a dickless freak. He didn't resent the choice he made or the situation he was in--he trusted his coach that if this was the right course of action, then it had to be done. But deep, deep shame was already eating away at him; how could Paul even walk out of his front door without someone seeing what was wrong with him? Everyone would be pointing and staring at him, laughing at him while he ran races, hurling insults at him, booing him, hoping he would come dead last...

"--and then once we finish with the intervals, we'll move on to more endurance training, I think that's where we'll get some really good gains with you." Kale had been chatting as he drove, his small talk ranging from his background and the weather to how he drank coffee and his hopes for Paul--to the horse, it was all just a buzz in his ears, nothing more than white noise. He'd said "Yeah...sounds good...mmhmm" occasionally, responding on autopilot instead of actually engaging in the conversation.

The bull looked over at Paul--his gaze had been glued on his crotch since getting into the car with him. Kale rolled his eyes. "Okay, I know what you're thinking, bud."

Paul sighed and finally spoke more than three words. "I'm just having a hard time, this is all..." The horse trailed off, at a loss for words as he gestured at his crotch.

Kale nodded. "I know, I know, it just takes some getting used to," he said confidently. He reached over and patted Paul's leg reassuringly as he continued, "But with the way you've done training before, I can tell you're a real trooper, and you'll get through this. Probably the biggest thing in your mind is your public image--I think I've got something that might help a little bit."

The bull swung his arm around Paul for the tote bag in the back seat; he grabbed something out of it, then dropped his find into Paul's lap. The horse stared for a moment, then picked up what the bull had given him. "Is this..."

"Yeah, just a basic packer you can use," Kale said as Paul squeezed the thick sock in his hands--there were more socks stuffed inside the outermost layer, to the point where the whole package resembled a flaccid penis roughly the same girth as Paul's original was. "If you want to keep up appearances, you can use that--personally, I think you're fine without it, but that might help with any hangups that you might still have and make you feel a little more...secure."

"I...thank you," Paul said as he held on tightly to the packer in his hand. He finally looked away from his groin and over at his coach.

Kale nodded. "I know this was a little bit of a rougher start than what you were expecting, and I promise it's going to be much smoother sailing for you and me from here. Training is going to be really good, I've got some techniques I think will really help out."

"Anything I should prepare for?" Paul asked.

Kale shrugged. "Not for now--we've got your dildo setting back at the Training Hub, that'll be ready for you in a couple days, and I've got a training schedule for you to use. I do expect you to keep up with it, I wasn't kidding about being a great runner with an open hole and a trained prostate," the bull continued. Paul's eyebrows rose in surprise, but Kale went on, "Fucking yourself on that model of your own dick is going to be good for your racing and for getting through the adjustment period now that all you've got is that stub in your crotch."

Kale turned the car down Paul's street as he took up, "When it comes to other training techniques, I've got some more information for you in your welcome packet, but overall, I like to do positive reinforcement--you do good work on the track or in a race, you're going to get a nice reward. And it'll be something you enjoy, I promise."

Kale pulled up in front of Paul's home, where he then brought the tote bag out from the back seat and deposited it in the horse's lap. "In the meantime, get some rest, take a look through the training materials I've got in your welcome packet, and enjoy some of the swag we've got in there. And I'll see you first thing on Monday--we've got a lot of work to do."

---

Kale had put Paul through his paces for four months, keeping the horse on the track at the Training Hub for hours at a time before switching over to weight training in the gym, then back to the track before cooling off with a few rounds of sports massages to keep him limber and stretched out. It was four intense months of running in simulated rain, high winds, bitter cold, and extreme heat. Four months of pushing and exceeding Paul's limits. Four months of training his core and upper body. Four months of dieting and tracking his pace times. Four months of sweating his ass off, replenishing his electrolytes, and smelling like he'd just gotten out of a sauna by the time he ended each day. Four months of working hard for his coach's positive reinforcement techniques and doing additional training outside of normal working hours.

And those four months paid off in the Jasper Crown. When Paul made his racing debut under LRP, he took the gold for the two-day endurance event: a 5K in under 16 minutes, a 10K in under 34, and only an hour and nine minutes for 13.1 miles. Every time he sprinted across the finish line, he heard the shouting, the applause, and the announcer calling his name when he ran through the green and white ribbon at the end of the course. When he stepped up on the winner's podium for the final medal ceremony, he could hardly believe the results he'd achieved--and there was Kale, off to the side, grinning and clapping and shouting his name, responsible for all of it.

After another two months of further training, Paul, Kale, and a few other LRP runners and coaches headed to the San Andros Stadium for the Peralta Series, another two-day event split into four races: two steeplechase runs, a 15-mile loop through St. Paloma, and a 400-meter sprint back at the stadium. Day 1 saw Paul take the gold in both the morning and afternoon steeplechases, followed by a round of talking to sports reporters.

"How did it feel winning the first two events of the series?" a Shiba Inu had asked.

"It was like I was flying over the finish line, and I'm just so thankful for my coach and all the good folks at LRP for helping me get there," Paul had replied from his seat in front of the press pool, paraphrasing the answer that had been scripted for him by his public relations team.

"Did you have any doubts about today?" a rabbit had called from the back of the group.

"I like to be...cautiously optimistic," Paul had said. "When I get up to the start line, I focus up on just doing my best and going as hard as I can."

"How are you feeling for tomorrow?" a lynx had asked as she held her phone up to record.

"Confident, and excited, I think the course is going to be a lot of fun, and I'm just really proud to be running with all of these amazing folks in the race, too," Paul had responded.

After the press event and a few final reminders from Kale, Paul took his time to walk around Janney Park, one of his favorite spots in St. Paloma. As he sauntered along the walking path, he scrolled through his social media feeds to see his name pop up with positive hashtags and supportive messages, making his heart thump in appreciation--he sighed as he walked, basking in the knowledge that everything he had done to get here was worth it.

Paul started Day 2 of the Peralta Series bright and early by winning the 15-mile event--only his ankles felt sore as he pounded the pavement, decimating mile after mile; he consulted his fitness tracker every few minutes to see he was consistently keeping a 5:40 pace, enough to keep him right at the 1 hour and 25 minute mark. He grinned to himself whenever he saw his pace; it had taken him so long just to break 6:30 per mile on his own, and now that he had Kale coaching him, 6:30 seemed like a snail's pace. When Paul was running like this, he didn't even think about missing his cock between his legs; the packer he wore snugged up against his sheath was significantly lighter than all the meat that he used to carry around, even when it was soaked in sweat from his crotch, and there was really nothing to distract him from going for first place. His sweaty chest heaved under his drenched tank top as he caught his breath after the last dash for the finish line, and the sun peeked over the stands at the San Andros track when the head race official laid the gold medal around his neck.

Still panting and resting on his laurels, Paul waited by the finish line to greet Oros Matumbe, a cheetah from Felton Track and Field Partners, and Jax Gillespie, an antelope from Onyx Running Group, when they came running after him for second and third, respectively. The next LRP runner to cross the finish line was Hayward, a Mustang who Paul had seen around the Training Hub--they had even run the Jasper Crown together, with Paul beating him out by a cumulative six minutes. Paul had tried talking with the horse whenever they passed each other in the halls back at the Training Hub, but Hayward had simply given him the cold shoulder. Today didn't seem like it would be any different: The brown horse panted hard with his hands on his knees as he glared up enviously at Paul, having missed the bronze by just 30 seconds. Paul smiled good-naturedly at his colleague, but Hayward simply shook his head and spat on the ground while he caught his breath. For a moment, Paul thought to actually walk over to Hayward and talk about the race, but the Appaloosa thought better to give the Mustang some recovery time and chatted more with Oros and Jax as they departed the track.

The final event was set to take place that evening. Paul had spent most of the day refueling and stretching--he even spent some time in one of the massage chairs back at the Training Hub. As he lay there in the chair, shirtless and luxuriating in the rolling machinery under his back and legs that worked out the knots and kinks in his muscles, he found himself thinking back on his short time since joining LRP.

It had taken only a few weeks to adjust to the new weight difference in his groin--the lack of the extra heft he'd been carrying around for his whole life felt oddly freeing, as if he was unencumbered. He didn't wake up with any morning wood, not exactly; his 1-inch stump would still stiffen, but it was vastly different compared to his previous experience. Where before he would almost begrudgingly rub one out so he could start his day, now he could simply roll out of bed without even thinking about attending to the little nub he'd been left with. Even though his still-intact, pendulous balls produced plenty of testosterone to keep his sex drive going, his training techniques with Coach Kale had quickly conditioned him to block out his carnal urges; his routine now was to work hard and wait for satisfaction as part of the bull's positive reinforcement program.

Paul grinned to himself as the massage chair continued working him over, and his stub twitched in his sheath; he was looking forward to his reward after the 400-meter sprint this evening. He just had to snag the win.

He'd also gotten used to his packer pretty quickly--even though it was nothing more than a handful of socks stuffed inside another sock, the horse counted it as one of his most valuable tools. It made him feel comfortable to look in the mirror and see the full bulge in his jockstrap and running shorts. Even though Paul knew it was an illusion, it was that illusion that made him feel secure when he walked out of his front door, when he went running in front of a crowd, and when he was answering questions for the press pool after a race. He'd even made a few packers of his own so he'd have a fresh one to stuff into his crotch every day, and he would swap out a post-run packer with a clean one as soon as he could; Paul could only go so long before his musk and sweat seeped into the socks, and while he personally enjoyed the odor, he knew it would be much more acceptable for him to smell fresh and clean instead of the stink emanating from his crotch.

All in all, Paul found that he didn't have much to complain about; he'd been winning his first few races under Coach Kale's guidance, his pace was on track to set new records, he was already starting to garner a good online presence, and soon he'd take the world by storm. All he had to do was keep up with his training.

---

"Ready...set..." the announcer's voice sounded over the stadium's speakers.

In the fifth lane on the track, Paul raised his hips and ground his foot against the starting block. He breathed in and looked up; to his right, Elias deJong, another horse, Oros Matumbe, and Azam Fareese, a hare, were staggered ahead of him. Paul knew that Lashawn Weaver, a raccoon, Kalil Odeh, an oryx, Jax Gillespie, and Justin LeFleur, a deer, were staggered behind him on his left, but Paul paid no mind to any of his competitors. He was focused only on the track in front of him.

BANG.

Paul exploded off of his starting block at the sound of the pistol. His legs pumped furiously to get into the rhythm he needed, and he and the seven other runners maintained their staggered distances as they rounded the curve of the track. When all eight entered the straightaway, the gaps began to close, with Paul behind Azam by only a few feet. 16 feet pounded hard against the polyurethane surface, and Paul breathed hard, in through his nose and out through his mouth, as the adrenaline surged in his system, urging him onward, faster and faster. The wind whipped past his ears and through his mane, and he started to match, then pass Azam.

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Kalil dashing alongside him in the third lane, working hard to keep pace, while Paul and the oryx outstripped Elias. The crowd in the stands was screaming and hollering, and Paul could hear spectators chanting his name.

The runners thundered into the far curve of the track, gracefully turning and catching up to each other as they merged into the final straightaway. Paul was now neck-and-neck with Oros and Lashawn, the three of them peeling away from the rest of the pack. They ran as a trio, trying to beat each other, egging each other on to go harder, faster, more intense...

In the last 100 meters, Paul's eyes locked on the white line ahead of him; he dug deep and extended his legs further, faster, as he huffed hard and powerfully swung his arms back and forth for the added momentum...Oros and Lashawn were beside him...then an inch behind...an inch became three, three became six--the crowd was screaming in a wild frenzy...and he was over the line!

Paul's interia carried him onward as the announcer yelled over the speakers, "And he takes the first round in 48.7 seconds! Unbelievable, folks, completely unbelievable!"

Panting hard, Paul finally slowed and came to a stop when he met Kale for a supportive embrace--the bull had been waiting for him beyond the finish line, yelling himself hoarse the whole time Paul had been running.

"Hey, there he is!" Kale said as he ruffled Paul's mane before letting the horse go again.

"That...was insane..." Paul huffed, catching his breath.

"Just have to wait for the second round, see if anyone comes even close to that time--you were flying, man!" Kale exclaimed. "You really were feeling it, huh?"

"Yeah, just...I had to get it," Paul grinned.

The bull clapped him on the back before Paul stepped away to group up with Oros, Lashawn, and the rest of the runners in the first round to shake hands and congratulate each other while the second round of runners took their positions on the starting blocks. Round 1 had been made up of runners with the top eight qualifying times, while Round 2 would be the remaining eight runners with the lower qualifying times, though they still had an opportunity to beat the pace times for the runners in Round 1. Paul watched Hayward settle into position on the starting block in lane four--the Mustang had just barely qualified for the sprint, and Paul could see the determined scowl on Hayward's face.

The starter's pistol fired, and the runners tore down the track.

"Yeah, come on Hayward, get it!" Paul shouted supportively. He clapped for the Mustang, but the chestnut stallion was lagging behind the puma, gazelle, and weasel ahead of him. Paul watched Hayward approach the finish line, the horse clearly giving everything he had, but a lion snuck up on his side and edged him out of fourth place, putting him squarely in fifth. Paul glanced up at the clock as Bruno Martinez, the puma, sailed over the finish line in first place for the second round.

"Oh fuck," Paul breathed, clapping a hand to his mouth in astonishment.

Bruno had come in at 49.1 seconds.

"And there we have it, Paul from Round 1 takes the win!" the announcer declared to the cheering crowd.

Dumbstruck, Paul barely felt the numerous pats on the back as he approached the winner's podium. He barely registered Hayward's resentful sneer as he waved to the audience and accepted the 400-meter sprint medal and the Peralta Series trophy. All he could hear and feel was the hammering of his heart in his chest as he held the large trophy overhead and photographers snapped countless pictures of him. When he addressed the post-race press pool, his answers sounded distant and dazed, as if someone else was speaking for him and he was miles away. His ears were still ringing on the ride back to the Training Hub along with Kale, Hayward, and the few other runners and coaches from Lespri, and he felt like he was finally starting to come down from his high as he cooled off in one of the cryotherapy pods in the locker room.

"How's it feel?"

Paul opened his eyes at the sulky voice that echoed around the locker room--Hayward was standing there, his arms folded.

"Sorry?" Paul asked.

"How's it feel, being a winner based only on dumb luck?" Hayward clarified with a frown on his face.

Paul's brow furrowed.

"Because that's the only way you could've won," the Mustang continued.

"Either that or...some really good training," Paul replied evenly.

"Uh-huh. Sure. If that's what you want to call it," Hayward said, dismissive.

"So you think a clean sweep win is just dumb luck?"

"Dumb luck, cheating, I don't know...but I think it's bullshit that you somehow magically got so much better since you got here," Hayward said acidly. "I know you were pacing out at 6:30 before you joined, and now you're taking all the wins for the Peralta Series? That was supposed to be my race, my win."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Paul said as he stepped out of the cryotherapy pod--he wore only his shorts and his packer stuffed into his jockstrap; to Hayward, the Appaloosa's bulge looked as big as ever, even after the cold treatment in the pod. "But to do better next time," he continued. "Work with Coach some more, do some more track training--I bet you can kick my ass next time around."

"I would've kicked your ass this time around if it weren't for whatever shit you pulled," Hayward said haughtily. "When we ran the Jasper Crown together, I was supposed to win that one, too, but somehow..."

"It's called 'putting in the work for it,'" Paul huffed before he wiped his face with a towel.

Hayward rolled his eyes. "Whatever...you might be hot shit right now, with everyone talking about you online and all, but when you slip up, I'm going to be there to take the gold."

"If you say so," Paul replied. He turned to look at Hayward. "Are we done here?"

The Mustang eyed Paul for a second, his gaze icy, before he stalked out of the locker room. Paul hung his head when he heard the door close behind Hayward.

BAM--the sound of his fist against one of the metal locker doors reverberated through the room. Paul paused for a beat, then shrugged to himself, trying to clear his head; Hayward was just jealous, it was natural, but having his win called dumb luck was just irritating enough to get under his skin.

Paul huffed again, centering himself, and clopped over to the bench in front of his locker. He dropped his towel on the polished cedar and picked up his shirt, which he tugged on before he looked in one of the mirrors, ran a hand through his mane, sighed, and then he, too, exited the locker room. As he stepped out into the hallway, he kept an eye out for Hayward, but the Mustang was nowhere to be seen. Paul turned to the right and strode down the hall until he reached his destination.

He knocked on Kale's door, just as he had after every good training run for the past six months and after winning the Jasper Crown.

"Come on in," the bull called.

Paul opened the door to see Kale's office--it was a swanky room, with the coach's desk and office chair in front of a large bookcase full of memorabilia. In front of the desk were a couple of leather cushioned armchairs, and a sofa and coffee table were set against the far wall along with a large cabinet and a bar counter with a coffee maker, snacks, and a few bottles of bourbon and glasses on it. Posters of famous runners lined the walls, and Paul saw pictures of himself, Hayward, and a few other LRP runners cycling through a slideshow on the giant wall-mounted television screen. Kale, meanwhile, was writing notes in his leather padfolio, his eyes on the paper in front of him.

"You know the drill, make yourself comfortable," Kale said absently as he continued writing.

Paul dutifully locked the door behind him and then proceeded to slide his shorts and jockstrap--packer still inside the pouch--down his legs and to his ankles. He stepped out of the garments and, now bottomless, clopped over to one of the armchairs in front of Kale's desk. He plopped into the seat and leaned back with a sigh as he spread his legs, displaying his groin. His balls slid down between his legs to rest on the cushion, the smooth and supportive leather cool against his warm, leathery scrotum and heavy testicles, while his short stub, barely visible, remained nestled in his sheath. The horse softly drummed his fingers on the chair's armrests, contenting himself with simply watching Kale, as he had so many times before.

Paul and Kale had started this little routine after their first week together--Kale had first asked Paul if he had been using the dildo as instructed. The horse had nodded truthfully; it had taken him some time to get used to the sensation of his own flared head pushing past the rim of his hole and bulging into his guts, but his stub had gotten as stiff as it could while he'd worked himself over. And after the first few days, he was sliding up and down his shaft like it was nothing; he'd felt his own preputial ring pop in and out of him, and then he was down to the hilt.

"Yeah, why?"

"Have you, though? I'm going to need to check," the bull had said.

Once they'd secured themselves in Kale's office, the coach had pulled Paul's sweaty running shorts down and directed the horse to bend over, exposing his now swollen doughnut of a hole. "Hmm, that's looking good," the bull had mused lustfully. "But how's it feeling?"

Before Paul could say anything, Kale had reached between the horse's cheeks and rubbed a finger over the puffed up flesh, eliciting a moan from the athlete. Kale's thick digit swirled around and up and down over the sensitive rim, and he could feel Paul's knees lightly quake. The bull had chuckled to himself, then removed his finger, only to bring it up to his mouth and suck on it, slathering it with saliva as he tasted the musk he'd picked up.

"Mmmm," he'd huffed around the finger in his mouth, savoring the flavor.

Kale had then popped his finger out wetly and replaced the slick digit on Paul's anus. But this time, with the spit as lube, he began to gently push, and Paul groaned as his coach's finger entered him. The horse focused on breathing and relaxing as Kale rotated his finger inside Paul's warm insides--the Appaloosa's guts felt like a wet furnace on Kale's fingerpad, and the bull stroked the delicate tissue to encourage muscles to loosen. Soon Paul's hole had begun to gape, but Kale kept up the soft, teasing strokes as he had said, "It feels like you've been doing a good job, too. I think you've earned some of that positive reinforcement I mentioned last week--with every goal you hit, you'll get a little of this, or I might help you empty those balls. I'm sure you've been feeling pent up, and this..." Kale dug his finger in deeper and pressed on Paul's prostate, getting the horse to nicker. "...has been getting some good attention from that toy of yours. But I think it's time I show you what you can do now that you don't have a dick anymore."

The bull had then crouched down behind Paul. Before the horse could protest about how sweaty he was, Kale had possessively gripped his glutes in his hands, spread his cheeks, and planted his wide snout in Paul's ass. Any protests Paul had been about to say died in his throat as the bull made out with his hole, swirling his tongue around the wrinkled doughnut and bathing it in spit. Kale could feel Paul's ass opening more and more, and he had inhaled deeply to drink in the horse's musk and sweat before snaking his tongue inside. The thick, dextrous muscle was like a snake in Paul's guts, spreading him apart as it squirmed over his warm innards, and the horse bucked involuntarily. But Kale held him firm as he pushed his tongue deeper and began expertly flicking it over his prostate, curling it over and pressing it down on the gland. Paul had moaned loudly as his stub throbbed in his sheath, and his balls had drawn up tightly. Kale had continued working, slurping and slobbering over his hole and playing with his prostate as he tongue-fucked him and greedily huffed the horse's taint before slipping his tongue out and licking his balls, sucking them into his mouth before letting them pop out again and he drove his face back into Paul's ass...

In the present, Paul's stub stiffened in his sheath as he thought about the first time Kale had made him cum just from that rimjob. It had made the horse all the more desperate to come back and empty his balls under his coach's care again, which meant that he had to work hard to earn these moments in the bull's office. Which, in turn, meant that he had to give 110% during training sessions and 120% for racing events.

Finally, as if he couldn't ignore the large bottomless horse in his office anymore, Kale looked up at Paul as he closed his padfolio. "Done! Sorry, just had to finish that up," he said as he tossed his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "So...how're you feeling?"

Paul sighed, then grinned. "Accomplished."

Kale nodded. "You should--there are only six other runners who've done a clean sweep win for the Peralata Series, and you're lucky number seven."

The horse frowned, which Kale noticed. "What's up?"

Paul started, then grumbled and shrugged. "Ah, it's nothing...just...coincidence, I guess. Hayward said I only won because of luck earlier."

Kale smiled sympathetically and waved a hand. "Eh, that's just Hayward being...well, he's always been a jealous little bastard. He's frustrated--been a while since he's had a good win."

"Well, yeah, I get that, that's normal," Paul said, scratching his chin. "It's just...I don't like having my achievement invalidated like that, you know? I put in a lot of work for this, and having it called dumb luck--"

"Man, he really got to you, huh?" Kale shook his head. "You've been doing this long enough to know as well as I do that there's a degree of luck involved, sure; the weather could've been rougher, someone could've been having a better day than you--but 99% of what you did was all you," the bull said encouragingly. "All the training, hard work...earning your rewards," he continued with a wink, which earned a chuckle from Paul. "You really worked hard, and it paid off. You should be enjoying yourself! My advice, forget about Hayward and all that shit."

The horse sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I know..."

Kale leaned forward in his chair again. "You're putting in the tough work to be a champion, and you're going to get your fair share of hate from jealous people. It comes with the territory. The sooner you find a way to get your mind off of it, the better off you're going to be." The bull paused, then grinned at Paul. "And now that's got me thinking."

Paul raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"I do know a pretty good way to get your mind off of all that and help you celebrate," Kale said as he stood from his chair.

Paul smiled as he watched his coach casually around his desk. He knew exactly where the bull was going--Kale made for the small bar on the opposite side of his office and opened one of the cabinets under the counter. Paul simply sat in his chair and waited, listening to the large bull rummage around for something...

Footsteps sounded again, and the bull stepped up behind Paul's chair--the horse shivered when he felt Kale lay a heavy hand on his shoulder. The Appaloosa didn't turn to look at his coach, he kept his gaze forward and could only imagine what Kale had pulled out of his cabinet and now held in his other hand. Was it ropes? Was it an e-stim kit? Was it a prostate massager? Was it a urethral sounding rod? Paul's heart thumped excitedly in his chest as the hand on his shoulder gripped him tightly.

"Now, what do we say?" Kale's voice asked from above the horse's head.

"Please make me cum, Coach," Paul whimpered, his tone submissive and begging.

"Hmm...are those balls nice and full?" the bull rumbled.

"Yes, Sir." Paul spread his legs even wider to show off his large testicles sitting between his thighs.

"Is that little stub good and hard for me?" Kale asked, his voice low and commanding.

"Yes, Sir." Paul could feel his stiff, dickless stump pulsing in his sheath.

Kale drummed his fingers on Paul's shoulder for a moment, pausing before he asked, "Do you think you've earned a cum?"

"Yes, Sir." Paul's voice was plaintive, full of need.

Kale chuckled, then rubbed the horse's shoulder before patting it. "I'd say you have, too."

Still standing behind the horse, Kale reached with his other hand into Paul's lap, where Paul saw that his coach was holding a magic wand vibrator. The horse gasped softly when the inactive vibrator touched the rim of his sheath, covering the tip of his stump, which twitched and flexed hard against the soft ball that rested on top of it.

"Ready?" Kale asked.

"Yes, Sir!"

"Good boy," the bull said just before he flicked the switch on the vibrator.

"Uuuggghhh shit," Paul breathed out in relief as the buzzing ball began pulsing into action. The horse leaned back in his chair as the vibrations thrummed through his groin, stimulating his stump powerfully while Kale held the vibrator steady in one hand and kept his other firmly on Paul's shoulder.

It had been so long since Kale had used the vibrator on him--Paul remembered he'd had one of his best training runs that last time he'd gotten this particular treatment. It was almost six weeks ago when he'd run three miles in under 14 minutes in winds over 40 miles an hour. Kale had been so pleased to see Paul's final pace that the bull had kept him in his office for almost two hours, simply edging him with the vibrator while also fingering his prostate; Paul couldn't recall how many times the bull had brought him to the brink and then eased off. Eventually Kale had completely gooned the horse; to Paul, there was nothing else in the world except for the sensations he was experiencing, the unbelievable pleasure wracking his body so much that he felt ready to combust. By the time Kale at last deemed it appropriate for Paul to cum, the horse's stump was so sensitive that when he brushed a finger against the base of where Paul's cock used to sit, a flood of white surged out of his urethra like a tapped oil well, spilling all over his lap; had Paul's cock still been attached to him, his muscle spasms would've turned the flow into a geyser powerful enough to hit the ceiling. Paul had been so overwhelmed with ecstasy that he had nearly passed out; it had taken considerable effort for Kale to help him get to the locker room showers to clean him up. Paul couldn't recall much from that post-orgasm shower, although one vivid image that remained in his mind was seeing the long, ropey trails of his sperm spiraling down the drain in the tiled floor.

The horse liked to think that he'd gotten better since then, that he could better withstand the pulsating throbs of the vibrator, but it was clear to see how susceptible he still was today; Paul was gasping, his chest and stomach expanding and contracting wildly as he leaned his head back against Kale's stomach behind him. His stump felt like it was shaking at the speed of sound, quivering faster than he could process, yet every rumble was so deliciously fulfilling, as if pumping him full of tingling euphoria from the tip of his sheath down into the core of his pelvis and prostate. His legs shivered as uncontrollable tremors rippled through his muscles. His pulse had skyrocketed and he huffed hard while Kale held his shoulder, keeping him in his seat.

"That's it, boy, you aren't going anywhere," the bull rumbled, his fingers clenching hard against Paul's collarbone and neck. He smiled to himself as he pressed the vibrator harder into the horse's sheath, smushing it on top of his stump, which elicited a fresh round of squirming from Paul. "You're going to sit here and enjoy it."

"Oooohhh fuck...yes, Sir," Paul moaned as he dug his own fingers into the armrests of his chair.

"I want you to remember two things," Kale said as he watched Paul struggle to control himself. "You earned this...and you asked for it," he finished just as he flicked the switch on the vibrator to the next frequency setting, making the vibrator pulse even faster.

"Oooohhh fuck...fuck, fuck..." Paul breathed heavily. He stomped his feet into the floor, bracing himself as he arched his back and neck, finally looking up at Kale's pleased face.

The bull gazed down at the horse; after only a couple minutes with the vibrator, Paul didn't look like the calm and collected running star he'd been when he entered the office--he'd been replaced by some wild animal, driven crazy by the vibrations radiating down his hard stump. Kale grinned as he continued to hold the vibrator in place, torturing the athlete who sat in front of him. He and Paul had been in this position so many times, with Kale teasing him, edging him, making him drip and beg for release until he finally came. Every good training session had ended with Paul's testicles drained, and the benefits were clearly visible; the horse was running faster, getting stronger, enduring more--it was incredible to see.

Kale could feel his own cock stiffen under his shorts; he always loved playing with Paul as part of his "training routine". From simple prostate milking to e-stim and fucking, the bull and the horse had covered many bases numerous times during their post-training sessions. It had been too long since Kale had managed a runner like the horse, one who was clearly destined to be both a racing star and a toy for his personal use. While Kale had a professional interest in the benefits of cutting Paul's cock off and using these kinds of positive reinforcement methods on him, the coach was more personally interested in how horny and desperate he could make the horse, how eager Paul could get for a large stud like Kale to breed him (Kale had lost track of how many times Paul had begged for the bull to fuck him), and how hard he would work for a chance to cum. The bull had played with a few of the other athletes under his management--even Hayward, though the Mustang hadn't been in his office for quite some time--but Paul, with all his potential, had quickly become Coach Kale's favorite passion project.

Kale's strong grip on Paul's shoulder turned into a light stroking, a gesture of affection and pride...which seemed to make Paul shiver even more.

"Oooh yesss," Paul hissed, leaning his head back again, and the bull's broad hand lightly rested on the horse's exposed neck. Kale gently applied pressure, holding Paul by the throat possessively, and the horse squirmed again under his hand.

"You like that, boy?" Kale asked softly, his eyes burning into Paul's.

The horse nodded.

"Mmm-hmm...and how about this?" Kale pressed on the vibrator harder, pulsing Paul's stump more intently.

"Oh fuck!" Paul tried to hunch in on himself, but Kale's hand on his neck prevented him from moving his head, forcing him instead to keep looking up at the bull. Paul shook and trembled breathlessly as he felt the pressure and heat in his loins rising to a fever pitch. Kale wasn't edging him this time; as the bull flicked the switch on the vibrator again to increase the speed, Paul felt like he was getting properly milked. Pre leaked from the taut opening of his urethra and made his stump slide and squirm against the buzzing ball tip of the vibrator. His low whimpers and grunts filled the room, and he bucked in his seat as he tried to contain himself, to make everything last just a little longer. Kale was holding him so dominantly, toying with his body so proficiently...he wanted to get used by the bull, this powerful stud who was the definition of masculine, with his strong muscles keeping Paul in place...

"Oh fuck, Coach..."

"Yeah? You having a good time?"

"Please..." Paul moaned--his hole was twitching, opening and closing as if it needed to grab onto something. The horse wanted to say the words, but the vibrations were too intense for him to get them out. He gulped, his throat undulating under Kale's broad hand.

"Please...what?" Kale chuckled. He flexed his cock in his shorts--Paul looked so wonderfully desperate, the bull was impressed he had lasted this long. "You want more of this?" he asked, raising the vibrator up slightly before pressing it hard back against his stump.

"I want...I need..."

"What do you need?" Kale asked teasingly; he could feel the heat rising in his own loins, and the anticipation was making him salivate.

"Please...fuck..."

"You want me...to fuck you?" Kale asked smugly.

Paul nodded.

"You need this big bull dick in you?"

The horse nodded again. "Uh-huh."

"Want me to make you cum by pounding your prostate?"

"Yes...please..."

"Gonna need to hear you say it all, boy," the coach rumbled dominantly.

Paul gasped and writhed under the bull's hand on his shoulder and the vibrator against his groin. "Please FUCK me, Coach!" the horse couldn't stop himself from emphasizing the "fuck" when Kale had pushed the vibrator into him again.

Kale chuckled again. "There we go...that wasn't so hard, was it?" The bull switched off the vibrator, but Paul still trembled, the aftershocks of the pulsations echoing in his stump. The horse remained in his seat to catch his breath while the bull placed the vibrator on his desk and then strode over to the couch, shucking off his shirt and shorts along the way. When Paul had recovered enough, he turned around to see his coach sitting on the sofa, completely nude and stroking his hard-on. Paul's eyes widened when he saw the girthy, fifteen-inch column of bull meat sliding between Kale's thick fingers, with a generous helping of lube making the pale pink skin shine under the overhead lights. "Well, what're you waiting for, boy?" Kale asked.

Excitedly, Paul sprang up from his chair and made his way over to the couch, where he and Kale exchanged positions--soon Paul was laying on his back, legs up and cheeks held apart, while Kale sidled into position between the horse's thighs. He held one of Paul's legs up to brace himself as he aligned his cockhead with Paul's puffy doughnut of a hole. He teasingly swirled his lubed glans around the delicate rim, making Paul huff and moan pleadingly.

"Ready to get bred by a real man?" Kale rumbled.

"Please fill me, Coach. Breed me, make me cum, pleeeease," Paul groaned as he spread his cheeks.

The bull chuckled. "Since you asked so nicely..."

He rolled his hips forward, gliding smoothly through Paul's entrance, spearing the horse on his shaft. Paul moaned loudly as he felt the bull hilt himself in the loosened tunnel--he'd worked over his hole so much with his dildo that he took all 15 inches of Kale's cock without any effort. But as loose as he was, Paul still felt so exquisitely full and accomplished with his coach completely inside him, his pelvis resting against Paul's buttocks and the horse's low-hanging testicles pressed against Kale's groin. Paul shivered in delight at the sensation in his guts; Kale's hefty cock pressed perfectly on his prostate, exerting just the right amount of pressure to stimulate the gland even more than the vibrator had earlier.

"Mmm, that's the spot," Kale huffed, luxuriating in the wet, warm confines wrapped around his cock. "Perfect hole for me to fill."

The bull pulled back, then pushed forward again, slowly starting to thrust in a deliberate rhythm. "Been a while since I fucked you...last week, right?"

"Yes, Coach," Paul groaned as the thick slab of beef greasily slid in and out against his innards, drawing out the soft lips of his anus before pushing them back in again.

"Felt so good bending you over my desk...I was hoping you'd ask me to fuck you again soon," Kale mused as he kept up his pace. "Seems like a good reward for winning that race today."

"I always--mmf--love when you reward me, Coach," Paul grunted, feeling the bulbous head of Kale's cock press up against his prostate again and again.

"You earn it every time...fuck, you feel so good," Kale chuckled. He thrust a few more times before he started picking up speed, filling the room with audible plap-lap-lap-laps as his hips connected with Paul's ass. "I'm almost sorry you can't feel anything like this again...a warm, wet hole hugging your cock."

Paul groaned as he leaned back and arched his back, pushing his stomach into the air in pleasure.

"I love fucking you with my dick," Kale continued, sweat forming on his brow as he worked. "That's the mark of a real man, having a cock he can fuck with. You can't--mmf--do anything with that little--unf, unf--stump of yours. But then--hng--my cock's the only one you--unf--really need. You like having all that bull meat in you, boy?"

"Y-ye-yes, Sir!" Paul grunted as Kale fucked him in earnest.

"Damn straight, you do," Kale puffed as his thick belly beat against Paul's testicles and jostled his stump back and forth. "Mmf...it's smaller than yours--hnf--was, but now I've got--mmf--more than a foot of length on you...damn, that's good. Been doing a great job--unf--working out this hole...perfect cocksleeve for me."

"Love doing--ungh--training with you, Coach," Paul groaned.

"Fuck yeah, you do." The bull's thrusting sped up, and he held on tight to Paul's legs to keep himself steady. "One day--mmf--we're gonna get that prostate on a--hmmf--hair trigger. Soon as I touch it--uumf--you're gonna shoot."

"Huuuh...huuuh...you've...ungh...got me pretty close...already, Coach," Paul grunted as the bull went faster and faster, vigorously pounding his prostate. The horse's stump felt almost unbearably stiff and tingly, and Paul could feel the pressure in his loins building again.

"Yeah? You like when I do...this?" Kale teasingly asked as he humped hard into Paul, targeting the horse's prostate.

"Oh fuck!" Paul yelped.

"And this? And this? And this?" Kale's cock was like a battering ram, slamming into Paul's prostate again and again and again.

"Uuunnggh...Coooooaaaach..."

If Paul's hole wasn't already bringing Kale close to his climax, the horse's moaning would've done the trick--the bull squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to hold back for just a moment longer. "You can...cum for me, boy!"

Kale rammed himself into Paul's hole once more, sliding over the horse's prostate and stuffing himself deep into his guts. Kale threw his head back and grunted loudly, his rising voice mixing with Paul's moans, and the bull felt the horse's hole rhythmically clenching around his spasming cock as spurt upon spurt of ropey semen shot into Paul's innards, coating them with potent bull DNA.

"Fuuuuck," Kale breathed as he rode the wave of his orgasm, instinctively thrusting a few more times.

"Huuuh....uuunnngh," Paul was moaning. Kale finally opened his eyes again and looked down to see the horse's stump drooling viscous white cum like a defective fountain leaking all over his groin. The bull watched a stray dribble start trickling down Paul's thigh as gravity took it on a path to the couch cushion below.

"Mmm...don't want a big mess here," Kale muttered as his mind began to clear from his climax. He reached down and scooped up the dribble with a finger before he ferried his catch up to Paul's mouth. Still panting and huffing, the horse opened his lips obediently, and Kale smeared the glob of semen on Paul's tongue. The horse sucked on the digit and savored the flavor of his sperm, then swallowed and released Kale's finger with a goofy smile on his face. "Atta boy," Kale said, grinning down at his star runner.

After another few moments of rest, Kale had regained enough energy to pat Paul's legs. "Clench for me," he instructed, and winced when Paul did as he was told, bearing down on his softening, but still sensitive, cock buried in the horse's ass. Kale slowly pulled out, feeling his cock drag along Paul's soft insides.

"Aah fuck, that's nice," Kale mused as his cockhead slipped out of the clenched hole, leaving behind only a thin strand of cum while the rest of his load remained in Paul. Kale then leaned down and, before Paul could sit up, began to slurp up the mess in the horse's lap.

"Ooohh daaamn," Paul sighed contentedly as Kale cleaned him up, lapping up every drop of horse cum he could get. The bull gathered the load in his mouth as he worked, refusing to swallow while he licked and sucked and slurped. After a few final licks on Paul's stump to coax out the last dregs of cum still in his urethra, Kale hauled Paul up by the shoulders, getting him to sit up. He went even further, pulling the horse in for an embrace and a kiss on the couch--Paul moaned into his coach's mouth as the bull used his tongue to transfer the horse's load into Paul's muzzle. The still-warm, ropey fluid was slippery and salty on Paul's tongue, and the two of them passed his load back and forth between their lips for a few moments. Paul pushed it into Kale's mouth and swirled his tongue around the bull's, then he let Kale slide it all back into his own mouth; Paul slurped his cum from his coach's tongue and swished it around, then let it all ooze back into Kale's muzzle. Kale suckled on the horse's tongue and savored the salty, musky tastes of Paul's semen before he forced it all back into Paul's mouth a final time. Paul swallowed, his cum like a warm, sloppy, satisfying wad of sludge going down his throat.

Kale finally pulled back from the kiss and smiled at Paul. "Got your post-race protein?"

Paul grinned and nodded. "Yes, Sir. Thank you."

Kale gripped the back of Paul's neck and pulled him back in so their brows touched. They both huffed for a moment, simply enjoying the shared moment. "You did good," Kale said softly. "Don't ever let anyone make you think otherwise."

Paul nodded, and Kale released him, then patted him on the shoulder. "How about you get cleaned up, get a little more hole training done, and head home?" he suggested. "You've earned a good night's sleep after all this."

---

Hayward had been sitting in one of the athletes' lounges; he'd finished a meeting with his public relations team to help improve his image, but he'd been distracted the whole time, simply thinking about how he could one-up that Appaloosa that everyone was just fawning over. When the PR meeting was done, he'd checked his phone, refreshing his social media feeds for any mention of his performance at the Peralta Series, but every athletic outlet and influencer he followed was gushing on and on about Paul and how amazing he was.

The Mustang grumbled to himself--what did Paul have that he didn't have? Hayward had the looks, the skills, the talent...but Paul was getting a lot of time with Coach Kale. Was Paul the bull's favorite? Was Kale somehow signaling to Hayward that he was going to be let go from LRP? Hayward sneered at a picture of the snowflake-patterned horse holding the Peralta Series trophy, the trophy that should have been Hayward's...

A surge of fury roiled through Hayward as he angrily stood from his seat. The next trophy would be his no matter what, and Paul would be eating his dust while Kale gave him even more coaching time. The Mustang was so confident that he decided to go back to the locker room; Paul was probably there, he'd probably just finished another cool-down run and would be getting ready to go home. If he timed things right, Hayward could tell that smug stallion that he was going to beat him, and then he'd be in Paul's head all weekend...he'd have the power...he'd be the winner in the end.

Hayward stalked past Kale's closed door, ignoring the coach that was probably ignoring him, and pushed his way into the locker room, where he heard the showers in use. So Paul was probably still here...and maybe Hayward could sneak up on him and really scare him with the element of surprise!

The Mustang started to stride confidently towards the showers, but his gaze caught on the bench in front of Paul's open locker. The Appaloosa's shorts, shirt, and jockstrap were there alright, but his jockstrap looked...especially full for some reason. Hayward paused and walked over to the bench, where he picked up the jockstrap. It felt heavier than it should have...he peered into the pouch, where he saw a thick sock, stuffed with other socks.

Hayward's eyebrows rose, and he looked in Paul's open locker--another packer was sitting in there.

The chestnut horse froze for a second, connecting the dots--then his brow furrowed as he started considering his options while the shower continued running in the background. Hayward was so deep in thought that he didn't even pay attention to the soft grunts that echoed from the tiled chamber.

Then he pulled out his phone, snapped a picture, and typed up a draft post for Critter.

When he was satisfied, he dropped the jockstrap and packer in his hand back onto the bench and ventured into the communal shower area.

There was Paul, his back to the door and under one of the spraying showerheads. Hayward's eyes widened when he saw the Appaloosa crouching and grinding up and down on an enormous, black horse dildo. Paul easily rode the silicone shaft, letting it spread his hole open as it sank into his guts, and flecks of white fluid rose and fell with Paul's motions. Dumbfounded, Hayward quickly snapped another picture, and then...

"Ahem!" Hayward coughed loudly.

"Oh shit!" Paul jumped and turned around, and Hayward took another picture before he realized what he was looking at--then he processed the fact that Paul was standing there, petrified with his wet hair in his eyes, with the dildo toppled over on the floor, and the racing champion was clearly missing something between his legs.

"No fucking way," Hayward breathed.

"Hay...Hayward, wait, I--" Paul spluttered, clearing his wet mane from his face with one hand and holding his other hand over his crotch.

The Mustang laughed. "Oh my god, this is too good!" He triumphantly clapped his hands and chortled again. "When everyone finds out...holy fuck, I can't...I mean, just look at you!" He sighed and shook his head at the sight in front of him. "You're just a cockless bitch who stuffs his jock, and you think people will still support you when they find that out?"

"When they--oh, fuck, Hayward, look--" Paul started when he realized the Mustang was holding his phone.

"Yeah, that's right, I've got a good post ready to roll on Critter," Hayward boasted, showing Paul the picture he'd just taken of the exposed horse. "I can destroy you so fast, and everybody's going to come flocking back to me when they see what a freak you are." The Mustang typed up a new draft post to accompany the new picture of Paul, then made a show of holding his phone up again and keeping his finger just over the button to publish the post. "So what's stopping me from showing them?"

Paul gulped and tried to steady himself mentally--he'd thought he was completely alone, and yet here was Hayward, threatening to reveal everything. "What...what do you want?" he nervously asked, his voice quiet.

"What was that?" Hayward said sarcastically. "Gonna need you to speak on up."

Paul cleared his throat. "What do you want? What can I do so you don't post that?"

Hayward smirked, then lowered his phone again. "What do you think?"

Paul sighed. "You...want me to lose a race for you?"

Hayward rolled his eyes. "I want you to lose, but only because I beat you--you're not gonna throw a race for me. If I'm gonna beat you, we're both gonna go all out."

Paul frowned, then cautiously replied, "Okay...so what do you want?"

The Mustang's heart leapt in his chest--initially, he had merely wanted Paul to give up a chunk of his time with Coach Kale to him, but when he looked at how large the dildo on the floor was and remembered the fact that Paul's ass had been swallowing the giant toy like it was nothing only moments ago, a new idea suddenly bubbled up, and Hayward's breath caught in his throat as he thought about taking the gamble. If he did this...Paul would feel utterly humiliated, he was sure of it. His racing performance would suffer, and Hayward would have so much more power over him. Getting time with Kale would be an investment in himself, but doing this new idea would be both investing in himself and demoralizing Paul--for Hayward, it would be a win-win.

"Turn around," Hayward instructed.

Paul glanced quizzically at Hayward, but when he saw the other horse was serious, he nodded and turned on the spot to face the shower again. Hayward stepped back into the main locker room for a moment to put his phone on the bench and strip off his shirt, shorts, and briefs. His cock was already hardening at the prospect of what he was about to do, and he stroked himself to full mast at 16 inches as he clopped back into the showers and approached Paul's backside.

"Bend over." The command echoed off the wet tile.

Paul gulped as he understood the price for Hayward's silence, and he complied, keeping his eyes on the floor. He flinched at Hayward's touch on his broad back, his hand rubbing down from his shoulder blades along his spine, down to the cleft of his ass cheeks. The Mustang cupped his left cheek for a moment...

SMACK.

Paul jumped as Hayward spanked him hard, and the sound of the impact reverberated around the room as Hayward laughed.

"Gonna enjoy fucking you, bitch," the Mustang said as he lined up his broad, round cockhead with Paul's puckered hole.

Paul held back the insult he wanted to hurl at Hayward, but he couldn't stop himself from groaning when the equine glans penetrated his clenched rim.

"Ugh, fuck, loosen up, will ya?" Hayward complained as he forced himself in.

"Hmf...if you insist," Paul grunted, immediately relaxing his sphincter--which caused Hayward, who had been pushing hard, to suddenly stumble forward as he hilted himself completely in Paul's stretched and still-loaded guts.

"Oh shit...the fuck..." Hayward trailed off at the sensation of warm slime coating his cock.

"You've...ugh, you've got Coach Kale's sloppy seconds," Paul admitted.

Hayward chuckled. "Yeah? Well look at you being a slut. At least you've got some lube in there for me. So let's breed you some more, huh?"

The Mustang smacked Paul's ass again before he started roughly thrusting in and out of his loose hole, sloshing through Kale's load and making his balls swing against Paul's. As the steaming hot water poured down on both horses, the wet slaps of Hayward's pelvis slamming against Paul's echoed in the shower; the two of them grunted and huffed as Hayward used his rival like a fleshlight, humping without savoring the soft ridges that rippled around his cock, focusing instead on claiming his victory over the Appaloosa. Hayward hung onto Paul's hips for support, flexing his cock hard as Paul clenched around him in an effort to milk his cock and make him cum faster.

"Mmm, you must be hungry for it, huh?" Hayward groaned at the clenching on his shaft. "Don't you worry, I'll fill you up good."

Paul groaned and kept his eyes on the floor while Hayward wildly humped and bucked into him. The Mustang continued muttering boastfully, "Gonna breed you properly...everyone's going to think you're so great out there, but you're really just my little bitch...I'm a real stallion, you hear me? Not some pathetic, cockless cunt like you...I'm topping you here, and I'm gonna top you in the next race...don't you ever forget where you belong...we're gonna do this for a long, long time..."

Paul did his best to ignore Hayward, choosing instead to view the situation as just additional endurance training. If he could get through this experience and keep Hayward from publishing his posts, he could easily get through his next long-distance race; all he needed was the mental fortitude and will to keep his head held high when he was running again. And even though the power dynamic between him and Hayward wasn't exactly ideal, Paul couldn't help but admit to himself that he liked how eagerly the Mustang was filling him. There was only so much he could do with his dildo, after all. But while the Mustang's rough fucking against his prostate felt nice, he certainly wasn't hitting it the way Kale did. Retreating into his mind as Hayward violated him like this, Paul imagined the bull walking in on the scene.

"You think you're fucking him good? Nuh-uh, I'm going to show you how it's done," Kale would say, yanking Hayward out of Paul's ass and immediately stuffing himself into the stretched rear. In his mind, Paul could feel the bull flexing against his prostate and milking him, bringing him closer to climax again. Hayward would be stuck on the sidelines, watching the show, and Paul would be begging Kale for more.

Paul sighed to himself. Oh, if only...

---

The next three months followed a standard routine for Paul. Both he and Hayward would share training time with Kale, with Hayward striving to catch up to Paul, but the snowflake-patterned horse consistently beat him to the finish. After every good training session, Paul would get his time in Kale's office, getting fucked, teased, and milked to completion as his reward. And after every afternoon in Kale's office, Paul would tiredly return to the locker room, where Hayward would be waiting for him.

The Mustang had fucked him on every bench, under every shower head, in every toilet stall, in the cryotherapy pod--he'd even forced Paul to ride him while he was reclining in the massage chair. And it didn't stop there; there were days when Hayward would threateningly invite Paul over to his house so the racing champion could get fucked in the Mustang's opulent bedroom or by his swimming pool, and Hayward would occasionally drop by Paul's house unannounced and force himself onto his rival, demonstrating that there was no safe place for Paul to rest away from Hayward. Over the three months that passed, Hayward had used Paul's ass thoroughly, filling it with his cock and his fingers to tease the horse (going so far as fisting Paul a few times) before he would roughly shove Paul's dildo into him, and he'd even stuffed his sweaty, smelly briefs into Paul's ass, jokingly calling him a laundry hamper. The Mustang had coerced Paul into sucking him off, bathing his balls with his tongue, drinking his piss, licking his feet and armpits, and eating him out--and the whole time, Hayward had taken more and more photos to use as leverage against the Appaloosa.

But in spite of everything that he had done, and to Hayward's annoyance, Paul had somehow gotten even faster on the track. Every time the Mustang had tried to catch up, the horse ahead of him would accelerate and leave him far behind. Hayward had once come within two feet of Paul during a sprint, but Paul had pumped his legs even harder and ended up beating him by a full five seconds. It was demoralizing seeing him get the first high five from Kale every time, only to come up to the bull for his own high five, panting and huffing and barely able to stay on his feet. The Mustang had improved his pace time for sure, but compared to Paul he was still second-best.

Hayward couldn't stand it when, during the Laufeyson relay they ran together, he saw the leaderboard that showed Paul and his relay team securely in first place, while Hayward's team was all the way in ninth. The Mustang had ground his teeth hard while his blood boiled with rage; in the locker room after the race, he'd shoved Paul's sweaty packer into the Appaloosa's mouth and duct taped his muzzle shut to gag him while he violently pounded the horse's ass. He'd thought that would humble Paul enough to make him run poorly in the Bellamy Half Marathon afterward, but that race was utter humiliation instead. Hayward was furious to learn that Paul had sailed across the finish line a minute ahead of the next runner, and he, Hayward, had ended up in 45th place out of the 600 other runners in the event. He had paid no attention to Kale when the bull gave him a pep talk, his gaze instead fixated on Paul as he received his medal and answered reporters' questions. But Hayward did get a moderate amount of satisfaction that evening when he was sliding noisily in and out of Paul's throat, holding the sides of Paul's face to force the horse to look up at him as he gagged and gulped around the Mustang's cock. Hayward had loved seeing Paul struggle to swallow his load when he finally came--he felt Paul's throat convulse around the thick shaft pushing past his tonsils, and it had been so gratifying hearing him splutter and cough when Hayward had yanked his cock out of Paul's mouth and immediately began pissing all over his face...but it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

He could threaten, debase, humiliate, and blackmail Paul in as many creative ways as he could think of, but it wasn't the same as a public triumph, whether that was the glory of getting a first place medal or at least crossing the finish line ahead of that damn Appaloosa. And what was even worse about it was that Hayward knew that the second he blackmailed Paul into intentionally slowing during an event, the Mustang would still be the loser. Why? Because both he and Paul would know it wouldn't be a real victory. Hayward wanted desperately to outpace him for real, to legitimately win; he had power over Paul, but he wanted the prestige that came with being a champion--he'd been training hard, running the same track simulation programs as Paul, eating virtually the same diet, working out, amping himself up mentally...but no matter how fast he ran, his view of the finish line, with Paul crossing it ahead of him, never changed.

"I don't...get it..." Hayward finally admitted, huffing as he was fucking Paul in the locker room once more. It was late in the evening, and Paul lay stomach-down on the long, low bench in front of the lockers while Hayward pumped in and out of him. Sweat formed on Hayward's brow as he continued thrusting, his balls dragging on the bench below him while he sank into Paul's loose hole. "How do you...keep beating me?"

Paul sighed, gently clenching his fingers on the bench while he felt Hayward enter him, then pull out before penetrating him again. "I just--unf--put in the work for it, I guess."

Hayward grunted and shook his head. "So've I, but--hng--you keep getting faster."

"What, you want me to slow down?"

"No!" Hayward's hips connected hard with Paul's backside, eliciting a soft gasp from the Appaloosa. "I just...can't believe you're still getting better...and you're not doing anything different..."

"I mean...I've been getting fucked by both you and Coach Kale, maybe that's helping?" Paul offered up.

Hayward snickered. "I doubt being a slut would help me that much. You were born for it, and I was born for something better."

Paul huffed and clenched around the cock invading his loosened guts. "Well, I don't know what else to tell you."

"Hmm..." Hayward trailed off as he looked down at Paul's ass contemplatively. The firm, dark-furred cheeks were spread apart to better accommodate his girthy dick, and Hayward enjoyed watching his preputial ring on his lubed shaft spread the puffed out doughnut of Paul's ass as it glided in and out, in and out. Paul would never experience that feeling, would never see himself do that to a hole. The closest he would ever get to putting his cock in something would be shoving his cast dildo into his ass...and he was still leaving Hayward behind in his dust...

The Mustang had chosen not to ask Paul many questions about his experience getting his cock sliced off. It had been something he just didn't want to know much about--the more he could simply objectify his rival as a dickless freak with an open ass to breed and an open throat to pump his cum down, the better he felt about working hard to beat him. But as he watched his cock sliding into Paul again and again and considered that this was a luxury Paul would never have in his life, the gears in Hayward's mind began turning.

"I...fuck it," Hayward grumbled as he kept up his pace. "Did cutting off your cock really help?"

Paul frowned. "Well...yeah, I...I haven't been distracted by it or anything. And it feels like I'm carrying a lot less weight around with me." He grunted as Hayward began to speed up. "And...and Coach got me on a good training program...lots of mental discipline...and positive reinforcement."

"That's what you two--unf--call it when he fucks you?" Hayward asked sarcastically. "'Positive reinforcement'? When he--hnng--fucked me a few times, we just--mmf--called it fooling around."

Paul's eyebrows rose--he knew that Kale had fucked Hayward before, but this was the first time that the Mustang had ever talked about it. "Well...it's not always fucking. He just...helps me get off. That's the main thing."

"Hmm...and you feel lighter--and faster--without your dick?" Hayward asked as he sped up, animalistically rutting the horse under him. He huffed and grunted as he looked down again at the column of flesh that was sloppily pumping in and out of Paul's abused hole--his cock was dredging up the sludgy remnants of Kale's load along his shaft before plunging it back inside. He could feel the pressure building in his loins and the tension of his balls starting to draw up...his heavy, full balls and his girthy, stiff shaft...both with so much mass that he carried around all the time...both weighing so heavily on his mind, driving him to drain himself into whatever hole he could fill...could they actually be holding him back?

"Def...inite...ly," Paul groaned as Hayward began quickly reaming him. He could tell that the Mustang was getting close to finishing, and he clenched hard around him, driving him over the edge.

"And...to win...hmmmfff!" Hayward couldn't finish his thought as he humped powerfully into Paul's ass, then bucked and shuddered as his cock spasmed and fired thick spurts of cum in the Appaloosa's guts. He gasped, catching his breath as he held himself hilted in Paul while his dick throbbed hard, not only from the stimulation of Paul clenching around him, but also from the anticipation of what he knew he had to do...and soon.

The St. Paloma Marathon was in another two months, and he wanted--no, needed--to get across the finish line first.

---

Dr. Klineman held the needle against Hayward's wrist, but he didn't push in, not yet. He looked up at the Mustang, who was leaning back against the reclining exam table. "Last chance to back out--are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Hayward, naked and fully erect thanks to the medication Klineman had already injected into his cock, gulped and took a calming breath, but his gaze was steely and his voice steady. "Do it."

The bear nodded, then pushed the syringe forward into a vein and depressed the plunger. "Count back from 20 for me."

Hayward blinked as he felt the sedative enter his system. "20...19...18...17...six..." He leaned forward, as if trying to stay awake, before his eyes fluttered shut and he slumped back against the exam table.

There had been no pre-surgery photoshoot or dildo molding--the horse hadn't even considered those options. He had simply wanted to get the procedure over with as soon as possible before he changed his mind. Klineman knew that Kale had secretly pre-authorized this kind of operation for every athlete under his management, but Hayward had been the first to voluntarily come to the bear for it. Klineman had hardly believed it, but now here Hayward was, knocked out and laying on the table as Klineman leaned the reclining back further until it was completely flat. The bear hooked him up to all of the necessary equipment, monitors, and IVs--including a bag of antibiotics, immunosuppressors, and experimental cellular regeneration formula-- draped the surgical towels on his legs and pelvis to frame his groin, and then began to get to work.

Rock music softly played on the stereo as the doctor picked up the elastrator and hooked a thick rubber band onto the prongs. Klineman then squeezed the handles to stretch the elastrator band before, Just as he had done with Paul so long ago, he roughly pulled the flared head of Hayward's dick through the open band and pushed down along the shaft. Although this time, he went even deeper than he had with Paul; Klineman pushed all the way down to the root of Hayward's erection, getting as deep into the sheath as he could. When he released the band from the prongs, the green rubber ring clenched tightly around the tender shaft. Had Hayward been fully conscious, he would've been grunting in agony and begging for Klineman to remove the bands, but he simply lay there quietly, breathing deeply and steadily in a dreamless sleep.

Klineman repeated the process, placing another elastrator band on Hayward's shaft a few millimeters above the first one. The doctor set the elastrator aside for a moment to take up two sets of retractor clamps, which he used to spread open Hayward's sheath, exposing the elastrated base of his cock to the open air. Klineman then picked up the elastrator again, loaded it with a new band, and turned his attention to the horse's balls--he had to squeeze the elastrator handles to the limit so he could get Hayward's testicles to plop through the stretched rubber band one at a time. When both nuts were through the band, Klineman pushed the elastrator up to the neck of Hayward's scrotum, flush against his groin and taint, where he left one band, then a second. The ordinarily loose-hanging sac now looked like a taut, plump pouch dangling from Hayward's pelvis, and Klineman couldn't resist lightly flicking it with his fingers--the balls bounced like a soft punching bag.

The bear hummed along with the ending of the current song on the stereo--"Here I Go Again"--as he stepped away to grab a soda from the mini-fridge that had been set up on the counter. As he picked up the can, Klineman's gaze roamed over the covered stainless steel bowl sitting in the refrigerator next to the remaining two cans of root beer.

"I'll be back for you, my friend," Klineman mused before he closed the refrigerator door again.

The bear cracked open the root beer and took a drink while the next song began to play, and his foot tapped on the floor in time with the opening chords he heard. "Oh, yeah...I was just a skinny lad, never knew no good from bad..." Klineman softly sang along as he gently danced his way across the room back to his patient. "But I knew love before I left my nursery! Left alone with big fat Fanny, she was such a naughty nanny, hey big woman, you made a bad boy out of meeee..."

While he sang, Klineman glanced at his watch, then at Hayward's erect cock--it was already starting to darken, though he could afford to give it a little more time to constrict the blood flow further. "I've been singing with my band, across the water, across the land, I've seen every blue-eyed floozy on the waaaay," the bear continued singing as he swayed and boogied for himself in front of the unconscious Hayward. "But their beauty and their style went kind of smooth after a while, take me to them naughty ladies every tiiiiime..."

Klineman danced around the room as he went into the chorus, both grateful and a little regretful that there weren't any cameras set up to capture his performance. On the one hand, it probably wouldn't reflect well if there was footage of him dancing like a fool in front of a patient while in surgery--but on the other hand, both he and Kale would have gotten a major laugh out of watching him shake his tail and show off his moves while operating on Hayward.

When he eventually circled back to his patient, Klineman saw that enough time had passed for him to start the removal phase of the procedure. He set his can of root beer aside and took up his position between Hayward's spread legs while the music continued playing.

"Now I got mortgages and homes, I got stiffness in the bones," the bear softly sang along as he took up his scalpel and began slicing through the stiff, turgid flesh between the elastrator bands encircling Hayward's shaft. "Ain't no beauty queens in this localityyyy..."

Klineman held the leaning shaft steady with one hand as he continued cutting. The retractor clamps holding Hayward's sheath open prevented any skin or fur from getting in the way, and he watched, mesmerized, as layers of tissue and sinew separated easily under the steel blade. He hummed along with the rest of the verse as he drew the scalpel through the remainder of Hayward's cock, feeling the dense vessels of the corpus cavernosum and the empty space in his urethra as he drew the blade through them, and he severed the last few centimeters of flesh without any effort at all. As the current song ended, he deposited the used scalpel on one of the nearby surgical tables and hefted the disembodied horse penis in one hand, pulling it out from the stretched hood of Hayward's sheath and leaving behind a short, banded nub.

"Damn, you were carrying a lot around, huh," Klineman mused as he squeezed the trophy in his hand and felt its weight. He shook his head to himself, still surprised that Hayward, one of the most arrogant athletes he'd seen in years, had been willing to part with his most valuable assets, to have his cock and balls lopped off in pursuit of a goal he wasn't even guaranteed to meet. The doctor shrugged--no point in thinking about what might've been anymore, Hayward no longer had a cock to use, and soon his balls would follow suit. Klineman carried the cock over to another stainless steel bowl that was full of ice and had a plastic bag on top of it--he rolled Hayward's severed dick into the bag and nestled it in the ice to keep it cold, then returned to his patient.

As "Back In Black" started up on the stereo, Klineman grabbed a fresh scalpel and attended to the large testicles that lay before him. With his free hand firmly gripping Hayward's scrotum, Klineman made a long incision along the underside of the sac, slicing it open from left to right as if he were unzipping it with the scalpel. As he cut, two thick, pink orbs bulged outward at the incision site, starkly contrasting against the dark brown of Hayward's scrotal skin.

Klineman laid his scalpel down and sandwiched the constricted neck of Hayward's scrotum between his hands, and then squeezed hard. The testicles still nestled in the sac bulged out further, and further...then with a wet squelch, they popped free of their confines and dangled loosely on the surgical towel underneath Hayward. The bear licked his lips under his surgical mask at the sight of the plump, exposed, egg-shaped organs; it had been too long since he'd had a treat like those, and he was grateful to Kale for allowing him to hang onto them. Klineman released his grip and focused on one testicle at a time, pulling them both out to the limits of their ductus deferens, until the fleshy cords were fully stretched out from Hayward's body. The doctor then squished the deflated, empty sac as far back along the ductus deferens as he could go, until his was pushing hard against Hayward's pelvis, before he deftly wound the wet, connective cables around his gloved fingers to pull them taut and sliced through them with the scalpel.

The bear scooped up both testicles in his hand--they felt so deliciously wet and jiggly, and they were so large they nearly spilled out of his palm. But he held onto them tightly as he carried them over to another iced, stainless steel bowl and deposited them into the plastic bag within. He had big plans for those horse oysters, while the large sausage in the other bowl was going out for a special delivery once he was done with the operation.

Klineman hummed along with the stereo as he sauntered back over to Hayward, where he made quick work of removing the excess skin of his empty scrotum. When the doctor finished applying the necessary temporary clamps and cleaning the wounds to prepare for the next stage of the operation, he returned to the mini-fridge on the counter. But this time, instead of pulling out another can of root beer, the bear extracted the stainless steel bowl and brought it over to the operating table. Klineman then picked up a marker and inked reference points on Hayward's groin for where he needed to cut. As he surveyed his patient--helplessly unconscious and blissfully unaware of the medical orders Kale had given him immediately after Klineman had notified him of the horse's procedure request--he chuckled and cracked his gloved knuckles. While he always enjoyed removal operations, Klineman was relishing the chance to do an implantation.

"Better buckle up, Hayward, this next part might get a little bumpy for you," Klineman muttered as he picked up a fresh scalpel.

---

The first thing Hayward felt was a rhythmic rocking...back and forth...back and forth...

"Mmf," Hayward grunted as he was being jostled in the dark.

No, his eyes were closed.

The horse squeezed his shut eyelids--parts of him were still numb, but he was regaining feeling. He could feel something...pushing into him...filling him...

And his legs were raised...and there were hands gripping them tightly.

The Mustang breathed in and opened his eyes, reconnecting with the rest of his body. He was bouncing up and down along the medical exam table, his view of the ceiling above him shaking from the movement, and he could hear consistent, heavy huffing while something beat against his pelvis in time with the harsh exhales over him.

Wincing in the light, Hayward craned his neck and looked towards his navel.

Kale, sweating and naked--his dampened fur glistening under the surgical lights--was leering down at him while holding onto his raised legs, using them as leverage while he vigorously humped into him. Hayward's eyes widened as he processed what he was seeing and feeling. Kale was somehow...higher than he should have been for fucking Hayward's ass. The horse remembered that Klineman was going to remove his cock and balls, that he was going to lose even more weight than Paul in an effort to really one-up him, but had the doctor somehow repositioned his ass too while he was out? Hayward clenched down experimentally.

"Oohoo, now that's something new, huh?" Kale grunted at the flexing sensation around his cock while he kept thrusting.

Hayward could feel his ass where it had always been, but then...what was Kale doing to him? He craned his neck further for a better look...

Where his penis and testicles had once been, Kale was sliding wetly in and out of a pair of vertical, spread, subtly rippling labial lips between Hayward's spread thighs. There was no swelling, no scarring, no sign of any incisions--it looked as if Hayward had always had a pussy from the day he was born.

"Wha...oh fuck, what--" the horse yelped as he tried scrambling away, but Kale held him firm.

"Yeah, that's--ungh--a new pussy on you, Hayward," Kale smirked down at him between groans. The bull's hips continued to smack into the horse's pelvis, and the manic expression on Kale's face looked both devious and ecstatic. "Better--hmmf--get used to it, because you're keeping it...and everything that--unf--comes with it."

Hayward felt his stomach drop as he processed what his coach just said, and he struggled in Kale's grasp, his fingers clutching into the exam table to pull himself away from the crazed bull, but Kale was too strong for him. The bull's humping became more energetic and frenzied, and as the rest of the nerves in Hayward's body awoke from the anesthesia, he felt more of the deep, blunt penetration spreading him apart and hitting so many new sensitive spots. It was like a rod of pure, concentrated, hot euphoria was being stuffed into him, sparking jolts of pleasure that wracked his spine. The wet plap-lap-laps of Kale's cock gliding over his vulva, bulging between the elastic lips of his pussy, and repeatedly expanding the tight tunnel within him were the perfect soundtrack to the carnal act that was taking place in the exam room. Even though part of Hayward was horrified at what had been and was currently being done to him, another part of him was thoroughly embracing the physical bliss he felt, enjoying the feeling of completeness that filled him up to the brim, and the horse couldn't stop himself from groaning and shivering.

"Yeah...that's it," Kale said lustfully.

"Oooh fuuuhuuuck," Hayward moaned, convulsing in throes of pleasure as he tried simultaneously to both writhe out of Kale's grasp and push himself further into it.

"Hehe, look at you...taking to it like a bitch already," Kale observed.

"B-but...I didn't ask for...I didn't want..." Hayward helplessly breathed.

"Too bad, you get what you deserve," Kale cut over him. "Besides...this is probably--mmf--the best thing for you. Glad I--hnf--thought to tell Klineman--mm--to put some new equipment into you."

"But I--guuuhh!" Hayward gasped as Kale forcefully hilted himself completely in his new vagina. The bull didn't have to worry a bit about any tearing or shifting as he rutted the horse hunder him; according to Klineman, the experimental cellular regeneration formula he'd pumped into Hayward's veins had ensured a seamless and ironclad integration between the horse and the newly implanted organ system. Short of another operation or severe trauma, nothing was going to dislodge the implant, and the donor vagina and its associated glands were effectively Hayward's now; the medication Klineman used worked on a molecular level, tricking his genetic coding and cellular structures into believing that his body had generated a completely intact pussy for him. To Kale, that meant one thing: the perfect punishment. The bull grunted as he gyrated his hips hard into Hayward, and the Mustang's involuntary muscle contractions finally pushed him over the edge.

"Hnf...unff...mmmfffuuuuuUUUUCK!" Kale bellowed as he slammed into Hayward again and again...and again before coming to a standstill while hot semen erupted from his cock and filled the warm sheath wrapped around him. As he panted and leaned over Hayward to catch his breath, the bull grinned, more to himself than the horse under him; Kale knew that at this moment, his potent load was sealing Hayward's fate and putting the final nail in the coffin for any notion of pride that the horse had left. Not that it seemed like he had much left at the moment--the horse looked completely spent, having collapsed back on the exam table while he was gasping heavily.

After a minute of standing still--save for his heaving chest--Kale reluctantly pulled out of the well-used pussy he'd been pounding. He wanted to stay in the moist, steamy confines longer, but he had a busy evening ahead of him, and as much as he enjoyed this new part of Hayward's body, he didn't want to spend more time with Hayward himself than he had to. His softening cock still drooled thin ropes of semen, but he paid it no mind as he stood over the panting horse.

"I've known about your little arrangement with Paul for a while," Kale began.

Hayward's nostrils flared; he started and raised his head from the exam table. "I--what?"

"You'd be surprised how many cameras we have hidden in that locker room," the bull quipped. He sighed and shook his head as he continued, "The things you've done to him...shameful. It's a wonder he's continued improving after all the hell you've put him through."

The Mustang scoffed. "Yeah? And how's that any different from what you do to him?"

"It's for a good purpose, it's a reward that helps him focus," Kale hissed as he glared at Hayward. "You're just doing it because you're a petty, self-entitled, vindictive little shit."

Hayward gulped as the bull continued, "I appreciate all the hard work you've put in, I really do. But what I don't appreciate is someone like you fucking with the next big racing star. Especially on company property."

"B-but I--"

"I had to think for a while about what would be a good punishment for you," Kale went on. He strode over to one of the counters and grabbed a wipe for his still-wet dick, which he began to wipe off as he continued, "I knew it would help to lull you into a false sense of security first, that's why I didn't confront you sooner. But for you, I really wanted to be creative with how to get back at you." Hayward watched Kale toss the used wipe into the trash, and then the bull crossed over to one of the chairs that held his clothes, where he began getting dressed. "And then Klineman tells me that you actually wanted to get your cock and balls chopped off." Kale chuckled and shook his head as he pulled his shorts up to his waist. "At first, I thought that would be good enough, but then I realized you would see it as a good thing, to really get the upper hand on Paul. And then I remembered your contract."

Hayward's eyes widened as the bull said, "As your coach and manager, I can identify and authorize any medical procedure for you that I thought was necessary...and this one was definitely necessary for you--it's the perfect way to do to you what you did to Paul, when you think about it. You tried emasculating him, so let's see how you like it.." Kale pulled on his shirt and smirked at the dumbstruck horse. "When I said you had a new pussy and everything that comes with it, I meant everything."

"What do you..." Hayward began, confused.

Kale pointed down at the Mustang's stomach.

Hayward looked down, still puzzled...then the dots connected as he looked at his stomach, then further down at the trickle of sperm dribbling from his spread labia. "Oooooh fuck."

Kale laughed. "Yeah, you're going to need to take time off from running professionally now that you're pregnant." He stepped towards the door and spared a parting glance at Hayward as he added, "I'm pretty sure you've got at least a couple of sons in there for me by now. Can't wait to feel them kicking."

Hayward, his heart hammering in a panic, clutched his stomach while Kale laughed and strode through the door.

---

"I can't thank you enough," Paul said gratefully before biting into the meat kebab. The skewered portion of Hayward's grilled cock was juicy and smokey on his tongue, with a perfect hint of musk. "Oh, damn, that's good," he mumbled through his mouthful.

"After everything he did to you, it was my pleasure," Kale replied as he sat down next to Paul on the sofa in his office. The bull held his own half of Hayward's dick, still steaming from the desktop grill he'd set up. He bit into the flared head and chewed, savoring the flavors. "Mmm...this is tasty, but it's kind of got me wishing I'd eaten some of yours back then," the bull said dreamily. He chuckled, then nudged Paul in the ribs. "Might've had to fight Klineman for it, he really enjoyed your dick."

Paul laughed before he nibbled around the base of the dick on his skewer. "You said he was keeping Hayward's nuts?"

"Yeah, big guy's probably sucking them down right now, greedy bastard," Kale grumbled playfully. "Ah well...now that Hayward's out of the way for a while, we can really focus on you." He patted Paul's leg as he continued, "You've had a good first few races, but we're going to get you into the big leagues soon. Just need to knuckle down and do a lot more rough training, but it'll all be worth it, champ."