Strake Gets His
Strake Gets His
by H. A. Kirsch
Copyright 2008
Warning: This story is unedited. This story contains tigers and horses and pot and poppers and
pony-play and bondage and some invisible fence and gratuitous destruction of furniture and SMUT.
Strake was falling apart. Until the horse - what the hell was his name, anyway? - he had never been
fucked by anyone except a drunk fellow rider. Even that friend hadn't come, just fallen asleep
mid-thrust. The horse had pounded hard; he made Strake shoot no-hands just like all the other guys
the tiger had climbed up on and hammered.-*
The thought kept going through the big cat's head at every possible moment. The gang was laying low,
and Strake laid even lower. The cat retreated to his paltry excuse for an apartment and left only to
make the short, crotch-rattling ride to a nearby 7-11 for 'food'. Half drunk, very stoned, Strake
occupied himself by cleaning his leathers, fooling with bike parts in the middle of his kitchen,
watching porn and seeing how long he could stroke before shooting.-*
The cat even messed around with that brown stud's fetish. The tiger picked up an enormous cucumber
from a roadside stand on one sunny day, back from 7-11. Back home, the cat greased it up with some
crisco and slid it inside. That alone made him come, the tiger roaring into his gloved hand as he
imagined the knurled foodstuff as a big, pumping horsecock. Still hard, still needy, the white tiger
trembled as he got one of his belts and looped it around his neck, tail through buckle, then pounded
one of the holes over that same coat peg he'd used for the horse. Violating his asshole again, the
baked tiger gasped and rowled as he sunk down, the floor pushing the cuke up into him, belt choking
him. He jerked himself violently, mind going fuzzy, vision spotting up, blood pounding in his ears.
He didn't even notice when he came, too desperate to get air or blood. After seed rained down on
him, Strake cleared up enough to realize he was going to hang himself. If he hadn't been stoned, he
would have simply stood up and undone the belt, but he was so disoriented that the only plan of
action was to grip the belt with both hands and pull. All the panicking had him shit the makeshift
dildo onto the floor, just in time for the coat peg to pull away from the wall and send the tiger
thumping onto his ass, drywall dust raining down on his black ears.
Strake fell asleep on the floor, drunk and high, spent and sore-necked.
When the tiger woke up, it was almost twenty four hours later, mid-day sun beaming in through a
crack in the blinds. He'd been more drunk than he thought; he was covered in piss. Not even
bothering to wipe it up off the floor, the big cat stumbled into his shower and scrubbed himself
clean. His asshole was still greasy. As he stood under the hot water, that damn equine showed up in
his head, cock rising to attention. Strake looked around the shower for something to use. He grabbed
the enema wand and poked it in. Not big enough. He fumbled for his fur brush: too ribbed! A bottle
of fur conditioner, curvacious -*and meant to be gripped. He pushed the head of the bottle in,
grunted. Then the neck, more grunting, more violation. So good.. the tiger leaned on the wall of the
shower, the bowed tile creaking, some of the grout popping out, a tile or two falling into the tube.
He pounded himself with the toy, cock finally leaping and spraying seed all over the tub floor. The
bottle came out with a loud cat-howl.
Strake dried off and went to fill up his pipe. Nothing. His stash consisted of an empty ziplock bag.
The bone-ache of a hangover mixed with the frothy day-after from smoking made Strake lose his mind.
He smashed the glass pipe, along with everything else on the counter. He flung a chair into the
wall, then retrieved the metal frame and kept pounding away over anything in his way until it the
hinge rivets popped out and the metal twisted itself unrecognizable. The animal rage hadn't left
Strake yet: the tiger pounded his fist into the roughly made doorway between rooms of the apartment,
splintering the wood, bringing only a dull ache as his bones were far more sturdy than the cheap
construction.
Strake's anger redirected into a raging erection. The tiger dug through his closet, pulling out
leather. Clingy black leather vest, heavy and supple hide, stolen from someone who was so small that
the vest needed extension chains to close up at the front. Black leather codpiece pants, the
codpiece made of a big pouch that unzipped down the front, a hole in back to strain his parts out
for display. Black horsehide chaps, modified down the calf with a zipper to cling the leather in
close to be tucked under boots. Heavy gun-belt, holding a conspicuous .50 revolver. High-shine
engineer boots, the heel cut underslung, chains around each angle, cowboy spurs strapped on under
the rattling chains, bowie knife tucked into a shaft holster in the right boot. Black leather
jacket, name embroidered into the back, cut short and tight, spike studs covering the collar front
and back, down the lapels. Final touch: forearm-length gauntlet gloves, hands made of skin-tight
deerskin, cuffs heavier horsehide, chains around the wrist to snug the leather to the coat
underneath and keep the gauntlets from shifting.-*
Once in his gear, Strake lumbered out into his kitchen, boots pounding the chintzy glue-on wood
floor. The cat rounded up his available cash, tucked it into his coat pockets, then stormed out of
the apartment. He climbed onto his bike and turned it over, the straight-pipe thunder transmitted
through the leather saddle to give his cock an instant rise inside its leather pouch. He tore off
for the long drive up into Lainesville, conspicuously taking back roads instead of the much quicker
highway. The roads gave him more chance to work out the bike, along with less gravel hit and less
chance of running into state troopers. At first, he didn't know why he was going to town, and made
up an excuse of drugs and free sex at one of the hard-core gay bars in the red light district.
Lost in thought, the motorcycle's hard rumble keeping his cock tense, Strake missed his turn.
Flustered, he took the next road he saw, which turned out to be a private drive. The tiger pondered
whether to u-turn the bike, or keep going. Maybe whoever was at the end was some old coot he could
knock off and rob, or some reclusive stoner with a field loaded with plants.
The tiger rounded a bend and stopped. The land opened up, giving him no chance to hide; a big
clearing cut into the woods housed what looked like a small ranch. Parked at the ranch house was an
old blue F-350. Strake sat there on the idling bike and scratched at his chin. The truck was sure
familiar. He replaced the scenery with pouring rain, and his tail flailed behind him. That was
Darren's truck.
Strake pulled his bike right up next to the truck and stopped it, then got off and clomped through
the gravel to the front porch. He knocked on the door, then pounded with the end of his gloved fist.
No answer. The doorbell button had long since fallen apart, so that was out. The tiger then tried
the knob. The metal gave way with a twist and a click, and Strake stepped inside.
The house was simple inside, all hardwood floor and southwest-motif junk. It stank of horse sweat,
marijuana, liquor, floor cleaner, the fresh smell of vegetables. Strake made his way down the main
hall and turned at the end, to find a shotgun stuffed into his face. An old double barrel 12-gauge.
"Dunno what you want, but you're not just walkin' in here to get it," the horse said. It was Darren,
it had to be Darren. Deep brown, denim shirt unbuttoned and roll-sleeved, painted-on battered blue
Wranglers, black cowboy boots.
"You ain't gonna shoot me with that gun," Strake said.
"Got a reason why I'm not gonna?"
Strake thought about grabbing for his sidearm, but the thought never made it down to his had. The
white siberian wasn't exactly afraid, more like unsure of the right tactic. "You ain't gonna shoot
me with a gun, hoss. That ain't no fun. Leave blood all over the nice floor." Strake lifted a boot
and clocked the wood with his heel. "Blood ain't the kind of mess either of us wants."
"I don't remember telling you where I stable up, cat," Darren said, and lowered the gun slightly.
Strake shrugged with a heavy creak of leather. "Got lost. Was thinkin' too hard an' took the wrong
turn."
"So you just barged into my house?" Darren dropped the barrel so it pointed down to the floor, and
leaned on the wall.
"Ain't my fault you left the door unlocked. "Both males seemed unsure of the next move, staring each
other down. Predator and well-armed prey. "You put that thing down. I ain't stealin' nothing you got
around here. Ain't lookin' for money. Go on, hoss, drop it, right there."
Darren leaned down and set the gun on the floor, then barged forward and crashed chest-to-chest with
the hulking tiger. Strake clutched his gloved hands at Darren's shirt and spun hard, glancing off
the corner of the hallway and barrelling the horse down, twin sets of boots thundering on the floor.
The big tiger snarled and wrenched Darren to the left, aiming off the hallway and into the sunken
den, weight and momentum launching the horse right into a wood coffee table. The table's legs gave
out with a bang, tiger and horse collapsing to the ground. "Ain't gonna take your money, faggot, I'm
gonna take your ass-hole an' rape it full of my fuckin' cat-spunk."
As Strake stared Darren in the face, the horse kneed him in the balls, lifted up, and then heaved
the tiger off and to the side. Darren swiped up one of the table's legs and lept onto Strake with
it, shoving it into the leather-cat's throat. Strake gurgled and clutched at the wood, trying to
wrench it away. Darren was just as heavy as him, and the tiger wasn't successful. "Well, now, I'm a
faggot, but you're the one with his big ol' dick in one of those flashy Tom of Finland pouch things?
I ain't lettin' you rape my ass 'till it's outta these jeans." Darren then heaved off the tiger and
stomped down the hallway.
Strake got up and followed, gloved hand massaging the aforementioned bulging package, following
Darren into the house's master bedroom. The stink of horse musk was at its peak, the reek of sweat
and cock and semen. Darren was stuffed into the walk-in closet, looking for something. Strake
rummaged around, peeking into the hamper. Behind the wicker basket was a pair of jeans, crusted with
something. He sniffed open-muzzled and coughed. "Son of a bitch, what the hell you got a cummy-ass
pair of jeans like this?"
"Well," Darren said, muffled by racks of clothes, "You kinda found my jack-off jeans."
The white tiger tossed the denim back down. "Sick-ass horse," he said.
"Uh-huh. Now you go an' occupy yourself while I get all changed up," the horse said, coming out of
the closet naked, cock swaying between muscled thighs. In his hands, he had a sizable bong with a
corrugated hose duct-taped to the top, a gas-mask in the other hand.
"Well shit," Strake said, and clutched at the equipment, taking it and sitting down on the floor
with it. The mask was made for a horse, but it fit over his head snug enough that breathing through
it drew air through the bong with a watery burble and the wheeze of air through the relief hole.
"You shouldn't have." The tiger dug a lighter out of his jacket pocket and flamed it up over the
packed bowl, then blocked the air hole and inhaled. The bowl glowed bright red, and Strake heaved
and coughed, spraying a blast of smoke out the mask's exhaust. "Oh fuck! Oh god-damn," the cat
wheezed, and took another chest-swelling hit.
"Look kinda pretty with that mask on," Darren said, coming out of the closet. He stepped over and
unstrapped it from Strake's head. "Don't wanna overdo it, wouldn't wanna forget anything." The horse
was now wearing a pair of saddle-brown chaps and a chest-hugging leather vest, pecs bulging the hide
out, nipples visible through it. He had the same boots on under the chaps, and cowboy driving gloves
covering his broad equine hands. Strake stared up and down at the horse as he strutted over.
The brown stallion squatted down over Strake's lap and pinned the tiger's back up against the bed.
Darren lifted the mask and strapped it onto his own head, then snatched the tiger's lighter and
flamed up the bowl. He inhaled so fully that partway through, the flaming ember popped down through
the tube and into the water, air gurgling through as the stallion took it all in. He then untaped
the hose from the bong and set the glass aside, and clutched at Strake's muzzle. He wedged the
mask's exhaust up against the tiger's squirming jaws and shotgunned Strake, then just leaned against
the tiger, gloved hands feeling the tiger's heavy-duty leather jacket, sliding along the lapels.
Darren rode over the cat's bulge, rump squeezing at it. "Gonna ride me a tiger," the horse said
inside the mask, as the air vents clicked.
Strake was quickly falling apart, eyes burning redder with each second, cock swollen and aching
inside its pouch. He finally fought the horse off and stood up, only to fall backwards onto the bed,
Darren mounting up on him again. This time, the horse's gloved fingers yanked the snap-on pouch
free, Strake's swollen hooded cock springing out and throbbing. "Go on, gimme that," the horse
snorted, pointing to the nightstand where a pump-top bottle of lube sat. Gloved hand trembling,
Strake snatched the bottle and handed it over. Darren pumped a big splotch of lube onto a gloved
palm, then started massaging Strake's turgid shaft. The cat mrowled and struggled against the
sheets, Darren's thighs squeezing up to help keep the big cat still.
Darren throttled Strake's cock, then aimed it up and sat down, a whuff and a nicker in the gas mask
as he took that initial swollen bump of the head. The horse then simply sat down with a thump,
swollen cock bobbing and slapping against the tiger's leather-clad torso. Strake looked startled,
eyes wide, ears swung back, and reached out to grab onto Darren's polished-up vest. The horse
responded by clutching onto Strake's lapels and starting to ride hard, body bucking up and down, the
bed springs creaking and bottoming out. Soon, the stallion was sweating, brown fur glossed up with
the dampness, breathing hard enough in the gas mask that the intake valve made a rattling flutter
sound down the air hose.
"You gonna come, cat? You gonna come while I ride on your ass? This what you wanted? You sure ain't
raping me, I'm rapin' my own ass on you."
"Unrrrh," Strake groaned, body starting to jerk, hips pumping upwards. "Fucked up, so god-damn, uh,
stoned, ain't gonna come like this, don't you fuckin' stop though.."
"Ain't gonna come?" Darren said, and yanked on the tiger's jacket zipper, pulling the leather apart
and exposing Strake's heaving chest. The horse immediately seized the tiger's black nipples and
started to wrench them back and forth. The tiger roared and rowrled, punching at Darren's chest,
cock straining and jolting upwards into the stallion's bucking asshole.
"Aaahh! Fuck! Fuuuucckkkkk! Lemme go! Lemme go! Hurts, hurts asshole!" Strake hissed and spit, then
finally beat on Darren hard enough that the horse let go and shrank back. Strake shoved Darren off
and immediately hopped up on the horse's back. "You god-damn son of a bitch, yankin' my tits like
that," Strake hissed, and penetrated Darren with a hard thump of leather against leather. "Gonna
show you one."
The tiger snatched at Darren's gas-mask air hose and wound it around the horse's neck, then pulled
on it. The heavy, muffled huffs turned strained, the horse both choked and suffocated as Strake
pounded away, hips pistoning back and forth like a jackhammer. Strake clutched around the horse's
neck, one hand holding the end of the air hose, the other hand reaching down and starting to jack at
the stud's black and pink cock. The angle was a little awkward, the tiger's thrusts mostly just
moving back and forth a few inches as he kneeled on the bed and dug his hips forward, but Darren's
cock was sliming itself and the horse was choking and gasping inside the mask. Each heaving breath
made the rubber suck against the stallion's snout, each exhale easily whuffing out.
"God dammnit, hurry up an' come, ain't gonna shoot 'till you're squeezin' my dick!" Strake snarled,
and pulled the hose tighter. Darren choked and gagged, gloved hands coming out and wrenching at the
rubber tube, then Strake's arm, succeeding and freeing neither. Strake just stuffed the end of the
air hose against the back of Darren's gloved hand, and no more air sucked in. The stallion brayed
hard, then gurgled and thrashed, cock exploding and splattering the wall with enormous gouts of
seed.
The tiger kept pounding, snarling and drooling down his chest fur and onto the horse's vested back,
until he fired off and roared, forgetting about the strangled horse as he let go and pulled back.
The cat shot seed all over his own jacket and furred chest, howling and shuddering as his stoned
orgasm pounded through him. When he looked up, Darren was pulling the mask off, face-fur wet with
condensation. He didn't even bother wiping up the wall, and just stomped up off the bed. "Gonna
shower. You get that leather shit off an' come join me, big cat."
Strake didn't hesitate to strip off his gear and stagger into the bathroom down the hall, but the
heart-pounding swoon of the pot made him into a joke as he struggled out of all the heavy leather,
cock still hard. Darren was already in the big shower, scrubbing himself down with a big bath brush,
whinnying as he cleaned up his asshole and cock. Strake pushed in with the intent to slide his arms
around the muscular horse, but was shoved over to the side and chested to the wall. Darren started
scrubbing him, working soap up his back, the tiger groaning and purring as he slowly sunk down and
kneeled on the edge of the tub. It was a combination shower and jacuzzi tub, big and square and
easily accomodating for the two studs.
"I reckon you've had a big hardon for me," Darren said, rinsing the tiger's back.
"Uh-huh," Strake said, breathing hard as the hot water washed soap out of his fur. Darren
manipulated the tiger until Strake was sitting on the edge of the tub, pushed into one of the
corners. The horse soaped his hands up and started kneading the white tiger's heavy slabs of chest
muscle. "Ain't, uh, ain't never had uh, someone who was all fucked up like you. All rough an' stuff,
but, but.. masks an' gettin' baked an' hangin' an... shit, man, I'm so trashed." Strake slumped as
he was fondled and scrubbed clean, hot shower pouring down over him.
"And now you found where I live, I'm not gonna be able to keep you away," Darren said, stepping out
of the shower. Strake haphazardly soaped his cock and balls, then just sat and let the water wash
the lather away. Darren came back holding a contraption. It was a sizable cock buttplug with a
suction-cup base and a little control box. Darren pushed at the box and the plug whirred. "C'mon,
kitty, stand up for a sec."
Strake stood, eyes fixated on that plug as Darren stuck it down to the porcelain right where the
tiger's butt had been. The horse grabbed a bottle of fur conditioner and splurted an iridescent
green glob of slime on the toy, then slathered it around with his fingers. He urged the tiger back
down, and the low-buzzing toy started denting Strake's asshole in. The tip pushed him apart, and the
cat sank down with a pleasured, stoned growl. The toy had quite a curve to it, and as soon as
Strake's muscles clamped down around the thin section right before the suction cup. Darren crouched
down in front of the horse, then kneeled, then leaned over and started nosing at the tiger's cock.
"Aww, you don't hafta.."
"You think I don't wanna suck your cock? You ain't been blown by a horse yet, I can tell." Darren's
big hand manipulated the tiger's foreskin, rolling it back and forth, thick tongue coming out to
swipe at the bare swollen head and the moving rim of flesh. The tongue slid down under the head,
thick horsey lips descending towards the swollen glans, then engulfing it. Strake groaned and
shifted, the plug pushing around inside, grinding up against his prostate. His muscles flexed
constantly, body moving, too stoned to try and truly ride the plug.-* Darren sucked slow and hard,
pulling off just recklessly enough to make a digusting slurp now and then. Then, the horse pulled
off completely, wiping water off his face as he nuzzled at the tiger's throbbing curve.
"C'mon, you ain't gonna stop, gettin' so close," Strake groaned, body splayed back into the corner
of the shower, feet working against the slippery tub floor, thigh muscles jerking under the
drenching onslaught of water as that plug purred against his prostate.
Darren took the control box for the plug and pushed it into Strake's hand, fingers pulling Strake's
thumb up to the slider. "You give yourself a thrill, kitty."
Strake pushed the slider up and the purr against his prostate turned to a growl, the sensation
almost strong enough to make him piss. Darren downed over the tiger's straining cock, sucking and
bobbing again, wet slurps as he twisted his long horse-muzzle for an extra thrill. The sensation was
too much - was Darren letting his teeth drag just a little? - and Strake nearly fainted, eyes
rolling back. The tiger clutched at Darren's head, fingers curling into the horse's mane, pulling
and urging the equine deeper. Strake's deep hrrruhs turned heavier and heavier until he tipped over
the edge and roared, cock exploding in the horse's mouth.
The chocolate horse pulled off, a gout of semen splattering out onto his lips, then started making
out with Strake's dickhead, making a showy mess of the tiger's orgasm. The horse then moved up and
pushed bodily against the tiger, come-wet lips thrusting at the big cat's muzzle. Strake, completely
taken aback, opened his mouth and Darren's tongue penetrated it. Strake clutched around the horse,
making out fiercely, tongue wrestling with Darren's. The horse then pulled back and rinsed his face
off, then stepped out of the shower again.
"Now you towel off an' come downstairs. Got some fun toys in th'basement," Darren said, snatching a
towel and leaving. Strake was left to unplug himself from that buzzing toy, the tiger shaking
slightly, so stoned that it took him five minutes to towel off.
The naked tiger slowly made his way down the basement stairs, fingers fidgeting and tap-tap-tapping
on the railing. The horse smell continued, filled with a little bit of sawdust, and the overpowering
stench of leather.
When Strake stepped into the basement proper, he felt disoriented. No longer was he in a house; he
was in a stable, a perfect replica of a horse barn, down to all the sawdust and horseshoes tacked up
as lucky charms, old wood and hay. One wall was made up of several 'stalls', as authentic as
possible, while the last three were blocked off by individual curtains. Seeing no sign of the horse,
Strake went over to one curtain and went to pull at it.
"Now that ain't a good idea," Darren's voice said. "Don't wanna ruin the surprise."
Strake turned around; the horse was fooling with some leather equipment on a work table. He had a
brown leather cowboy hat on, and nothing else. "Hruh. Surprise?"
"Uh-huh, you're gonna have a lot of fun with it. Now, you just sit down on that stool an' wait,"
Darren said, pointing to a milking stool in the middle of the hallway. The tiger stepped over and
sat down, head slowly panning back and forth. His chest pumped with his stoned heartbeat, cock
burning so delightfully down inside, slowly throbbing up, balls hanging low. His tail lazily swished
back and forth in the sawdust.
While Strake watched, Darren geared himself up. Custom-made cowboy chaps, made of saddle-weight
brown leather, cut to fit the legs as if they were painted on, zips down towards the ankles to cling
them to the leg. The chaps were tooled up at the rim of the crotch, and along t he belt, the leather
expertly carved and then burnished. Next, a pair of boots, knee high and stovepipe, square-toed and
underslung-heeled, a deep chocolate marroon. Then a pair of spurs with a flashy chain strap in the
front, conchos where the chains met leather, and clattery spiked rowels in back.
The horse disappeared for a moment, footfalls now marked by the pound of well-made stacked leather
heels and the rattle of spurs. Not the bright jangle of new showy ones, but the clunk of old bronze.
When Darren reappeared, he was wearing a tooled brown leather vest, the leather a traditional cowboy
style that closed fully at the front, hugging the contours of well-wrought abs and square-slab pecs.
The horse was carrying a heavy coat, which he pulled on. A leather blazer, the same deep, dark brown
as his boots, which he pulled on with a low creak. The final touch, a pair of long-cuff riding
gloves that the horse stretched on over his big hands, then fiddled at the cuffs.
Darren picked up something out of sight on the table, and brought it over to-* Strake. It was the
mask and bong... no, it was _a_ mask and _a_ bong, similar but not identical to the one from before.
The tiger didn't need any words of encouragement, and fixed his eyes up on Darren as he held the
rubber to his face and took a deep, bubbling, smoky inhale. The cat then coughed and groaned,
letting go of the gas mask and leaning back on the stool. The white tiger promptly fell backwards,
saving his head from an impact but whuffing the remaining smoke out of his lungs. Strake stared up
at the horse as Darren approached and lifted a boot, standing it on top of the stool.
"Cat, you are a dumb-ass," the horse said, and leaned a gloved hand on his knee. Strake crawled up
onto all fours, staring at the glorious tall boot, then approached and nosed up against it.
"Uh-huh, I'm a big dumb fuck, just kinda strong an' shit. God damn, I'm gonna come lickin' your
boots. I mean, I ain't, but, oh god, fuck." Strake started washing his tongue over the boot leather,
and quickly found it slightly dusty, but that just meant his spit could wash it clean. He rubbed at
the horse's calf like a kitten, purring hard, cock straining. "Why you gotta get me baked off my
fuckin' ass, got me actin' dumb."
"You barge into my house and throw me into a table, I get you stoned and fuck you."
"You're gonna fuck me?" Strake said and looked up, ears pinning back. He remembered the crushing
violation from the stallion's cock from a week or however long ago. Did it even happen? Maybe it was
a dream. Maybe this was a dream.
Darren picked his boot up off the stool and stomped it down, then picked up the three-legged wood
seat. "Come on, stand up for a second." Strake did as instructed; the horse pushed the stool up
against one of the heavy wood supports and the cat backed up and sat down again. Darren went back to
the workbench and came back with a pair of cop-issue handcuffs, something metal that clinked against
them, and a hammer.
"Ohhhhh, you're gonna cuff me, I've been a bad cat," Strake chuckled, head swooning, ears buzzing.
He lifted his wrists up in front and Darren cuffed them, then lifted them high up. Strake stared up,
ears tucking back as he watched the horse pound a big U-nail into the support beam around the cuff
chain, leaving Strake stretched up with his hands over his head. The tiger's cock surged and pumped
out a drool of precum that quickly ran down the underside of the up-curved length. Strake did not
want to ever be handcuffed officially, and come to think of it, he'd never been handcuffed at all.
It was a hard thrill.
Darren retrieved another set of cuffs, thicker bondage-issue ones, and went about cuffing the
tiger's ankles with the cuff chain behind the support, forcing the cat to bend his knees a little.
"Unnrrhhuhhh, what're you gonna do, what're you gonna do horsey, god damn I'm hot, I'll do anythin',
I'll lick your ass-hole an' you can stuff that big-ass stallion uh dick an', you can stuff it down
my mouth, an-"
The horse went back to the table and brought back a full bridle harness, adjusted for someone with a
short muzzle. Strake kept groaning and mumbling as the rubber-clad metal bit stuffed between his
teeth, jaws working and chewing his teeth against the material as Darren strapped the bridle on.
"There, you can't talk any more," Darren said, and stroked at Strake's chin with an appraising
leathery thumb and finger leathery squeeze. Next up was some kind of leather contraption looking
superficially like boots and chaps in one piece. "Looks like you're a little less of a kitty now,
chompin' at that bit. Think you're still too much asshole tiger for this horse. Gimme one of your
legs."
"Un-huh," Strake grunted around the bit. "Ah cah hhhhnnh, sshhhnn.. un-uh, ah caahn, urrh." Strake
attempted to say something, but what he was trying to say - that he could still talk around the bit
- came out as mumbles and some drool down the corners of his mouth. The tiger tried to rub his head
up against his arms, finally succeeding in getting the slobber off onto his biceps. He didn't lift
his leg, so Darren reached forward and took hold of the ankle, doing it for him. Strake stared down
at the contraption in the horse's other hand; it was a pair of chap boots, except the 'boot' was
actually a hoof. The leather part at the ankle was carefully reinforced with rubber straps, forming
a digitigrade horse hoof, the actual foot part made of some kind of gleaming black material. Strake
instinctively pointed his foot as it slid in, and soon had his leg encased in snug brown leather,
foot transformed into a horse hoof. "Unh, unh, suhhfabbeeahhh."
Strake stared on, bloodshot eyes wide as Darren worked on the other leg. Then, the horse took out a
key and undid the handcuffs, helping the shaky and intoxicated tiger stand up. Strake wobbled around
and promptly fell down with a thud to his knees. Darren helped him up again, then did up the chaps
belt for those hoof chaps. "C'mere, let's see how you look," the cowboy stallion said, leading
Strake over to a rather dirty mirror.
"Ah gah hoolves," Strake said, staring at his reflection. He turned back and forth, getting the hang
of moving around in the restrictive footwear. Simply by design, it made him pick his knees up and
clop the hoof parts down, metal shoes on the bottoms making a loud bang against the wood floor.
"Unnh. Haaahhh. Saah haaahhhr."
While Strake preened in front of the mirror, cock wobbling around as he inspected his new footwear,
Darren got more gear. He returned with nearly-identical hoof chaps, but these were a little more
slender and connected to an elaborate driving harness. Strake, baked out of his mind, was docile
enough that Darren had no problem putting the hooves on the tiger's arms. Soon, Strake was wrapped
in leather straps, all four limbs encased in smooth brown leather, hands and feet made into hooves
that could club someone at best, clumsy and useless at worst.
"Go on, horsey, go and see if you can trot around," Darren said.
"Aahh seaahh hiiss ihh pooaarh," Strake said, and started lumbering around the basement 'stable'
knees kicking up as he attempted to trot.
"Well, yeah, I'm sure you did, you had quite a lot of damn videos over there. But now, you get on
all fours," Darren said, and promptly pushed Strake forward. The tiger toppled onto all four hooves,
shaking as he tried to stand back up. Darren put a boot on his back, making sure the big feline
couldn't do more than come up to all four hooves on the floor. Strake tried clopping around, but
quickly broke a fierce sweat and collapsed with a drooling groan.-* "Okay, okay, no trotting for
you. Up you go, hawse. There we go." Darren got Strake to his feet again, and walked the horse
around the mock stable.
One of the stalls was full of equipment. A sawhorse with foot and forearm pads, the leather-padded
top featuring a trap door right about where someone's crotch would be. A machine with some kind of
piston coming out of it and a few tubes that coiled up alongside it. When Strake saw the sawhorse,
he stomped his hooves. When he saw the machine, he tried to backpedal. "Wahaahh, whaasaaahh? Un-uh,
uhhh, naarrh, nawww, naaarhh."
"Easy, boy. Whoa," Darren said, and heaved on Strake's bridle harness. The horse-tiger promptly
stomped and kept trying to back up. Slowly, Darren muscled Strake against the sawbuck, white and
black stripes clashing up against the black leather padding. A few hapless kicks later, Strake was
strapped down, hooves dangling forwards off the arm rests and backwards off the calf rests. "Well,
now it's time to saddle up and have a ride."
Darren stepped out of the stall and hefted a custom saddle down, then brought it over to Strake. The
tiger let out a very un-equine thoatly mewl as the stud fidded the heavy leather to the driving
harness. "There we go. That's pretty. You make a nice horse. Almost like a zebra. Oughta shave a
mohawk into you. Well, shave around it, I guess." At the idea, Strake shook his head, spit flinging
off his muzzle.
The horse hopped up onto Strake's back, the tiger grunting as the stud's weight squeezed on him.
After a few shifts around, Darren climbed back down and started adjusting that machine. It scooted
over on the floor, bumping up against the sawbuck, the horse fixing some latches so the two combined
into one wood-framed piece. Darren opened up a door in the machine's lower parts and withdrew a
wobbling dildo shaped exactly like a horse's cock. "Now, I could fuck you, an' it was sure nice last
time. But I think you need a clydesdale."
"Unnhunnh, aahhnnh gaahh fehhhh," Clyde repeated, over and over, slobber hanging off his bit-gagged
muzzle. Despite the complaint about the toy's size, the tiger thrusted himself slowly against the
top of the sawbuck, an almost instinctual reflex movement. Darren spotted this, still holding the
toy in one hand, and flipped a latch on the bottom of the sawbuck's bench. The trap door fell open
and Strake's cock flopped down, the length swollen hard with a full erection. The tiger grunted,
hips still trying to thrust, accomplishing nothing useful with his cock dangling.
"I got a solution to everythin', horsey-cat. Kind of a bright stud, I think." Darren attached the
dildo to the end of the machine's piston, squeezing and fondling it with leather squeaks on rubber
until it seemed quite happy to stay put. Free of having to hold the toy, the brown horse picked up
an item from the wall; a feed-bag.
"Ahhh aanh hungehh," Strake groaned, bridled head swinging around to stare red-eyed at anything his
eyes could find.
The horse hung the bag on the wall and took a little bottle off a nearby shelf, then tore off a
sheet of paper towel from a hidden dispenser. He opened the bottle and dotted the paper with the
liquid, then crumpled the towel into a ball and tossed it into the feedbag. Darren then approached
Strake with the bag. The stoned tiger grunted out a 'whaazaahh', before his muzzle stuffed into the
heavy rawhide. The bag was meant for someone smaller, such as a pony or even a smaller canine
species; it fit a little tightly around Strake's jaws. If the intention was to feed the
tiger-cum-horse, the bag was a poor choice. The intention wasn't food, but the noxious vapors from
the wet paper towel.
"Earrhhhgh, smmehhhuhs awwffffuhh," Strake managed to grunt, face wrinkling up. Nonetheless, he
breathed, the bag squeezing in a little as air hissed in a few pepper holes. After a couple of
breaths and maybe ten seconds, the cat's tall ears started to turn red inside. "Ohhh. Ohhhhhh.
Ohhhhrhrhhhhhnnnhhrrhghh, unh, unh, unhhr.." The cat started shaking at the restraints, cock
softening just slightly as its muscled owner groaned and gasped.
"Nice hit of poppers always makes a lil' fuckin' better," Darren said, giving Strake a few pats to
the head. "Makes a big fuckin' possible." The horse then returned the bottle to the shelf and
removed a bigger one, a lube container. It looked like a square bottle with a bent pointed nozzle, a
tool used for applying water in a chemistry lab. Darren started applying the lube to the horse dildo
as it stuck out from the fucking machine. Strake was panicking, yowling and snarling into the
feedbag as the bag's leather huffed out and then sucked in onto his face.
"Cahhnn reahhh, caahnn reaahh!" the tiger snorted, shaking his head violently, hard enough that the
bag made a slapping sound as the end of it flapped around when Strake inhaled and sucked leather
onto leather.
Darren came over and removed the bag, then went back to lubing up the horse dildo, giving Strake's
squirming pink asshole a few squirts. The horse felt around with gloved fingers, then pentrated
Strake's tailhole. The tiger, gasping for air and slobbering onto the floor, just let out a groan.
"Oh, that's nice and loose now. Gonna fit real easy in you." The cowboy horse started manipulating
the fucking machine's bracket, probing the big rubber dildo's head at Strake's asshole. The length
was wrist-thick, not as big as a true clydesdale's cock, but far larger than most non-horses would
ever encounter. Darren adjusted the machine until the toy was denting in the horse's anus, then
turned it on low. It whirred with a faint sound, and the cock pushed out slowly, skidding to the
side from the tiger's asshole. Strake jumped and strained, body trying to lurch off the sawbuck.
"Funnhhhh, taahhh eeeghhh! Taahh bbbbeeughh!"
Darren left the machine to attempt - and fail - at penetrating Strake over and over, and grasped
something from the wall. It was a long strap flogger. Darren gave the side of Strake's rump a sharp
crack. "Stop moving around so much an' stop complainin'. You're a nice tiger-horse now an' you're
gonna get fucked like one." Darren messed with an additional strap, which wound around the tiger's
hips and held Strake flat against the sawbuck, unable to arch his back up and pull away from the
toy. Flogger held in his square teeth, Darren started to guide the toy towards Strake's asshole
again, gloved hands ensuring it couldn't push to the side. The head of it dented in Strake's
asshole, prompting a terrified grunt from the tiger. A couple of mechanical pushes later, and
instead of denting in, the cat's asshole spread a little. Darren turned up the stroke on the machine
and the next slow thrust penetrated the tiger entirely. Strake yowled and snarled, Darren adjusting
the machine so that the head didn't pull free, instead slowly thrusting the horse toy deep into
Strake's ass. "Whoa, there we go. Look at that. Bet that's a nice head-trip."
Strake's eyes were wide open, glassy, bloodshot, and drools of slobber hung from his big-gagged
face. Darren slowly adjusted the controls on the fucking machine, and the slow teasing thrusts
turned into forceful jabs, complete with a bit of a 'kick'. Well over a foot of cock was penetrating
into Strake's guts now, the tiger's muscles writhing underneath his striped pelt and the heavy
leather hoofchaps. The tiger's lips started pulling back, teeth chewing at the bit. "Unnrrh, urrhhh
eeeeehh eehh bbbuuhrrrhhhnnnsssssssss!"
Darren went over to the hanging feedbag and removed the poppers-soaked paper toweling and mashed it
up against Strake's nostrils, the tiger huffing and snorting at the noxious smell. Within seconds,
the complaints were turning into deep groans, the tiger's body writhing against the machine's heavy
fucking, cock waggling beneath him and leaving a two-foot strand of sticky precum hanging from the
tip.
"Well, I think you're kind of like one of them horsey-ride machines at th'supermarket now. Gonna
have myself a ride," Darren said, and left the stall, returning with a pony-sized horse saddle. He
started strapping it onto Strake's back, the tiger turning around and staring, Strake's face
twitching each time the machine reversed direction and stuffed in again. After the saddle was firmly
in place, Darren loosened the strap that held Strake firm against the sawbuck, then gathered up a
few items.-* One of them was the controls for the fucking machine, which detached. The other was the
feed bag, which Darren stuffed the poppers rag back into. He kept the flogger handy, and then
snapped his fingers. "Oh forgot 'bout the best part. Horsey's gonna like this," the stallion said,
and set all of the items wedged underneath the edge of the saddle to keep them from falling onto the
floor.
Darren fiddled around with the fucking machine, removing some sort of cylinder from the side,
attached to a hose. He brought it around underneath Strake and stuffed the cylinder onto the tiger's
cock. Inside, a latex sheath immediately sucked onto the tiger's swollen cock and the whole
contraption started slurping up and down, roughly in time with the fuck machine's piston. Strake
yowled and jerked his body around, grunts of strained pleasure coming out of his drooling mouth.
The stallion mounted up, shifting around in the saddle as he got himself comfortable. Strake
wheezed, grunting as air whuffed out his nostrils, body straining to try and breathe with a heavy
horse perched on top. "Now go on an' buck a lil', work yourself on that toy," Darren said, and gave
Strake a painful whack to the flank. The tiger just screamed. "I said buck your ass!"
Strake started to buck, back legs heaving and straining under leather, lifting his body as the
machine pumped into him, unsteadily matching the rhythm, fur starting to dampen around his face with
sweat. Darren gave him a few more wallops for good measure, then turned up the fuck machine's power
until he could feel the thrusting through Strake's body. The tiger screamed and frothed at the
mouth.
"Oh, don't you come yet, you big dumbass," Darren grunted, and took the feedbag in hand. He leaned
forward, huffing as the saddle horn stuck him in the abs, and yanked the bag back onto Strake's
head, buckling it behind. The tiger's heaving breaths immediately started sucking the bag against
his face, Strake flailing around like a bucking, roped-down horse. A few bag-inflating roar-grunts,
and the fuck-machine started making a gross slurping sound. Darren looked back to see spunk burble
out of the dick-sucker's air vent. Darren clicked the machine off and then hopped down, snatching
the feedbag off Strake's head. The tiger didn't move. Darren then unlatched the machine and pulled
it back, huge fake cock sliding out of the tiger's asshole. The horse inspected it. "Good boy,
didn't mess up th'equipment." The dick-sucker fell off Strake's cock and clunked against the floor,
creamy ooze puddling out of it.
Strake's climax had shocked the tiger so much that he didn't really feel much of anything as Darren
helped him off the sawbuck. Pleasure burned through him so heavily that he felt as if he was still
climaxing, cock tortured down inside, a profound sense of sleep coming over him. At some point,
Darren put him to bed, and that was that.
Strake woke up with a start, head pounding with a mind-altering thud. The sheets were soaked in
sweat - not to mention a puddle of drool on his pillow - and his mouth was frothy and cottony
inside. The tiger grunted and sat up, then realized he couldn't open or close his jaw, because
something was wedged in between his teeth. The tiger snorted and reached up to feel for it, instead
bashing his face with something heavy and hard. Slobbering and swollen-lipped, he beat around at the
sheets. His hands were completely useless. He was wearing hooves.
He remembered the hoof chaps, but not that they were still on him. He bolted out of bed and
immediately fell flat on his ass, stumbling as his feet were still hoofed as well. He clambered up
and rushed around; it wasn't his bedroom. It wasn't Darren's either, but as he burst out into a
hallway, stomping around on the awkward hooves, he realized it was Darren's house. He tore into the
bathroom and banged around with the mirrors until he could see the back of his head. The bridle
harness that kept his mouth shut and stuffed with the bit was padlocked on. Furthermore, he had a
heavy-duty collar around his neck with some kind of electronic box at the front. He bashed at the
box with a hoof, and after the third whack, the room tilted and everything filled with stars. He
fell into the shower and groaned, scrabbling to get free. Another hard whack to the collar had a
smaller effect, a painful jolt to the back of his neck that spasmed all his muscles.
The tiger finally got to his feet and tore out of the bathroom, stomping down the main hallway,
knocking over everything in his way. Terror mixed with sheer primal anger; when Strake caught sight
of himself in a big framed picture, he just wailed on it with a hoof, shattering the glass and
tearing the canvas print behind it. He immediately made for the front door and bolted outside.
Darren's pickup wasn't in the gravel drive, and neither was Strake's bike. The tiger swore and
kicked at the gravel, then looked up the drive and took off. Running with the hooves was hard until
he got into the right rhythm, and even then his quads were soon burning with the knee-yanking trot
he had to use to move.
Perhap a tenth of a mile up the drive, Strake's neck lit up with fire and his body crumpled to the
dust, gravel grinding into his face. The pain forced him to writhe on the ground until he could back
up. Moving back a few feet made the pain go away. He staggered around, crawling to the side twenty
feet and tried moving forward. The collar electrified his spine again, legs turning to rubber.
Dust crept up further up the drive, and a big pickup truck roared into view, the horse's same blue
truck. The truck slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop, the passenger door flying open. Strake
turned watched as a twelve-gauge lifted and fired off. Something hit him in the chest with a
lung-crushing wham! and Strake tilted flat onto his back.
At first, he thought he was dead. Then he realized he could still see the sky. Two figures stared
down at him, one of them Darren, the other a bull in a flannel shirt and overalls.
"Glad you got to try out that sandbag shot, Bud," Darren said, and clapped the bull on the back. The
bovine grinned big. "You wanna throw him in the back? Looks like that invisible fence shit scrambled
him up good 'nuff for now."
The bull reached down and grabbed for Strake's arms, prompting an instant thrashing and snarling
from the tiger. Despite anything he did, Strake found himself flipped onto his chest, then heaved to
his feet. The bull was taller than him by a foot, and promptly picked up the barrel-chested tiger
and carried him over to the pickup truck, then dumped him in the back. The bull then hopped in and
sat on Strake's lower back while the striped cat hissed and spit.
"Bud, you wanna go get him a little stable room set up after dinner? Figure he oughta have some nice
hay to sleep in," Darren said, then fired up the truck for the short trip down the drive to the
house.
Bud the bull just smiled and petted the back of Strake's bridle-harnessed head.