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Posted by: K.Rooste Jul 24 2006, 02:22 PM

“Early Damnation” Kevin Rooste Series 2006 Greg Starr had finished his thirtieth year work the stun gun at the Plenum Brothers slaughtering facility. This was to him a milestone to which he had looked forward to, knowing that he at last could put killing of animals behind him. He was one of the most brutal of men, as adding to the ceremony Greg damned his own company riding mount to be sent to slaughter as part of the show. When the ceremony was over and all there had enjoyed the beer and brats supplied by the company, a rather inebriated Greg sauntered toward his pickup truck for that nine mile drive to home. Seeing things in doubles and triples, he was so drunk that some at the ceremony party offered him a ride. Greg was a proud man, having learned to rely upon nobody other than himself. A drunken man at the wheel of his pickup was soon lost and bewildered as he tried to remember his way home. It was dusk and four hours since he had driven the last time out the company parking lot and he sat at a crossroad wondering where he was, where he should go, and knowing he was hopelessly lost. One dirt road loomed to his right and for some strange reasoning this seemed to spark in him some semblance as being his way to home. Speed and the effect of drinking a dozen plus beers with his so called, friends, made him lose control and bury his pickup into the ditch. The dust had not as yet settled when he rolled out of the cab, sprawled upon the ground, and looked up into the face of an angered old woman. Greg seemed to recognize her, his memory was seemed clear at the moment, she being somebody from his past. Miss Janice Harley was a farm owner in that county, she having raised many a fine colt or filly to become a prize winning Thoroughbred. Some of her students went on to race and win, as other became prized breeding stock for other farms like hers. What she was renowned for knowing was when from the numbers of animals she raised or met, as she could pick out those that boasted of exceptional realization of self. This ability spotted those horses that seemingly were mentally alert, nearly rational, and well willing to train and be then proud of their accomplishments. It was of this woman that Greg remembered her coming to the company and demanding the release of certain cows, bulls, horses, and pigs that in her reasoning mind were animals worthy of saving from slaughter. Greg remembered her as he laid their sprawled out and unable to stand up and greet this person as he knew he should. Surprised, Greg found her helping to pick him up and walking the two headed for her tiny white farm house. No doubt when they went walking past her house, Greg thought it odd, but soon found his self tossed face down into a box stall in her large white barn. He scrambled to a sitting position, hearing her call to others, telling them to gather around and see the man who would find joy in killing. In a short space of time Greg found he was surrounded by the heads and faces of many horses, a cow, and bull, all starring at him in utter silence. Miss Harley officiated over this ceremony, as she spoke aloud, telling all there of how blatantly this one man damned even his trusty mount to be slaughtered that day as a symbol of his leaving his chosen line of making a living. She told how his horse looked back at him, it begging to him for mercy, pleading to that last moment when with cattle prods and pain, she was sent inside the building to meet her death. Greg sat there and grumbled about the old nag, seemingly he was as uncaring for her as he had for any other poor animal that stepped up and Greg killed with his stun hammer. A murmuring sound filled the barn, these animals were of the highest order, each knowing of their existence, realizing far more than do most animals of who they were and of their place here on earth. Each were chosen from the endless realms of animals so born, these plucked from the differing farms, seen by the wisdom of Miss Harley as each were one out of seven million. The idea to her choosing these special animals was from that odd ratio. One out of say every seven million or so animals born were like as an Albert Einstein of the animal world. The ration for animals was much higher than in humans, but she knew them seemingly on sight, picking them at young ages to be her prized stock. All who came to her farm were treated with special care, training, and a daily regimen of urging each to show of their talents. One such excellent stallion felt the primal urge to mate and went over the pasture fence and was soon caught, sent, and slaughtered before Miss Harley could insist upon her property being returned. It was of that situation she well remembered Greg. Now the tables had turned and Greg was before a tribunal of his animal peers. The bestial murmuring continued until in a fit of his own making Greg stood up and spoke abruptly, poignantly and proudly stating what he did was a needed service, and since as according to all he knew, animals were nothing more than things under the whim and desire of men and the use men had for such things of property! Miss Harley stood with a grim face, she speaking when the animal sounds of murmuring died back to silence. Announcing boldly of the tribunal decision to place a curse of early damnation upon Greg, one that would in time send him to learn the terror and fear felt by the millions he killed with glee and personal satisfaction. Drunken and feeling quite yet proud of his thirty years at the company, Greg was likely surprised when as all the animals stood starring at him he became surrounded by some odd blue haze. Angered and insulted, Greg stomped in a circle, yelling and calling upon higher powers, cursing and swearing, damning himself even further than by those there that wished him to be as if he were an animal too. One by one the animals walked away, as each returned to their perspective stalls, remaining totally silent and as much waiting for something. Stiff necked and bold, but still standing with that odd blue glow that encompassed his self from head to boot, Greg eyed Miss Harley for what might she do next. She turned round, stepping out of the big box stall, as then slamming the heavy wooden door shut, Greg found himself locked and barred from being able to leave that barn. “We shall all greet you come the new morning,” was all Miss Harley said, she walking out of the barn, leaving an insulted Greg to stand in an animal’s stall for the night. Screaming of his feelings for being so stranded and insulted, Greg yelled and walked the outside perimeter of his rounded stall and jail cell. So he continued until his throat became parched, and the weakness came over him that he tripped and fell face down in the straw that covered the stall floor. Sleep came upon him and he being exhausted from his hours of ramblings could barely place a coherent word before another. It was dark outside that barn, but inside was the dim glow of some low wattage bulbs that allowed those in the barn sight of the others and of Greg. He awoke and rolled quickly to an alert sitting position. The odd blue haze still prevailed about him but had begun to inflict a terrible assertion for him to scratch what itched. Greg struggled to get to a standing upright position, his feet ached and he needed to hold onto the steel bars that stood barring him from climbing out of his jail cell stall. Groaning from agonizing leg pains, as his thighs constantly cramped into Charlie-horse contortions. His backbone too felt strained, as it felt taunted and like being pulled in two differing directions to once. Staggering to take a step forward, Greg held with one hand to the steel bars and the other searching for the worst of his pains to try and rub what hurt. His throat remained still very dry but it ached too. He grumbled about how when he got out, his first thing to do was a visit to see an attorney. Greg stumbled several times as he grumbled aloud, until with one such he fell again face down and wildly insulted. It was as he scrambled to stand up again he became confronted with the reality of his situation. Seated on an aching butt, Greg felt of his thighs as they hurt from another round of cramps. He rubbed at the thighs, working his stiff feeling hands down over pained shins, to discover his feet. A wild scramble to spread back the straw that covered the cement floor, Greg had a need to get a totally clear sight of his feet. He cried out with pain and terror seeing how his feet had elongated, his heels being then as hocks, and toes were as cloven hoofs. Terrified of what might be happening to his thighs too, Greg hurriedly tore off his jeans and sat then pinning for of what he saw. His feet were totally bestial, looking bovine his cloven hooves and hocks. His thighs had broadened wider, being narrow front to back, being as bestial as any of the many cattle he slaughtered over the years. He moaned seeing how his human legs had somehow changed, becoming the hind limbs of some brute beast. Yet too his roaming hands felt of more than legs being different, his aching butt had a profound new appendage. Rolling to his side he felt of the long rope like tail that jutted from the end of his spine and hung loose and heavy feeling. He fondled the thing until from his mental pangs of terror he felt it move. Then terror turned into horror as the sensation of the tail moving became a reality. Greg felt obviously quite nervous for all he felt and seen. Leaping forward to stand tilted on all fours, his hind like legs and bovine feet being taller than his arms and hands, left him in a rather obtuse sort of stance. Nervous terror turned to making his new appendage move, swaying side to side at first. Then as he seemed to gain some control he began to toy with the thing, swaying becoming swats, slapping at his broadening butt and muscular flanks. Time rolled onward as Greg feeling the oddity of his new tail stood mindless in play as he learned to move it with a great sense of agility. He stood so engrossed with his sensual toy that he stopped taking account of his body and how it continued to change. As the sensation inside him grew to nearly an unbearable urge to urinate, Greg suddenly felt no shame in doing what was needed by his body. Relief and a feeling of satisfied calm quelled his urgent need for relief of a full bladder. It was then that he stopped his toying with the tail and took to study why he felt strange as he urinated. Greg twisted his heavy feeling head to try and eye back along his then larger gut, seeing his bovine shaped flanks, two huge and low hung testicles, and from the low point of his belly jutted a bullish looking sheath. Excited and terrified for what he saw, Greg would have moaned aloud. Instead, as he groaned of his personal horror the sound he made rang in his ears as that of a bull feeling the certain knowledge his time on earth was short. In the dim light of the barn Greg saw his lower human self was then the hind end and rear legs and hoofs of some true to life bovine bull. He moaned more, and toyed with his groans turning them by some inner suggestion to sound ever more perfectly bovine. The he spent valuable time playing with his changed vocal sounds, working them into the tone and bland call of a bull feeling the heat of passion. Sauntering around the perimeter of his round stall, Greg mooed and bellowed as does a bull. He found an odd sense of relaxation toying with his tail and feeling from his sauntered walking the sway sensation of his enormously bigger testis. The motion walking in the straw covering the cement floor stirred up a cloud of dust and bits of straw, this making Greg feel the urge to sneeze. A building urge became a blustery big sneeze, jolting Greg to turn his head and with the sneeze he snorted. As accustom to some learned manner, Greg reached his hand to wipe the strings of snot that tickled his nose. A lifting of the hand stopped far short of doing what he had planned. Greg strained to lift his hand to touch the end of his nose, finding the need to lower his head and meet the right hand halfway. As he peered a strained eye to look down in mental wonder why his hand could no longer reach up and touch his nose; Greg bellowed his terror seeing not a human arm but the foreleg of his new bovine self. Foreleg and a hefty cloven hoof was what he stood and had walked upon. The immediate realization of this change sent him to inspecting his head and trying to account how much of him was then like a bull. Whimpers of fear accounted to the fact his head hand totally changed to being one of a mature bull. Nostrils were part and portion to his upper lip making a muzzle. His tongue and mouth were more massive, teeth too becoming the slabs worthy of chewing and mashing grass into some sort of slurry for swallowing. As ears flicked and flopped beating the side of his then well muscular neck, Greg stood realizing he was then cursed to know an early damnation. The glimmering beams of sunlight lighted the barn to bring Greg the sight and knowledge he was changed into a Black Angus breed of bull. Seeing and the sensations he felt insisted this was not some drunken aberration left over from drinking his might fill of free beer. The sauntering way he strolled around the stall fore told of his new way of living life was on all fours. Undeniable sensations constantly reminded him of his bovine species and form. The tail was his most mighty reminder, but then too were with him being naked and feeling of his hefty big balls as they would sway with every step, this added to his understanding of its reality. Hefty big breaths turned occasionally to a soft moo or a whimpered groan as he became accustom to his changed body. The sounds of the animals stirring as each awoke to a new day told Greg that Miss Harley might come to give rations of feed to her animals, and then also to him! Miss Harley came into the barn and naming each of her animals she spoke to them, offering their morning rations of feed, hay, and refilling the buckets that held their water. When after an undetermined amount of time she came to stand and look into see Greg in his own private stall. She eyed him well, keeping her distance until at such future time she would enter his stall. He was in need of water and his first ration of grain, hay, and some normal inoculation against the usual diseases common to one being bovine. First and foremost Greg needed to be vanquished of his humanity in one more way. He stood eyeing Miss Harley, wondering what she was doing, and would bellow his feeling of personal disgust. As the door from his stall opened, Greg charged out into a corral. There in the bright light of day he stood wild eyed and horrified as a fair sized Hereford heifer strolled casually over to meet, and be mated by a bull. Unknowingly to Greg the coming breeding of this cow by him would purge him of his manly connections to being human. Once his transformed tip of that bovine penis touched the soft and moistened folds of that cow vulva, all of any desire for sexual pleasure in Greg would turn to the delight of mounting and humping cows. At first Greg saw the cow as an insult to his remaining sense of integrity. He kept his distance until the cow turned her rump in his direction, as she urinated, and turned her head to eye him with expectant desires. His giant nostrils availed themselves of the rank scent of a female bovine in need. It raced into his changed head and made obvious suggestive thoughts urge him to step closer, to sniff, as to give a broad tongue lick, savoring this cow and bringing his bovine instincts to rule over rational thinking. Greg in his human mentality took a back seat watching his own self jaunt up with forelegs, mounting to cow over her rump. He screamed his disgust mentally but unable to voice out any understandable words of his feeling from the moral indecency. His erection came on quickly, while it strained hard to find the right spot, then so doing he was urged to plunge it deep into the cow. A couple of short thrusts and he blew his load in seven hard squirts. The urge died away as fast as it came, Greg then moved off the cow his straddled forelegs slamming to the ground as his chin slid down over the cow vulva, this wiping her clean, and giving him a constant scent of what he had just done. A dull sense of satisfaction seemed to calm Greg, while he stood quiet, as if waiting for some outside force to make the need for him to move. The placement of a five gallon bucket of water suggested he needed a cool drink. Once that urge was satisfied, he again turned to the cow and mounted her three more times, bellowing with a bull bovine sense of domination after each load was spewed into the lusty cow. Miss Harley could see the human rational thoughts dying away, the bovine determination for beastly lifestyle then taking full control, forcing Greg to accept that he was to be as a bull from that time onward.

Posted by: K.Rooste Jul 24 2006, 02:46 PM

“Part Two” Learning Anew! Greg received his first belly full of food, bovine style, and from it felt somehow satisfied. He wanted to battle for control of his body but try as he would the instinctive urges won out every time. If by nightfall Greg had almost forgotten his human self, he thought had trying to remember what he as a man looked like. His first day kept him inside that rounded stall, giving him time to adjust both physically and mentally. Miss Harley rarely used such combined powers to work her miracles, as if Greg was for her a thorn in the flesh, she thinking of him as if something that required removal from society. Her own husband felt at odds with her and he like the others and Greg too, were attested to an ability to choose the better animal from a herd. Mister Harley thought of his wife as some witchery woman, wheeling and dealing with people as she did for those special chosen animals. His fateful and deciding comment to her came when he had chided his wife; comparing her to be as if she were Circe, and deemed men in general to be as animals for her professional conquests. They fought over her doing things to certain men, young or old, using the animal spirits from her chosen few to direct some family honored’ power to bring about the radical changes needed to make animals from men. His continued comparison won him many blue ribbons at county and the state fair for three years running; best in sire and weight, he afforded to become the finest boar hog in the county. Miss Harley took her own name and title after the husband totally turned his mental prowess to being a boar hog breeding sows with a willing and lusty minded heart. She would often remark how Harold, her prize winning boar was like those men that would lust to womanize. Harold was so much allured to mate and breed, that she was almost jealous of the sows when they would capture his attention. She often got close to him as Harold mounted and sow and did embed his mighty tool, it was then his human mind screamed from the depths of his piggy boar brain. Miss Harley would speak to him, knowing that at the height of sexual functioning, his human mind was in more control than otherwise. She so loved to remind him, telling Harold again and over times of what he became, and about his numbered conquests, demeaning him when ever she could. A witch she was to all the men that would make her wish, and then to utilize that family power. Greg was her most recent conquest, he being in the news and as much a willing killer of any animal, dull of mind or just near to brilliant. It was of those men she seemed to think were below even animalistic limits of morality, deciding then how best to use them for her bettering of a career in animal husbandry. Greg having spent his first full day locked in that round stall, as he walked on his four legs until they became strong and hearty enough to carry him across the open pastures. He must have had some surprise on the second morning of his retirement when his owner turned her newest bull loose into the pasture. Once there the realm of scents that attacked his nostrils took on a higher level of control. Greg quickly learned the time honored methods of grazing, and with a belly filled, he would lie about with his herd, as they and he would chew their cuds. Extreme sensual sensations did what the art of killing without mercy could not; Greg Starr surcomes mentally to the undeniable fact he was a real animal and one sex wild big bull. Sexual sensation took a close second to grazing upon the green grasses of the Harley farm. Greg like an ex-husband living on that farm had similar returns to human mentality when at the height of sexual function Miss Harley would call to them, reminding her cursed men of their degraded state, and taunting to drive, thrust, and be their utmost as would an animal feeling the onslaught of rut.

Posted by: K.Rooste Jul 24 2006, 03:06 PM

“Part Three” Understanding Greg could really understand what he had become, feeling his every new sensation and from it finding some sense of joy and a personal gratification among the knowledge of his degraded bovine self. Harold to felt no doubt similar feelings, he having spent the last few years in a general decline, his sire ability waning until at some point he will be worth more at slaughter than as a sire. I feel that question coming, it is the one where you must ask how I would know of what Miss Harley thought, did, and of her men folk she used as if to be animals for her farm. A woman of her middle aged years could not run a farm like this on her own, she would need help, and I was and am that helper. My twenty plus years here at Harley farm has given me a fair livelihood, although I remained unmarried it was only a matter of time before that female wrath would turn upon one who kept everything here in absolute confidence. It happened after I helped the birthing of Goldie Gloria, she a Palomino mare who was having some trouble giving birth to her first foal. Seeing her in the heavy labor and unable to boost her foal from the birth canal, I reached in and helped guide the foal out into the light of day. My verbal wordings might have been somewhat crude, or maybe when the afterbirth hung from her stretched vulva, I reached into the mare and tickled her into a near orgasm. Which or what, Miss Harley took exception to my friendly play, she calling down her tribunal, giving unto me a taste if you will, of her way she would bring to men their early damnation. I spent two days holding back those demanding urges of beastly ways and thinking. Like Greg the thirst drove me to drink from a bucket. In turn this urged me on to accept my meals in a bucket, reaching with lips to bring food into my mouth, learning to eat and ultimately to accept living life as do her many animals. An animal can not clean stalls, so she allows me to divvy out rations of food, or work the farm seated on a tractor. She changed me enough to know of her power, keeping me as if in bondage, I work the farm but get as my pay rooming and meals as do again her many animals. This farm worker stands uprightly if yet having the hind feet and hoofs as if I were a pony. My legs remain human so I can drive the tractor, but like the feet and covering my entire body I wear the skin, hide, and pelt of a ponies’ winter coat. My head is donned with long ears, they be furry inside and out. I bare a face that is part pony by the mouth, nose, and lips. I am a male and vehemently so, deemed to be as if a Haflinger pony stud, endowed with sheath, testicles, and the mighty black shaft worthy of a great sire. It is of my sexual parts and their working ability that I cling to my humanity by a thread. As with those male animals here I too come into times of feeling the need to rut. The urge builds until I can not do my chores, it is of that time when the boss woman brings me several pony Haflinger mares. I then mate and breed with them as if I were the stallion I likely shall become someday! The agony of working with those that smell so wonderful, they being like myself, us all as working parts of the HARLEY FARM!

Posted by: Slumovsky Jul 24 2006, 06:03 PM

This is a hot series! I feel like coming into that farm with my own watchdog collar and apply for aplace there!-)

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