“Like a Fantasy Nightmare”

Rod went fence jumping whenever the spirit moved him. H had tried most of all the farm animals within a two-mile radius from where he lived. His own loneliness seemed satisfied from playing with his animal friends, this he did and enjoyed.

All went well to how he would lay a plan of conquest, assured he was alone and in a place sequestered and out of peering eyes.

This all worked just about everywhere until on a vacation trip to visit friends in Nebraska, he met someone who could enhance his pleasuring delights. The state of Nebraska is teaming with cattle, horse, and hosting an abundance of places where seeing a man near some group of animals seemed commonplace.

One such small and rundown looking farm belonging to a Hazel Smith offered Rod the desire to visit her four grazing Welsh ponies. As from the main road, he took note that the main house stood a fair distance from what was once a milking barn turned into a pony stable.

The desire was building in his guts and timing seemed right when from his screened hiding place, he watched Hazel round up her small herd and they like sheep followed her into the old barn for the night. The old woman remained tending her ponies for nearly an hour; this had Rod getting a firm grip on himself, shaking from head to toes with anxiety.

When Hazel vacated her stable, then ambled along with a half limp, working her walking uphill and to her old Nebraska farmhouse, Rod made his move.

Crouched at the waist he ran along the pasture fence and when out of sight from any viewing from the farmhouse, he entered the old barn and stood eying of the four munching mares, wondering which one would be his preferred quest.

Walking slowly he touched each pony mare as he passed them, stroking a quivering hand over furry backsides, and fiddling with each the top of their tails.

To his amazement as he passed from one mare to the other they each stopped enjoying their evening meal of hay and grain. Each changed her stance, widening the distance between hind legs, standing readied to accept the bulk weight of a stallion mounting. Tails jerked up high and all held to one side of the other, as if each pony mare were right or left handed in their manners.

Rod began his evening quest with one who was a Buckskin colored mare. This was his favorite coloring in mares and it added some to his thrill.

Forgetting all his own silly preparations for having his playtime, Rod looked about the barn for something to use as a greaser for easy entry and smooth stroking.

Rod found an old sea chest he rolled open the lid, found to his amazement, and delights a small tin can with leather strapped on cover. It smelled quite alluring, somewhat flowery, but it had the texture of being greasy. He thought from the other oddities he saw in the chest, that ole Hazel must have used the hobble for some mare in heat to mate and save a stallion from some pains. The other things inside the seemingly treasure chest had Rod picking up a black leather and silver bridle with a bit that looked as well as if made out of pure silver.

His preferred mare gave him a come on quick whinny, this instilled in Rod some added thrill, so he donned over his head the black leather bridle, inserting the bit in his teeth and let the rein trail over his shoulders and across his back.

With the tin of grease, he oiled his shaft and stepped closer to the willing mare. As fingers worked the greasy flux all up and down his erect shaft, he thought it likely, that Hazel used this substance in the same manner on some stallion.

Standing behind his first quest, he slid in and felt the mare take a mighty grip on his elongated shaft. He began a slow rhythm of thrusting, working up to a frenzied pace.

The resulting sensation of please had Rod enjoying this loving mare more than any he had tried in years. His shaft felt as if it reached new depths and with his wild pleasuring, he began to huff his breath. He met a climax feeling such extreme sensual feeling he had not noticed how the bridle fit him then much better. The bit having aided in the rearranging of his teeth, it granted him the proper gap between for a bit to set and work.

Likely the excited noise of the other mares getting ready for their coming romp wit Rod made the three other mares whinny up a storm. A storm indeed for as Rod stood fully engrossed into the mare, in stormed Hazel with something in hand.

Hazel looked not angry but having a facial expression of one about to make some vile young man his first whipping about a buggy whip. Standing just a few feet away and behind Rod, Hazel drew back her whip and then let fly a harsh snapping, it striking Rod on his rounded rump.

“Ned, Ned, Ned, we thank you for delivering us our newest stallion!” Hazel called out as if talking and thanking some spirit for the coming of Rod to her farm.

The biting feel of the buggy whip to his butt turned Rod from considering his pleasure; he craned a changing head to look back at Hazel.

Almost instantly, he realized a number of things seemed different, the first, and foremost was how the bridle had adjusted so nicely to fit over his head, and in the mouth.

The mare held his aching shaft in place, sunken deep inside her loins and it pulsating with wild delight.

Hazel went headlong into the sea chest and retrieved the leg hobbles, fixing them tightly around what Rod discovered he had as hind hoofs. She retrieved from the chest a full leather strapping of some harness, and took to fitting it over, under and the full length of how Rod had changed.

Then with the long reins in her old and wrinkled hands, she pulled on them and they in turn yanked on that silver bit. The feeling was to Rod an undeniable urge to twist him from out the mare and turning, he pivoted, falling then to the barn floor, he standing upon all fours.

Rod felt such a sense of mixed pleasure and horror that he stood quietly by as a smiling Hazel began to check his conformation.

Old but knowledgeable hands smoothed then over a thick pelt of pony fur. Rod stood beginning to ascertain his predicament. The donning of the bridle, its silver accoutrements, the bit in his teeth and then with a stallion penis grease, he had begun for Hazel his own damnation.

When Hazel came to checking her new stallion and farm stud for his shaft and making note of the length and contours, she held it into the evening rays of sunshine bursting through a dusty old barn window.

This post has been edited by K.Rooste on Apr 11 2007, 01:47 PM

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A knowing eye saw how Rod had some soars about then end to his mighty shaft. She gave the taunt end an affectionate squeeze, then turning; she went to her sea chest and came out with some type of black powder in a leather pouch.

As one mixed up and disarranged Rod stood allowing his body to conform to that of a Welsh Mountain pony stallion and soon to be as a farm stud; Hazel cupped the leather pouch to his sore penis, squeezing it about the open wounds, and this made Rod scream his first of many thousands of whinnies.

When she withdrew the pouch, her new stallion and farm stud had a perfectly healthy shaft. The powder brought him to a renewed erection; the head of it flared nearly three times its plain and normal size.

She stood up slowly, holding her hand to support an aging back, and then eyed Rod in his face, smiling, she congratulated him for becoming one fine big stud.

Maybe it would be obvious to most, but at hearing of his new state and status, Rod began to buck and fight for regaining his freedom.

“CALM DOWN, you cannot fight it, it is done and what you were is something you shall never be again. Trust ole Hazel, I know, as not all that long ago these four pretty mares came to play a prank and steal. They are your herd, think of them as if a personal harem. The mares think and act much, as do born mares, having each her season and a deep longing for the reproaches of a male.

You are of the Welsh Mountain variety, a stout and tall mount for a pony. I stand blessed with a familiar, he I addressed as Ned. He finding you, and sent you to find us.

Now with your first conquest done tonight I shall bed you into your own stall. In the morning, you can watch the mares as they eat their breakfast and learn from them in the pasture the art of grazing.


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As predicted by Hazel, Rod changed with the frolic and sensual play he had with those four horny mares.

His penis required constant attention by both Hazel and her local Vet. He examined her new stallion, his penis mostly, and made Rod proud of his mighty shaft.

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