Leopold Grant woke up in his small twin bed in the servant quarters of Fitzroy Abbey. He wasn’t at all sure how he knew that–he had never seen this room before in his life–and while he knew his name had not been Leopold Grant before waking up here, that was the only name he could recall. He could vaguely remember fucking a young twink named Charlie one evening–fuck, that slut had had a tight hole–and then someone barged in while he was mid-fuck, and then nothing after that. As he recalled the memory, however, he had a sudden pang of guilt. That had been bad. A bad thing to do. He…he ruined that young tight hole with his big cock, the whole Master had wanted…he…he…
He looked down, past his furry paunch of a gut, and didn’t see his massive cock. He reached down and groped for the thick shaft, but only found the edge of the bed, felt closer to his body, and only when he reached under the gut did he find his small, shriveled cock and balls. In his mind, he knew he should feel terror at what had happened, but all he really felt was a strange sort of resignation. After all…he deserved this, didn’t he? Of course he did. He was being punished, and he should take his punishment like a gentleman…right?
He knew that these thoughts weren’t his, or that they weren’t the thoughts he should be having, but it was like he no longer quite knew his own mind. How could he resist or fight back against these changes if he didn’t even know what had been changed? He knew there were seams where his mind had been ripped apart and put back together, he could tell there were different fabrics, but the thread itself was invisible to him. For example, he had spent several minutes pondering this conundrum, before realizing that he was no longer a muscular young jock in his twenties, but rather a stout, short middle aged man.
His growing horror was interrupted by a knock on the door, and a fellow servant, Mr. Livingston peeking in, unfazed by the old, naked man sitting on the bed. “Oh good, you’re awake. Master Fitzroy would like to see you in the stables, so he can elaborate on your role and punishment here at the abbey. Do get dressed quickly? He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.” He closed the door before Mr. Grant could reply, and thankful for the excuse to not think too hard about what was happening to him, he walked over to his small closet and got dressed. The breeches and shirt were a rough linen, and there was no underwear. He pulled on his knee length socks, high leather boots, a vest and a cap to cover his balding head, and hurried off to the stables…though again, he wasn’t quite sure how he knew where the stables even were.
Fifteen minutes later, he was outside, huffing a bit and sweating in the summer sun, not at all used to his body or the clothes he was wearing. At least in the stables it was cooler, though the air stank of manure. Master Fitzroy was waiting for him just inside, looking calm and collected as ever, even in the heat. Seeing his master there made Mr. Grant feel even worse. “Ah, Mr. Grant–my new stable groom.”
“I…I’m sorry if I kept you waiting, sir,” Mr. Grant stammered. His voice sounded so strange to his ears, gruff and slightly gravelly, with a natural british working class accent he never could have faked.
“Oh goodness no, you were very prompt. Now, I’ve made sure you are well prepared for your work here, but there is one special animal here that I wanted to introduce you to myself. It is a very special creature, who requires very special care. In fact, I have no doubt that he will be the focus of the majority of your time in the stable. If you’d kindly follow me, Mr. Grant.”
They walked down the stable together, past lines of horses–somehow, Mr. Grant already knew each of their names, their temperaments, their particular requirements, even though he also knew that he’d had no idea that the abbey even possessed a stable before any of this. They passed through a door into a small room, and Mr. Grant witnessed the first thing which legitimately shocked him all day, so much that he had to choke back a bit of bile from his throat.
What even was it? He’d seen it from the side at first, and the rear was normal enough, a normal, dapple grey rump of a stallion, but halfway along it’s body, the hair faded to pale flesh, and the upper body of a man, it’s arms far too long and large, the same length as it’s back legs, the head too large as well. The face turned to them when they entered, and he realized he knew that face–it was the young man he’d fucked with his huge cock, whose hole he’d ruined. What had Master Fitzroy done to him?
“What do you think, Mr. Grant? I must say Charlie turned out rather well–one of my most successful projects to date. Still, why don’t you come over and say hello to your lover?”
At the word lover, it was like everything in his mind shifted. The twisted form in front of him was no longer disturbing in the slightest…in fact, it was rather…appealing? There was some sort of stirring in his gut and chest, and he saw Charlie look at him, and sniff the air. “Mr. Grant? Is that…you?”
He walked over, his face at the same height as Charlie’s, though it seemed much too large. He kissed him anyway, feeling their tongues intertwine. Mr. Grant didn’t want this, and yet he could…smell something in the air, something that was making him horny. From the way Charlie was snorting the air, it seemed something was affecting him as well. “Smell so good…Mr. Grant…gettin’ horny…”
Charlie let out a snort, and Mr. Grant pulled away, seeing his lover’s eyes dimming somewhat. “I’m afraid that when the beast becomes horny, most of his concerns become rather…instinctual. And considering the fact that you smell just like a mare in heat, Mr. Grant, I’m afraid he’s going to be rather horny whenever you’re around.”
Mr. Grant was too busy absorbing what his master had said, when he felt the tug on his breeches, yanking them to the ground. Charlie had pulled them down with one big hand, and when Mr, Grant tried to step away, he tripped and fell into the dirt floor of the stable. Charlie was huffing deeper now, and from where he was on the ground, Mr. Grant saw Charlie’s new cock, slide from it’s sheath. It was so massive, and he could only imagine where it might be headed.
He started to crawl, but Master Fitzroy stood in his way. “Now now, Mr. Grant, don’t you think you ought to take your punishment?”
Yes, of course. His punishment. How could he have forgotten? He hiked his ass into the air, and Charlie spent a moment trying to find the best position to fuck from, eventually working his cock head into Mr. Grant’s tight hole, the older man trying to suppress a scream at the size.
“Don’t worry too much, Mr. Grant. That old hole of yours is loose enough to take that big cock, but it will hurt going in,” Master Fitzroy had his cock out, and was stroking it to life, “Yes, I hope it hurts quite a bit, you deserve to be punished, don’t you?”
“Y–Yes sir, I do,” Mr. Grant said, and pushed back against the horse cock, accepting the pain, accepting his punishment, and he knew he would need to be punished much much more. Multiple times every day, in fact. And as much as he tried to fight it, his puny cock kept pumping cum into the dirt below him, and he didn’t think he’d be considering this to be punishment for very long at all.
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