This Image Comes From @homme-parfait. Check Out His Gallery If You Like These Kinds Of Pictures. Second

This image comes from @homme-parfait. Check out his gallery if you like these kinds of pictures. Second image was made using gimp, and credit goes to <a href='https://www.freepik.com/photos/abstract'>Abstract photo created by user14579558 - www.freepik.com</a> for the texture that I used for the effect.

If you enjoy this story, please consider supporting me on Patreon. For as little as $3 a month, you get access to unique muscle tf stories that nobody else sees. And higher tiers give you more rewards. Take a look, if you’re interested.

Rated mature and, for once, I’m going to choose NSFW as a tag to be on the safe side. I will not describe sex, but as part of this story, our protagonist will be shown his options, and so description will at least imply part of the bedroom and certain actions associated with that location. It’s Greek stuff. Of course it’s going to get on the riskier side. There is no graphic sexual content included in this piece, however. I refuse to go into that, as I’ve said before.

Author’s note: I’m mad as heck, because it’s not the same as my initial draft, but my laptop shut down on me without giving me a battery notification, so I lost a lot of what I wrote. I reconstituted it as best I could. It’s still satisfactory, but I’m mad all the same for not saving the draft more regularly. Lesson for the future, I guess. XD Anyway, enjoy. I assure you, it’s a very good read.

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A Heart of Stone

Peter Pearson always had a passion for the classics. The myths of his ancestral homeland, the great sculptures of legendary figures and unknown models alike. Goddesses and gods, men and women, children, heroes. He consumed them all from a young age. But nothing could compare to when he would stand in the museum halls and stare at the many statues and replicas from Greece and Rome. Truly, the Mediterranean had many secrets above and below the depths.

But in every instance above or below, there was always one constant, these gorgeous statues of stone and bronze and iron, of men and women fulfilling grand feats or suckling children. Olympian competitors blended seamlessly with anatomical studies. And all of them fueled and spurred the one desire he ever felt toward them.

He wanted to be just like them. Strong, like the mighty Heracles. Fit, like the ancient wrestlers of the Olympics. Hard, like the very rocks from which these statues had been chiseled with time, effort, and a steady hand.

And he had worked himself to the bone toward that end. He loved these statues. He loved their myths, their focus, their drive. They came from a simpler time, where magic still existed, where gods walked the earth, and men and women could live as they wished by the sweat of their brow.

Every week, he would visit the museum. He would sit for hours and ponder over their forms, their crevices. The smooth perfection of their sculpted bodies, ridged only where the master craftsman had gently probed with his tools to make it so. And every week, he would mimic the pose of those statues. He would smile and imagine for just a moment that he had joined them in that forgotten realm between the wakeful and the slumbering, where the old god Morpheus still crafted his dreams.

For years, he worked. For years, he struggled. For years, he invoked absolute discipline for the sole purpose of building his body into the perfect vessel to equal his heroes, his gods. And for all intents and purposes, that is, indeed, what they were. He worshiped them. He smiled each time he mimicked their posture. And though he didn’t have the same hair style or clothing (or lack thereof), he sought to mimic them in other respects.

Wrestling and weights came easily to him now. And there was a certain thrill to exercising that dominance, of gaining that satisfaction and reward of knowing that he had the strength to stand on his own and take what he wished. He still remembered when he took his trophy and raised it high for the statues to see, as if they were aware, as if they could somehow acknowledge his achievement.

Yes, in place of the Acropolis, this was his temple. And oh, how he longed to be a part of its clergy. Dead or alive, he didn’t care. He wanted to fit into this world, to leave distasteful modern society aside. If the gods formed man from clay and stone, then Peter wanted to return to it again. If they could bring metal and ivory and clay to life as flesh and blood, why not the other way around?

“You really do love this place, don’t you?”

Peter blinked in surprise at the attendant. She wore a shimmering white dress that frilled along the collar and hem. Her brown hair was rich and shone with a golden corona under the lights. Her golden tag glinted and flashed with every breath she took, leaving the letters indecipherable. Two dove hair clips helped to hold her hair back behind her ears while the remainder was bound in the jaws of a squeezing clip with a bronze rose motif.

It took nearly a full minute for Peter to regain his wits. “Excuse me?” he finally asked.

The attendant laughed. “This place. You love coming here. I’ve been watching you for the last six months.”

Peter blushed. “Well, yeah. It’s ... well, I don’t know what it is. I just ... I really like it here, you know? It feels like ... home, I guess.” He chuckled and rubbed the back of his head awkwardly to ward off the embarrassment while his chest jutted forward in response.

She nodded. “I like the classics, too. Greece and Rome had such beautiful talent.” She smiled impishly as she looked to one of the nude statues. “And passionate men.”

Peter’s blush deepened. The usual technique wasn’t working. And worse yet, he could feel the familiar tingle of arousal stirring. He shifted his legs and tried to focus on the displays, instead. “Yeah, they inspired me to get into wrestling when I was a kid.”

“I wondered what sport you were involved with.” She laughed again as her hair swayed behind her, filling the air with the smell of the sea, the brine of olives, and the sweet honeyed scent of eucalyptus. “You really do love Greece, don’t you?”

Peter shrugged. “It’s my heritage. How could I not?”

The attendant frowned. “You’d be surprised how many people claim to love something, then forget about it the moment something more convenient comes along.” She sighed. “If you put it into a mythological perspective, that’s basically what happened to Pan. Man stopped caring about the wild. They beat it back, throttled it. What they couldn’t change, they destroyed. What they couldn’t control, they mitigated. Why care about the sanctity of a grove of trees when there are homes to build and mouths to feed?” She sighed. “It must have been a sad death, one spent alone while the wilds were steadily eaten away.”

Peter raised a brow at her. “That’s pretty dark.”

“This coming from the same pantheon that literally cracked a skull open to give birth to a goddess, literally consumed its children, and let's not forget how they chopped up the body parts of another elder deity to give birth to yet another goddess from the frothing sea foam, or throwing a baby off a mountain top because it was deformed.”

Peter winced. “Yeah, that ... was pretty messed up.”

“Greek history always was. Wars, conflicts, intrigue....” She sighed. “And then, in those few rich moments of peace, love. It put out the fires. It set them blazing again.” She brushed one of the statues’ legs. “They knew how to respect love, how to honor it when it spoke. Well, most of the time. Sometimes, love could be cruel. And the gods ... less than charitable.” She shook her head. “But what more can you expect from a legacy of abuse? It can’t have been easy being eaten by their father. Even those who weren’t stained by that act were haughty. And the other gods made sure they learned rather ... harsh lessons as a result.”

“I like to think more of the golden ages. Men earning their way, working for their bread, fighting for fame or honor or glory.” He chuckled. “I guess ... well, I guess I want to be like them.” He motioned to the statues. “Frozen in a time when that peace and love let men grow and shine.” He couldn’t help but smirk. “Imagine me wrestling with Heracles.”

She giggled as he struck a pose. “You wouldn’t last a minute.”

“It’d still be fun to try. To compete, like all these men did.”

“You really do like them, don’t you?”

“No.” He shook his head and flexed his arms all the harder as he turned his head in profile. “I love them.”

The attendant smiled. “Far be it from me to keep you from your lovers, Mister...?”

“Pearson. Peter Pearson.”

The attendant smiled and extended a hand. “Aphrodite.”

“Like the goddess?”

A rich chuckle rolled from her lips. “The very same. Would you say I live up to it?”

Again, the tightness swelled in his crotch. His shirt felt taut. “Defi--” He cleared his throat, then tried again. “Definitely. This time, he sounded a little deeper.”

“And if I asked you to, Peter Pearson, would you be willing to sacrifice that dream, that love, for me?”

Peter’s breath hitched as she ran delicate fingers down his chest. Her eyes swirled like whirlpools, drawing him in. Her face. “I....” Her perfume. “I....” The toss of her head as she pulled the rose clip free. “I....” He groaned as his pants began to creak and those lips drew ever so close.

“Yes or no, Peter Pearson.” Her breath flowed into his dry mouth. Moist. Inviting. “Choose.”

The zipper broke open to reveal the bulge and two lumps that became more and more prominent until the button burst off the waistband of his pants due to his broadening pelvis. His head was awash with lust. He could hardly think. “Uhhhhhhh....”

He fell into those eyes as the world blurred. Strong hard hands seized a proper vantage on padded silken sheets. Lips brushed cheeks as that perfume consumed awareness in favor of passionate union. Grunting and moans on both sides rang in his ears as blood surged with unbridled pleasure. That is, until the higher voice began to deepen. Soft delicate skin swelled into firm unyielding mounds as two sides grappled for dominance. Sweat dripped down both frames as soft sheets and mattress transitioned to a wrestling mat, then to hard-packed earth as dust kicked up between them.

Two voices rang in equal measure, the female and the male, the masculine and the effeminate, the bedroom and the arena. “Choose, Peter Pearson.”

Two visions danced before his eyes. The mindless bliss of pleasure, a veritable ocean that yawned and called playfully as it crashed against the surf. A promise to be adored, to be worshiped, to take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, from whoever he wanted. Women would flock to him. Men would go weak at the knees at the very sight of him, the sensation of his passing as his shadow fell over them. A body so virile, so perfect, that they would pay for his time. Modeling clothes, crushing at the gym. And reveling as he scrambled the others’ concentration in favor of his irresistible charisma, then watching them drain into that familiar want of lust in a vain attempt to satisfy his own appetite.

He would be a walking god, a conqueror, a vessel to strike the mortal heart with desire. A plow to till, an arrow to pierce, drawn and fired to strike whatever target he wanted. A veritable Eros among men spending his days in heady bliss as he spread his blessing throughout the realm.

Another groan. Another spurt of growth below. The better to please and be pleased. The better to obey. The better to sink and slip into the sea of mind-numbing pleasure as he dominated again and again and again.

But ... is it really domination if the one in the bed doesn’t fight back? Would it really be satisfying to simply take from someone who isn’t willing to grapple? Would he even care about himself and his passions anymore, or would this sea of pleasures cast him against the rocks with pounding waves until he was no more, just a slack-jawed beast looking to satisfy his baser urges?

Why choose a neverending hunger when satisfaction can be so much more rewarding? The thrill of conquest. The crowds roaring, cheering at the entertainment that he would provide. Men and women each competing in their own classes, battling, surging, pushing, pinning. And when the fight is over and the victor proclaimed, all are rewarded, all join in that satisfaction of honorable combat, of a battle well-fought. And the victory to be celebrated after with men or women as they saw fit. Bonds forged between competitors deeper than a one-night stand, strong as iron, hard as stone. Glory, and an intimate connection that he would never be able to fathom, should he choose the other path.

The surge, the cliffs, and the seabed awaited below to his left, with the sirens that called for him to join them. The roar of the arena surged on his right, with the great tunnel arching overhead and a light that shone on the other side. His childhood dream made real.

The caress of fingers over Peter’s biceps triggered a muscle spasm that forced them to flex, to rise into titanic mounds that strained against the sleeves of his shirt. His shoes burst open with twin detonations, followed by shredding socks as he gazed sightlessly ahead. He couldn’t see Aphrodite, nor could he feel the strain of his muscle growing with his frame. All he knew were his warring desires seeking to entice him.

He raised a foot. It trembled in the air as the two lives raged in their own manner, calling, crying, demanding. Until he planted his foot firmly and turned.

The dark shadow of the tunnel consumed him, sending a chill over his body as he strode over tightly packed dirt and stone. The surge of the crowd grew louder. And at the end of the passage, a shadowy figure awaited with arms raised in a proud salute. Though he could not see the man’s face, Peter knew to return the gesture, even as the roar of his heartbeat blended with the surge of the arena’s audience. His pant legs grew tighter and tighter, until their seams finally burst open under the force of titanic thighs and swollen calves. His chest heaved larger, heavier, with every breath while his shirt began to draw up his torso and strain against his traps.

“I ... choose....” He blinked slowly as the portal drew closer. His voice sounded different, deeper, grainy, almost clattering, like the tumbling of a rock slide down a gorge.

The brush of lips over his brought him back briefly to stare at Aphrodite. “I know, little lover. I know.” Her smile was sad, but proud as she ran her fingers down his throat and over his torso to trip along every defined abdominal muscle there.

The grating came slowly, as if his vocal cords were having trouble functioning, even as his Adam's apple became more prominent. “What’s ... happening to me?”

“Your wish, little lover.” She smiled. “You came to this gallery every week. And every week, you would pour your hopes, your dreams, your desires, into these sculptures. You brought no burnt offerings or incense, but you carried your devotion, your wishes, your prayers. You returned. You reported. And you offered thanks for your progress with every victory you achieved. If that is not worship, then I don’t know what is. If that is not love, then I would not be here now. This is your temple, and your desires have not gone unheard, nor your offerings unheeded.” She smiled as he dropped his arms and the mounds of his biceps thrust against the expanded lats in his back to prevent from resting properly at his sides. They had not relaxed once, and one could almost hear a faint grinding as they sought that perfect place to rest. “You loved your ancestral homeland. You honored your history, your culture, your people. You longed to join them. And now you will. This, I promise you.”

Another shudder. Another eye-roll of pleasure as the air permeated with her scent. Delicate fingers traced over his shoulders and traps along his neck as the world fell away to return him to the passage as heavier arms and legs were left to lumber forward in his daze, casting up puffs of dirt into the air.

At last, the figure came into view as he neared the end of the tunnel. The curly hair and headband were unmistakable. His toned body was fit and bared for all to see. A smile pulled at his features as he gazed on Peter and welcomed him into the light.

“Welcome, brother,” he greeted.

The arena erupted into uproarious cheers as Peter strode into the sun. Togas, laurels, pins, loin cloths, and other ancient garb as far as the eye could see. A thrill of pleasure erupted from within as his chest thrust forward in pride. His back straightened, and a smile of his own began to creep steadily over his lips. “Brother. I like that....”

“We knew you would.” A hand clapped heavily on Peter’s broad back. There was no pain. He hardly felt a thing. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you to join us in the ring.”

Peter’s smile widened as he looked down on this competitor. He stood at least a head taller than the man. “You mean it?”

“Of course.” His smile broadened into a cocky grin. “Shall we salute for the crowd?”

Peter required no further prompting. His arms jerked and snapped as they hardened into a mighty flex. His chest thrust forward to show off his defined torso. Excitement throbbed as he took in the erupting cheers of the crowd.

“Why don’t you show off properly?” the ghost of Aphrodite’s voice caused him to snap his neck to the right. Another tingle. Another crack, followed by a reverberating snap as the waistband of his underwear finally gave up the ghost with the remnants of his pants. Just like his brother, Peter’s manhood was on full display for the crowd, as was right in their profession, as was proper for the games.

“You look magnificent, brother.”

“I feel magnificent,” came the reply. “I feel like ... I feel like....”

“Like you belong here?”

Peter nodded as they approached the center of the arena. “Exactly. This is just ... it’s perfect, it’s right, it’s....”

He trailed off at the sight of their opponents. Two more combatants strode with broad grins onto the dirt field. Their faces were unfamiliar, but Peter would never forget the sight of those torsos he had studied for so many years. They embraced as men and competitors both as one of them spoke the words that would forever change the man’s life.

“Welcome home, Petra.”

Petra. The root word of his name. His true name. His true nature. Rock hard, a stone that would never break, never yield. Immortal and immovable. The word flooded his being, washing away the thoughts of the city, of the responsibilities and fears of the modern world. A stone cared not for such things. A stone was simple, with simple needs and desires. And now, in this place, and this time, Peter was long gone and forgotten. Petra had only one focus now, one goal; to grapple his competitor into submission. A smile curved his lips as the dust blew into his hair to lighten it from black to a reddish-brown.

“It’s good to be home,” he replied. The two smirked at one another. And then, as the contest began and their frames met to grapple one with another, the faintest brush tingled and faded from his lips. Petra grinned as he began to fight in earnest. He was living his dream. He had found his home. And he couldn’t be happier.

Back in the museum, Aphrodite smiled as the last color drained from Peter’s lips and eyes to merge into the spreading marble. His last breath had sealed his fate, but it was a fate that he chose, and a curious reversal of the gift she had offered Pygmalion so very long ago. The tattered remains of Peter’s pants and undergarments littered the floor. His arms and face were frozen in a pose of joyful masculinity that would endure for ages to come.

“I promise you,” she whispered. “You will never be separated from your brothers.”

As if he had taken some comfort in this assurance, the last ripples and stains of the new marble statue blossomed into existence, a perfect burnished match colored by the age of time as much as the minerals from which his body was now composed.

A mover in a white jumpsuit strode in and shook his head as he wrapped a tag around the new statue’s wrist to dangle on the edge of its vision. EROS had been sewn into the uniform over the man’s left pectoral, and three arrows jutted through the name to flourish at three angles. He sighed as he pulled back from the statue.

“Such a pity. He’d have made a fine arrow.”

Aphrodite shook her head and smiled as her features continued to shift, even as Eros’ did the same to match that perfect ideal for their kinds unique aspects of love. “It was his choice, my son. And you have many more already flying around the world.”

Eros chuckled. “I suppose that’s true. It took them long enough to acknowledge me again.”

Aphrodite cupped his chin and cheek lovingly. “My darling Eros, love always endures, both yours and mine.”

Eros sighed and his stance loosened under that gentle caress.

“Is everything ready?”

He nodded. “Hermes has already taken care of it. The papers are filed and the system hacked and updated.” He chuckled. “These mortals really did blunder when they called their invention the information superhighway. I don’t think he’s had this much fun in over a millennium.”

Aphrodite chuckled. “He certainly has enough charges to look after now. And the curator?”

“I’ve given him a nudge and the proper alert. He’ll be on his way soon.”

“Excellent.” She smiled as she flexed her fingers and looked back on the statue. “I wonder if I should get back into sculpting,” she thought idly. “I haven’t felt that relaxed in centuries.”

Eros laughed as he extended an arm in invitation. “Then we’ll have to find more mortals seeking a boon, won’t we? You won’t believe the number that actually want to be turned to statues.”

“Is that so?” Aphrodite’s eyes flickered with just a hint of appetite as she seized his arm in hers and they strode toward the wall. “Tell me more.”

“Gladly,” Eros said as they faded through the structure of the building and disappeared.

A few moments later, the clack of leather shoes on the marble floor echoed through the space, until the curator arrived to gape at the newest acquisition. His face shifted from white to splotchy pink to a mottled red and finally to cherry tomato. “Security!” he bellowed into his radio transceiver. “Get me the footage for the last hour in the museum. Some prankster thought it would be funny to deface our latest acquisition. I want to find out who, how, and when, or heads are going to roll!”

The faintest ghost of laughter reverberated through the museum halls as a flicker passed on the edge of the curator’s vision, then was gone. Hermes continued to laugh as he sped on his way to guide the next soul to the afterlife. “Ah, Aphrodite, I do so love how you push those mortals’ buttons.”

Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image.

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Chrome (A Patreon Preview)

I've always had a sort of obsession, I guess you could say. Aesthetics are a big deal to a lot of men, and I'm no different. For me, the thing that draws me most, what always drew me, was bikers. Thugs, studs, meatheads, gangsters. Whatever the aesthetic niche, I was drawn to it. There's just something special, almost hypnotic, about the purr of an engine, the roar of the exhaust. When I see someone pop a wheelie, a thrill of pleasure runs through me. And the same thought echoes in my head.

I want to be that guy.

To not have to worry what others think. To just enjoy the rumble of the engine and let that strength, that sheer masculine horsepower, flow into me as the cologne of oil and exhaust seeps into my clothes in a fog that makes men wish they could be like me. I want to belong to the bike as much as it belongs to me, to rumble down the streets, have everyone looking at us and say, Now there's a biker.

There's a biker....

A biker that wouldn't care about what others thought. A biker that would have such a close relationship with his machine that seeing the two apart for any period of time just seems wrong. A biker who is as much a machine as he is a man. Strong. Virile. Ready to rev and just go.

To trawl through the streets and let everyone know, I am here. And like a siren song, let our purring engine and exhaust seep into the neighborhoods, into the residents, into every nook and cranny as evidence that we were there. And then let that song call who it may.

And like Odysseus at the mast, they will be torn between their lives and our call. They will struggle. They will break. And then, when they finally escape to pursue, because they won't have the crew Odysseus had, they will be so desperate, so broken down, so enthralled that they will join their new partner willingly. They'll chop through a sea of blacktop with their new partners. They'll leave their old lives behind. They'll sail on their monstrous machines.

And those machines will welcome them, encourage them, until they are fit to trawl those dangerous seas with me.

And they will be.

Credit to @thingsthatcannotsaveyou for this image.

If you enjoy my work, please support me on Patreon. For a small donation every month, you help me to turn to writing full time and helping deliver more content to you all on a regular basis. Thank you for your help!

Sorry it took me so long to write this one. I asked my fans what they wanted next, and the most responses leaned toward something of a more mythical persuasion. So, I hope you all enjoy this lovely TF. I’m afraid it’s a long one, so this once, I’m going to use the read more function. Please click it and read all the way through. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.

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The Meadow

It’s been a while since I came here. I ... don’t really even remember anymore. I remember walking through the park and seeing this weird gate. It’s always been there. I mean, the posts were old and worn by the weather. And besides that, the grass had grown up all over the sides in clumps. The only strange thing about the gate was just that. It was only a gate, a small swinging wooden one, in the middle of nowhere. There was no fence, no wall, just ... the gate.

So, curious that I am, I finally worked up the courage to open the thing. Nothing seemed all that out of the ordinary until I stepped through.

Ever heard of that premise of stepping through into another world? I think it’s called ... um ... hmm ... I don’t recall. That ... should worry me, but it doesn’t. It’s just so ... content here in this place. Peaceful.

Does it ... really even matter that I don’t remember? I know it used to, but now ... now I’m not so sure.

I do remember closing the gate. There was a sign there. Something that asked me to close it again after, rather than leaving it open. I complied by pulling it shut behind me. I didn’t realize what that gate was until after I’d already let go of the wood. It rattled like the door of a paddock, and suddenly there was a fence behind me. And green, verdant forests beyond. Groves that were lush and dark, tantalizingly so. I could smell the fresh scent of wet grass and wildflowers in bloom. The wind carried no signs of the city I had been in. No car horns blared. No motors roared. No dump trucks clanked as they seized their loads and chucked trash into their crushing jaws.

A ... compactor. Is that what they were called? How strange. We have no need of such things here. So, there’s no need to focus on them. No real need to remember. They’re loud and obnoxious and smell bad. It is better without them. It is better here in the field, in the meadow beneath the sun.

I remember the smell of manure. It was strong at first. I followed the fence boundary for a while, letting my nose do the directing. And eventually, I came to another boundary where the fence broke off. The lowing of cows greeted me. There was a large barn in the distance, and I watched, leaning on the fence, as someone led a bull out of the opening. It lumbered slowly and swayed almost drunkenly under the care of its handler.

I know I should have felt alarmed at this. There were no farms in the town limits. No pasture like this. Definitely no ranches. But ... I don’t know. I suppose I felt ... muted somehow. That part of me, I mean. There wasn’t fear or worry, just ... curiosity, like in a dream.

I remember the herd lowing, the figure turning to look at me. He was too far off to really get much of a proper image. I just know he was big based on the outline I could see. He led the bull toward a cow, then untied its nose ring, patted its side gently, pulled something off its back, and strode to me.

By this point, I was convinced I was in some kind of dream. The closer the figure drew, the larger it became, and the more prevalent the smell of cattle. Finally, I craned my neck to look the male in the eye.

You would have called him a creature. I do not feel it right to say such things about him. He is kind. He cares for his herd. He is a good keeper. At the time, I did not understand this. All I understood was the strangeness of it all. He held the cloth bunched in one hand, but I recognized the iconic green face that wrinkled in his grip. He carried the remnants of a Star Wars shirt. Why a bull would have that on it, I didn’t know. It’s possible the cloth was just being used as a rag. I believe that’s how I rationalized it at the time.

As rational as one can be when they think they are dreaming.

He spoke to me in a soft, deep voice. His torso was bared to the world, and it was carpeted in a rich coppery coat of short bristly fur. His beastly muzzle contorted easily to form the words, and a pair of polished horns sprouted on either side of his head to rise high in the air. The weight caused his head to bow ever so slightly. Or perhaps that was merely because of the size of his shoulder muscles by his neck. Bulls are built very stout, you know, even the ones that walk on two legs.

“Well now, isn’t this a treat? Don’t see many of you folk round these parts anymore. Don’t think anyone’s visited that there meadow for ...” He frowned. “Not sure how long, really. Where’s Admentos?”

“Who?”

“Admentos. Your caretaker. He usually greets stallions like you at the gate. Never known him to be late before.”

“Stallion?” I gaped disbelievingly at him. But then again, this was a dream. Or so I thought at the time.

“Admentos handles horses. I handle cattle. We both take care of farming and herding.” He shrugged his titanic shoulders. I couldn’t help but note the fact he had dark hoof tips on his fingers. “S’why we’re neighbors. Someone’s got to work the land.”

“Aren’t there machines for that?”

The wood splintered under his tightened grip. “We don’t got machines here, and we don’t want ‘em.”

I backed away, startled at the sudden change in his demeanor.

The bull man shuddered and took a deep breath. Then the tension left his body, and he released his grip on the fence. I could still see the imprints left by his fingers.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to scare you, big fellah.”

Off in the distance, the bull had coupled itself with the cow. I quickly looked away and blushed heavily. The bull man looked back and smiled.

“Good to see him settling in. Herd’ll treat him right, I’m sure. As for you...” He frowned. “S’not like Admentos to be late.” He leaped over the fence, and thick powerful hooves clopped heavily on my side of the property. “C’mon, Fellah. Let’s go find him.”

“What?”

“The owner. My friend? He takes care of this plot of land. It’s his territory. I’m not generally one to trespass, but I got a little leeway, seein’ as we’re on such good terms.”

I looked over the long green grass as a breeze spread the sheen of the sun like a wave. And just like the ocean, there was no end in sight. The fence and forest stretched like a shoreline over an otherwise unbroken expanse.

“Big acres,” I muttered.

The bull man shrugged. “Herds need a lot of space.” He pulled an apple from ... I don’t know where and offered it to me. “Hungry?”

“Uh, ... thanks,” I said hesitantly as I took it from him.

“No problem.” He shrugged. “I like to spoil y’all every once in a while. Think of this as a sort of apology for startlin’ ya.” He chuckled. “Admentos’d skin me alive if he knew I had. Some of his herd takes a while to calm down again. They can be excitable.”

“... I’ll bet.” I looked down at the apple and buffed it as best I could against my shirt. The bull man watched me intently, and ... well, I didn’t want to cause offense, so I took a bite.

I nearly dropped the apple. Juice dribbled down my chin, and I lapped it up almost without thinking. It was sweet. It was delicious. And it had just a hint of tartness to balance it out for a smooth ride that left me tingly all over. I’d always had a hankering for apples, but this, this was the best apple I’d ever tasted in my life. My world shrank around the experience, and for the briefest of moments, I think I finally understood what foodies and food critics meant about finding that perfect dish.

The apple was gone before I knew it, and I blinked in surprise at the core that now lay in the palm of my hand. When I finally processed what it was, I looked almost sheepishly at the bull man. “Is it all right if I toss this?”

He raised a brow, but shrugged. “If you want. S’not like it’ll cause any harm.”

I threw it away. And it was only then that I realized we were surrounded by the meadow. I couldn’t see the forest, and I couldn’t see the fence where we’d been walking. My eyes widened. “What the...?”

The bull man chuckled. “Finally noticed, huh? You were too wrapped up in that there apple. Didn’t want to ruin it for you.” He smiled kindly. “We’re almost there now. Should be just over that rise.”

I was surprised to feel the beginnings of a slope pushing against my feet. I had to lean forward to keep my balance as we began our ascent. It didn’t take too long before we were staring down at a reasonably sized farmhouse and a large old-fashioned red barn. The occasional whinny or sputter would carry on the wind from the various horses that trotted around the area, almost like a patrol. Others were busy rolling their backs on the cool grass. I couldn’t help but smile as fond memories of rolling down hills as a child replayed in my head.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?”

I nodded my agreement as we shuffled and sidestepped our way down. One of the horses immediately rushed at us. The bull man stepped in front of me and held up his hands when the stallion reared.

“Whoa there, Thunder. We ain’t here to cause no trouble. Just lookin’ for Admentos.”

The horse tossed its head and whinnied.

“Now don’t give me that. You know I don’t come uninvited ‘less there’s a reason. And I do have a reason, a darn good one. Now where is he?”

The stallion sputtered and pawed at the turf.

“Busy where?”

I felt like I was in the middle of Old Yeller, only the dog had been replaced with a horse. I swatted casually at a fly that had decided to roost on my arm. Darn sucker nearly bit me.

I heard what I thought might have been a groan and frowned in concentration. It took me a few seconds and some extra groans before I pinpointed it at the barn. I pointed. “Uh...”

The two continued to argue with one another.

“Hey.”

Again, I was ignored as the bull man began to tell the stallion off. At this point, the groans had turned to a loud cry, and my heart beat fast in my chest. “Hey, bull man!” I shouted. That drew both the stallion’s attention and my escort’s. I pointed at the barn. “I think you’ll find your answer in there.” I winced as another scream pierced my ears. They almost seemed to twitch in sympathy, though I was sure it was just a muscular response from years of practice. I took a great deal of pride in how I could make my ears wiggle in my younger years.

The stallion glared flatly, almost hatefully at me, as if I’d caused some grave offense. I glared back. “Listen, you jackass. I just got hauled to god knows where out of nowhere, met a literal scientific impossibility, and now I hear someone in pain. I am not in the mood for dealing with a pretentious jerk when someone needs help. This is my dream, not yours. Now shut up and move aside.”

The horse ran to cut me off. I wasn’t having it. I snatched its ear and twisted hard when he missed biting my fingers. Don’t know how I knew it’d work, but it did. The horse squealed and dropped to its belly. My body surged with exultation and my teeth clacked as I yanked and forced it to look me in the eyes with one of its orbs. “I’m glad we understand each other. You can follow us if you want, but you will not interfere. Got it?”

The stallion tried to bite me again. I twisted harder.

“Got it?”

I loosened one of the buttons on my shirt as the horse squealed softly through gritted teeth and a tear spilled down its cheek. “Good.” It’s difficult to say exactly what happened after. I certainly felt breathless when I got to the barn door, but I don’t remember whether I ran or not. There was a beautiful white horse lying on the floor, and the cries were coming from her. Her stomach was swollen way beyond anything I’ve seen in a horse before, but what really took me by surprise were two things. The fact I heard a very human voice coming from it, and the fact that the man tending so feverishly to her happened to have the lower body of a horse.

The bull swore. “Dekára, Admentos, why didn’t you call me?” Rough hands shoved me aside as the bull man approached and got to his knees. “How long has she been in labor?”

Admentos had shiny black hair that flowed like a mane down his back. The brown fur from his horse body rode up his torso in a trail that was emphasized by the patches of white fur on his wrists and elbows. Like his neighbor, the man was exceptionally well built with muscles to match the size of his breed, which happened to be a Clydesdale. Sweat gave his body an unusual gleam, and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. “Six hours. She’s in a lot of pain. I’ve had to keep a close eye on her to stop her from hurting herself.”

“Twins?”

Admentos nodded grimly. “The pregnancy's been vary hard on her.” Then he looked at me. “When did he come?” he asked.

“Not long ago. He wandered to the fence. We had a chat, and then I brought him here.” He chuckled. “Thunder’s going to have competition.”

“What did he do to Thunder?” Admentos held the mare’s head carefully and stroked her neck gently.

The bull man grinned. “Twisted his ear. I’m telling you, that stallion’s a fighter. I think he’ll be good for your herd.”

“So long as he’s not a blowhard. I don’t need another swollen head.”

“Is she going to make it?” I asked. It was perhaps the first time I had spoken since arriving at the barn. My shirt felt unusually tight, and the blood flow from what I assume was running left everything else feeling like it was getting shoved in a sausage sleeve. My waist felt like it was getting squeezed by a vice.

Admentos shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Another scream. I winced.

The mare tossed and turned, nipping at her flanks, beating her stomach, and otherwise squirming and shifting around.

“What’s she doing?”

“Trying to get the foals in alignment. Once they’re ready to broach, the rest of the delivery should go smoothly.

This time, when she screamed, I understood what she was saying. “Get them out of me! It hurts! It hurts so much!”

Admentos brushed her head comfortingly. “You’re doing great, Fria. Hold on.”

She nickered weakly and sobbed. “I’m so tired.”

“Just a little longer,” Admentos assured her. She screamed again. This time, there was a gush of fluid out her rear.

“Thank the Dagda,” Admentos breathed. “She’s finally ready.”

The hard part of the delivery was over in about a half an hour, maybe a little more, since there were two foals to deal with. We gave her the necessary space at Admentos’ insistence, though he noted a close watch would need to be kept on them, and extra milk would be needed for both foals to receive the nutrients and antibodies to survive.

Admentos was the only one allowed to approach the new family. He didn’t want to risk startling the mare when she was so exhausted, especially since she still had the afterbirth to worry about.

I was led out of the barn by the bull man, and he introduced himself as Adras. We walked to the farmhouse together, and he explained how this place worked.

“Y’see, folk like you, well, I guess you could say you’re sort of special. You see what most folk don’t. Dunno whether it’s belief, blood, or somethin’ else, but y’all find your way here to our turf. S’not always the meadow or m’ranch. There’s lots of places. Lots of caretakers.” Adras opened the door, one of those swing-style two-part things with a big bulky latch to hold it in place. Adras undid them both easily and opened the way for us to step inside.

The floor was soft grass that seemed almost to give a little as I stepped over it. It wasn’t quite like a mattress, but it was fairly close. I didn’t see any signs of a refrigerator. Instead, the room was full of jars and other tools and knickknacks. Different jars were labeled with pictures and words both to help differentiate them. Flour, honey, butter, bread, cream, milk, and so on.

When I looked up, I could see the open sky stretching just above the rafters as they faded into it, and I gaped. It was like something out of Harry Potter. The two stories outside were more for show. The building itself was all one floor, just built with a much taller ceiling. To make it comfortable for guests, Adras explained to me. Given his size, I could relate to that statement. Everything in the house seemed to be designed with big bodies in mind. Given the fact the caretaker was a centaur who had what I assumed to be a minotaur friend, it sort of had to be.

He handed me a couple of the ones with a horse head and a milk bottle printed next to each other on them. “Here. Carry these.” I was shocked to be able to carry even one of them, given the ominous scrape the vessels made when tehy were lifted up. But I was too startled to say no.  When he gave me a second, I shrugged. Once I had my arms around them, the things didn’t feel so heavy.

Adras nodded. “Thought you were a worker.”

I frowned at that. “What do you mean?”

He grabbed a few more ingredients, including a bag of feed, and started walking. The door was left open behind us, but he didn’t seem to care. My hands were too full to really do anything, so I just followed behind. “Just that. You’re carrying those vessels, aren’tcha?” He chuckled. “Bet you could carry more, too, if you’d a mind to.”

I blushed. “They’re not that heavy....”

He grinned and ruffled my hair with a free hand. “That’s the spirit.” Then he smacked ... patted(?) my shoulder. I thought I was going to stumble, but he must’ve held back. Either that or I somehow instinctively knew how to brace myself. I’m ... not sure which.

By the time we got back to the barn, my skin felt like it was crawling, not like a spider on your skin, kind of crawl, more like that tingling sort of wave that spreads over sometimes when you have a strong feeling or hear the right kind of sound, you know? I crouched and lowered the vessels near Admentos.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

“No problem,” I replied. Had to clear my throat for part of it. My voice cracked midway. He just smiled at my docility and handed me an apple. “I’m afraid this is all I have to offer as a reward for now.” He chuckled. “It’ll be a while before I’m free to help you with anything else, but you’re welcome to stay here till things settle in properly.”

I bit greedily into the apple. It tasted even better than the last one. I hardly even noticed the strange wording he’d used. “I can live with that.” The heavy clop of Admentos’ hooves echoed in my ears as I ate. The smell of the manure and other horse smells was strong at first, but I got used to it. Felt like I was breathing more and more of it the longer I stood there. My chest just kept inflating. My teeth ground the apple to mush. Then I swallowed. It felt peaceful here, calm. I kind of liked that.

Adras wrapped a burly arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Champ. Let’s get you out of here.”

The big stallion from earlier sputtered at Adras, tossed his head, then nickered when we stepped out of the barn.

“She’s fine, big fellah. You should be proud. Two foals. Admentos is looking after her now. Probably gonna be a while before he lets you in to see her.”

The horse gazed flatly at me. I returned the gaze calmly and took another bite out of my apple. “We going to have any more problems?”

The horse continued to stare at me.

“He expecting something from me?” I asked.

Adras chuckled. “Sizing up the competition. Ol’ Thunder here don’t like gettin’ showed up.”

“And he expects me to be a threat?”

“You handled him, didn’t you?”

“On an impulse, because this is a dream, or at least feels like one.” I shrugged. “Read that’d work in a book somewhere. He was being a jerk. If he’s not a jerk, we won’t have any problems.” I looked at the horse. “Sound good, Thunder?”

The stallion sputtered, reared, boxed at the air with his forelegs, then turned and ran off.

Adras smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Always gotta show off, don’t ya?” He chuckled. “He’ll probably be back at you again later, but you’ve shown you can handle yourself. I don’t think he’ll be much more than an inconvenience.”

I nodded and raised my hand to take another bite, only to find the apple was gone. Had I really eaten it all already? And what had happened to the core?

Adras smiled, walked over to a hill, and leaned back against the slope. “Might as well get settled in. S’gonna be a while before Admentos comes out. Besides, this here’s good country, old country. Folk like you don’t get the chance to really enjoy this kind of thing that often. Not anymore, anyway.”

I followed his example and kicked back on the grass. The coolness of the surface sent a pleasurable chill over my skin through the fabric. I couldn’t help but stretch and groan as my back arched. I squirmed to eek out as much pleasure as I could. And like an eel, my back contorted and twisted with me. In time, it became less about finding comfort and more about just ... being in the moment, enjoying the sensation. It was almost like that feeling you get when you’re scratched on your scalp enough times that it just sort of tingles repeatedly. And I felt that I wanted, maybe even needed, more of that.

The sun shone down on me, and my skin baked, thickening as my body soaked up the rays. The whinnies of the horses rang in my ears as my groans of pleasure became deep and, pardon the pun, hoarse nickers. I didn’t care when my shirt began to tear. I did care with the tightness of my waistband and pants. Seriously, they were cutting off my circulation. I ... think Adras had something to do with fixing that. Either he cut them off or ... broke them down to their base components somehow? I don’t know. 

Thinking back on it, I ... sort of remember what it was like when my hands changed? Not exactly, though. I know my hands merged into a solid hoof each, and that they weighted heavily on my wrists until they became a proper pair of pasterns. The feathers that sprouted tickled against my chest. And the smells! The whole meadow seemed to seep through my nostrils and into my chest in one go. It felt ... liberating, I suppose. I breathed again.

And again.

And again.

By the time I was done really giving my back a proper roll in the grass, I didn’t have hands anymore.

Or feet.

Or ... very much of anything human, really. I felt ... different is the best way I can describe it. I wasn’t exactly shocked. It was like I was ... muted to an extent. And maybe I was. Maybe the apples had something to do with what was going on.

I remember rolling to my front and jumping up on all fours. The ground didn’t shake, but I could feel the sheer weight of my body as I landed. I saw the huge muzzle that now protruded where my face had once been. And ... I was disoriented seeing things from such a wide view. I could see ... almost everything. My new tail swayed behind me to smack at the bugs that had started to gather. I looked ahead, and there Adras was, only ... shorter. The two of us were a lot closer in height now. It hurt when he came closer. His body got blurry. If it weren’t for his voice and the smell of apples, I think I would’ve bolted then and there.

“Yup, you’re definitely gonna be a stud.” He patted my shoulder. There was no pain or pressure this time. My legs took the weight. My hooves channeled the vibration, what little I felt, into the ground. I nickered in discomfort, and he ... I guess he smiled? Maybe? He sounded apologetic, at least. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that. Can’t really focus too well up close, can you?”

My lips curled against my will as he ran his hands over my head and down my nose. It felt ... very soothing.

“No need to worry, though. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?” he prompted. “We can just relax and be ourselves.”

My gut churned. My eyes hooded as I stared into the blur and just ... let things go. I suppose that’s when my pupils would have adapted, gotten that blurry rectangle we’re supposed to have. When I came to, I felt ... relieved. A new smell that was and yet wasn’t familiar wafted into my nose.

Again came the pat and the praise.

This time. it wasn’t an apple that I got, but something else he put against my lips. The flappers seized the thing immediately, and my mouth came alive with an explosion of pure delight, followed by an intense rush of awareness. Before I could stop myself, I was nosing Adras. I wanted more.

The bull man chuckled. “Easy there, Champ.”

I nickered in annoyance and nosed him again. He knew what I wanted. And i knew he could understand me. He looked at me critically, then frowned as he bent to look beneath me.

“Still got a little of the old you left, huh?” He frowned. “Not gonna stud like that.”

I looked inquiringly at him. My body language was more than enough to ask with how my ears twitched and my head cocked to the side.

He chuckled. “Don’t you worry none. You’ll grow into it soon enough. Just need a nice mare to get to know.”

“Mare?” The word was choked out of vocal cords that really didn’t want to speak like a human.

“Big stud like you’s gotta get all that mass from somewhere, you know.” He chuckled again. Then he was stroking my chin, my throat, my head behind the ears. I couldn’t help but shudder and enjoy.

Next time I spoke, I couldn’t make a single human sound. “Why do I feel so okay with this?” That’s what I’d wanted to say, at least. The question seemed to translate.

“Because you’re a horse.”

“But I’m not.”

He shrugged. “Sure y’are. Had you pegged the minute you trotted to the fence. You’re one of the biggest Clydesdales I ever did see. You must’ve been a hard worker back in that there city. Now you can help in the fields and the trees. Could always use another set of hooves at the plow.”

I couldn’t shrug, so I tossed my mane instead and sputtered. That didn’t sound so bad, really. The more he talked about it, the more I found myself liking the idea. Something about his voice, I think. It’s just so ... casual, relaxing. It just sort of gets in there and sticks. And boy, did I take to it like a champ. I guess you could say I was born for it, big Puka like me.

I still remember the day I gave up the last of my humanity. As usual, Adras was right. And Admentos wanted to reward me for the help I’d given. Turns out Admentos is the real leader of the herd. Thunder was just jealous and trying to protect his claims and privileges. But his breed wasn’t the only one that needed to be reproduced.

The first time, I was overwhelmed by the experience. That mare got in whiffing distance, and my whole body lit up. You’ve heard the phrase about balls dropping before. This was swelling, then dropping, and finally knocking it out of the park.

I felt different after that. I could still recall things about my old home, but ... they didn’t seem so important to me anymore. My essence, my being, that had been left behind in the city. I was something, someone different. My old name is long gone. I ... think Admentos might have taken it, but I don’t mind. I like being Champ. Things are simple here, and I like it simple. I graze when I’m hungry. I drink when I’m thirsty. I work when I’m called, and I mate when I feel the need. With the mare’s consent, of course. I’m not a monster.

Adras and I still chat from time to time at the fence, and he always has an apple ready for me. Sometimes, we make a contest of seeing who can plow their patch of land faster. There are times where he asks why I don’t try walking on two legs again or taking a form like Admentos, but honestly, I don’t really want to. I’m faster and stronger this way. That’s enough for me.

Have I seen the gate since? I can’t say that I have. I think ... maybe it only appears when a new member of the herd is ready to join us. But what do I know? I’m just a humble work horse. Home is the meadow with the herd, running free in the wind, playing with the others, caring for the mares and foals. Sometimes, we sleep in stalls. But no matter where we are, the herd is never too far apart.

I dream of the old place some nights, the old life, that gate, the room where I used to sleep on the short rough grass and the hay bales that creaked under my weight. There is no fresh breeze there. And it is tight, confined. There is no room to run or move. I would need to be blindfolded and led to keep from bucking my way out. As I said, I do not like that closed sensation. How humans can bear it, I will never understand.

It is far better to be a horse.

Far better to live in the wild and the open.

You’ll see soon enough, if you haven’t already begun to.

Trust me, colt. You’ll soon wonder if you were ever human in the first place.

Now, then, what was that name of yours again? Ah, yes....

Have you considered making a semi-hypnotic jock/muscular transformation post without a dumbing down feature? If that’s not something you like, definitely don’t do it unless you want to, but was just wondering if it ever crossed your mind.

I’m not sure if I could manage it, honestly, since the whole dumb jock/meathead stereotype is a large part of the whole hypnotic package that draws people in. That being said, I could see about trying it some time with a focus on just the building muscle and not the dumbing down. *shrugs* We’ll see what happens.

Reblog if you think its just as bad if a woman rapes/assaults a man too

Tryna prove a point to my mom

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