From Man to Broodmare

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This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.


From Man to Broodmare

Dylan grumbled to himself, setting the pitchfork up against the wall. Straw clung rudely to the tines and he glared at it, yet made no move to shake the wet bedding loose. Jetset’s stable was always a fucking mess to muck it, took fucking forever. It wasn’t hard to resent that arsehole of a horse with how much of a mess he made, peeing in the whole stable and soaking what should have been the base layer of straw, hardly needing to be shifted.

But no, of course, he couldn’t be clean like Arizona, that would have been too much trouble for the old bay gelding. He’d be off to retirement soon anyway and then Dylan would be shot of the bugger. But then his stable would be filled by another hungry mouth, probably some fine sports horse type that came up lame as soon as you glanced at it wrong, and the whole cycle would repeat itself, if only in a slightly different manner.

Swearing and muttering under his breath — there was no one but him left on the yard — Dylan ran his dirty fingers back through his blonde hair, which had once again grown long and unruly. It would need cutting, but where was the time for that? He didn’t even want to work on a dirty stable yard, but the pittance of wages was the only job he could find!

Slamming a water bucket down beside the hose, he puffed out his cheeks with air and tapped his foot against the concrete, letting the water splatter noisily into the container. It splashed up over his legs and shoes, drawing another bout of cursing from his foul mouth.

“Don’t know why I stay at this fucking shit hole,” he snarled under his breath, lugging the bucket bodily into the nearest stable. “Fucking shit factory, this is. None of you lot give a shit about the work we do.”

As if the horses in the indoor stable block agreed, one snorted and scraped a hoof against the floor, digging through his bedding. Dylan grumbled some more and shoved the bucket up to the wall with the toe of his boot.

But what he found when he turned to leave the stall was nothing more than a closed door. He blinked at it, leaning over to rattle the bolt, but it was slid all the way across and the bottom bolt also neatly secured.

“What the fuck?” He yelled, slamming both palms into the top of the door. “Who the fuck thinks it’s a good fucking laugh to lock me in here? You don’t think I can’t just jump out over the fucking door, do you?”

Down the block, the horses shifted uneasily, but their restless jostling could not loom over the rap of booted feet making their way, at a perfectly leisurely pace, down the centre aisle. From where he’d tied up the occupant of the stable he was trapped in, Jetset nickered, though it was a sound of greeting.

“Dylan, isn’t it?”

The yard urla escort manager, Aria, pursed her lips, blonde hair scraped back in a tight, serious ponytail that didn’t dare bounce on her shoulders. Growling, Dylan threw his hands up and glared at her, chest rising and falling rapidly in short, sharp breaths.

“Yes, it’s Dylan,” he snarled. “You gonna let me out or not, woman?”

She raised an eyebrow. Her smart yard jacket, stylish and yet still warm, didn’t have a speck of straw on it. It was as if she’d chosen it especially for an occasion but for what occasion nobody knew.

Or maybe Aria knew.

“No, I really don’t think I will.”

Dylan grunted and ground the toe of his boot into the concrete.

“What’s this, some kind of sick joke?”

Aria’s smile was tight, as if she was holding something back behind the like of her perfectly straight teeth.

“Maybe to you. I hope your attitude comes a side better than it is now.”

“What the fuck you on about?”

Stepping back, Aria surveyed him.

“Oh, you’ll see in a moment, I’m sure. I’m told it’s painless, but, with the language that comes out of your mouth and how I’ve seen you raise your hand to Jetset, I wouldn’t waste time feeling sorry for you if it was painful.”

Dylan’s expression twisted, but the words he wanted to hurl forth, barbed and dripping with poison, died on his lips, throat closing up as if a fist was clenched around it. He hacked and bent over, crumpling to the floor as his muscles went into spasms, body beyond his control as he made a sound like a trapped animal, a death rattle in his lungs.

“Excellent. You will suffer.”

He barely took note of her words, writhing as he clutched at his throat, eyes bulging out of his skull. But Aria only smiled, her image greying and wavering as she leaned over the bottom half of the stable door, just to enjoy his suffering all the more. Despite his throat closing up and disallowing the sanctity of breath, his lungs did not ache and terror clawed at him all the more fiercely as the only sounds he could get out were shockingly animal in nature, grunts and snorts bursting from suddenly fluttering nostrils.

Dylan could not have known that his whole world was changing. The stable dipped nauseatingly as he rolled onto all fours, hands slamming into the concrete as his fingernails turned grey, the colour spreading up into his hands as if he had been taken by a sudden sickness. He rubbed at them, but his skin grew hard beneath his very eyes, bones cracking as they realigned themselves and his hands pushed into a new shape entirely.

His head reeled and he swung it heavily to the side, chest heaving even though he could not yet draw breath. His mind clicked sluggishly through what he could see, though he had not the sense of mind to go for the stable door again or attempt any kind of escape as he was slowed down and down and down as his body transformed without his consent or control.

The first notice he had of his yard T-shirt growing tighter and menderes escort tighter was when it split across his shoulders, the seam giving up as muscles bulged. His scruffy jeans were quick to follow suit, buttocks swelling as something tingled at the base of his spine. Dylan tried to scream, but his face pushed out and out, eyes sliding to the sides of his head as his vision realigned itself grotesquely.

“Oh, it does act quickly, doesn’t it? You’re the first to try this out. You should be honoured, Dylan.”

Aria laughed cruelly, resting her cheek on her hand.

“Well, you’re not going to have the scope for that kind of emotion for much longer anyway, so I suppose that’s by the by now.”

Dylan hardly heard her and had not the sense about him to care. The stable seemed to grow smaller around him as his line of sight rose up, but it was with a start he realised, flinching back, that it was him that was getting larger and not the stable smaller. His feet pushed back into the deep, straw bed as his back stretched out and out and out, putting his frame into a new shape and way of going. It was more comfortable to be on his hands and feet, back pushed up, than resting on his knees, and Dylan grunted weakly, head hanging as the weight of it tried to drag him down into the bed he’d not so carefully forked into shape.

“Poor thing…” There was no sympathy in Aria’s voice. “Your neck will support that big old thing again soon, don’t you worry. Need a bit more muscle there, but the change is far from complete.”

And it was true. As he tried to look up, the movement became easier and easier, neck elongating and bulging with muscle that no human neck could have or should have supported, nearly on the same level as the stable door. Puffing wildly, he stared at Aria as his ears tingled, migrating up to the top of his head and tucking themselves into a petal shape, sounds that he had never heard in such crisp detail before reaching his newly positioned ears.

He snorted, but still did not understand. He could not have understood.

Red hair prickled into life on his bare arms, though they hardly looked like arms anymore with a bulge of joint where he guessed his wrist would have been, his weight borne by a hard circle of grey bone. He tried to step back, scraping over the floor, and stumbled, finding a more stable position as he spread his legs, balancing with a different stance than what he was used to.

Only then did he look down, dragging his gaze from Aria, and blink at the new pair of hooves he found there — impossible to miss, with his knowledge and work on the stable yard.


But the horror was restrained, sucked into the pit of his belly as a sense of deep, profound calm rolled over him. His stomach curved neatly, tucking up to his haunches, and he snorted as hairs shot from the base of his spine, hanging down in a thick, chestnut tail that would have rivalled the full locks of any of the show horses he’d seen. His cheek was dished, demonstrating what could have narlıdere escort been fine breeding if he had actually been a natural born equine. Against himself, he arched his neck, leaning into the welcoming spill of hair as a mane flourished, a vibrant red that glistened even beneath the harsh fluorescent bulbs, buzzing and flickering crudely.

But that was not the most prominent change still. Dylan grunted and shuddered as his human member drew up to his body, skin turning grey there too as if it had always been that way. He wanted to feel terror, but all seemed to be falling into place — at least in his mind — and he merely groaned softly as all sense of his maleness disappeared, his genitals instead warming into a new equine teardrop-shaped sex tucked right up beneath the pucker of his anal ring. His tail flicked, lifting automatically, and he shivered as the long hairs brushed it, needing trimming around the dock.

For his final shame and to complete the transformation as her new sides and neck lathered with sweat, hair swirled into the dampness, his soft, grey skin pulled into a pair of teats in front of his hind legs, the udders small and pert, those of a maiden mare. Fit to a fault, she could have been ready to race or canter around a high stakes show jumping arena, her kind eye liquid and bright, nostrils pleasingly shaped and quivering with breath.

It was her very first true breath as an equine, Dylan’s old life as a human far behind in a darkened twist of strife. But she was not to know that. She only knew of her life as it was in that moment, her past a pleasant blur. The mare chewed thoughtfully. There was nothing to fear.

Only then did Aria let herself into the stall, sliding the bottom bolt smoothly back out of place. If Dylan had been a smarter gentleman, he would have jumped or scrambled over the door while he’d had a chance. It wasn’t as if the door was terribly high, after all, but his loss was certainly her gain. She offered her hand to the mare and the beautiful creature that had once been an angry young man and the mare gladly nosed at it, taking in the scent of her for the first time.

And now she had a new mare in her stable to show for his lack of intelligence. She chuckled to herself, her amusement catching the mare’s attention as those large, pointed ears swivelled to her. Funny how things worked out sometimes.

“Santana,” she said, running her palm down the mare’s arched neck, glistening with sweat. “I think that name will do very nicely for you. You don’t have any need for your old one anymore.”

Pressing her nose into Aria’s hand, Dylan — now Santana — snorted softly, taking in her owner’s scent. She lipped hopefully at her palm, but found no treats there. But Santana was content. She had nothing more to worry about in life and Aria’s voice warbled softly over her as she relaxed, speaking of foals to come and stallions she would pair her with.

Santana had no control over her life, but that was okay too. She knew how well Aria treated her horses and, well, being a mare surely could not be all that bad, growing fat and heavy on spring grass while a little one pranced and frolicked around her, learning the ways of the world.

Sighing contentedly, she nuzzled Aria’s shoulder and the yard manager smiled, pleased with her creation.

Santana’s new life as a broodmare had begun.

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