PART 1 - THE CATCH

The orange moon of a summer night overhead. The multicolor neon from too many signs. Light emitted from thousands of devices. It was overwhelming to many. That’s one of many tiny reasons that The Specialist found other ways to travel.

Catacombs. Sewers. Maintenance tunnels. Skywalks and bridges. When needed, disguise. More buildings than anyone realized offered access. Even the industrial areas had ways to move and to hide, with The Specialist moving carefully between sight-lines and avoiding the annoyances of witnesses or alarms or evidence of his visit. 

He wasn’t interested in dealing with the hassle of having to remove any potential witnesses to his presence or his techniques. A month ago, he’d slipped up while observing someone entering at a party, and there had been violence. He was furious at himself that night - he’d been simply too interested in watching over his chosen object of desire - and he’d peered too far over a railing. But, the witness helped salve his ego; he was still Processing in a sauna-silo back in his lab. Before leaving for this excursion, The Specialist had taken a few extra minutes to grind his boot into the locked null-bulge of Subject #79 while his other captives watched. 

But there was no such threat tonight. This place was empty. An old industrial plant, one designed firmly for non-humanoid products, but The Specialist knew there was utility to be had. This particular plant - one formerly belonging to Apex Logistics - had, according to his notes, been rather stripped of any small valuables, but there were almost certainly some old pieces of machinery. In them, he hoped to find notes on the now-defunct corporation’s production process and its high-tech Laminate materials. These all sparked joy and intrigue, and he already looked forward to the decadent joy of using industrial-level equipment on a living, breathing, begging project. Maybe he’d have to go out and find #80 just for that. 

Plastic tarps on walls and cheaply made metal sheeting covered windows and walls. Wind made it waver, with the plastic sheet crinkling masking his stealthy entry. The acoustics were all so cold and tinny. Long ceiling-mounted robotic arms like dead limbs hanging in a slaughterhouse. They  picked over the ribcage of steel armatures. A heavy-duty control panel half-sunken in a workbench smashed by vandals near the wall. 

Jackals were sometimes scavengers, and The Specialist had no shame in performing this ritual. He approached it slowly. The casing was scuffed but solid, its interface dusty, the buttons gummy. Luckily, he didn’t need to press any of them. His fingertips spread, and with a flex of intent, the synthetic material of his right hand peeled open like a blooming flower. Shimmering black nanogel flowed from his palm that slid into the ports like a tongue into someone’s mouth and-

He closed his eyes, syncing. It only took a second. In that second, the console bit him back. 

The burst made him spasm but he couldn’t fulfill his reflexes. His legs locked, vision broke into flickering bands, the trapped spike tuned for his neural mesh and equipment. He fell backwards, limbs and coating refusing commands. He’d been baited and he’d dove greedily into the trap. The result was that his entire body and suit were no longer obeying his commands, leaving him a mostly still and twitching jackal in thick rubber but no power. 

And on the topic of greed, he could hear the avarice i n her boots. Over the flapping of the plastic, over the wind, over his own thrashing, he heard her boots. Phantom had a particularly slow cadence, because she was greedy; she liked taking her time, enjoying every sense the scene brought her. There was no need to rush. This was a private performance. Why end it early? 

She was wearing dark colors and an off-white jacket over it, ready for combat. Better to be overprepared.  Her face was serene, smug, every inch of her posture sculpted to indicate that she was Better Than You. The Directrix incarnate.

“Did it purr when you entered it? Did it scream or mewl?”

The Specialist tried to move but a growl came out instead. Phantom crouched before him, one hand trailing under his jaw, tilting his head up with a gentleness. 

“At first, I was not sure you would fall for it, but you are a very curious type of collector. I suspect you wanted to know if you could do it as much as the desire to succeed. Well, guess what?”

Phantom stood back up and paced around him, watching as he twitched. She used a boot to nudge open his long coat, revealing his sexy, sculpted, shining body, his bulging manhood, his abs and thighs. Mmmm… she couldn’t go too fast, she knew she’d have so much fun later. 

“Me too. I wanted to see if I could capture a legend. And I know you wanted to see if I could too. Deep down, you knew I would win eventually.”

From behind, he felt her reach into her coat, and then there was a low click. His suit was squeezing him tight, rerouting his own drugs and relaxants into his nostrils through filters and tubes.

“You should’ve brought a friend, Specialist, because it would have been fun to let you watch this happen to her first. Seriously, though,” she said, stepping close, tapping something on a small screen. “...you don't have any kind of biometric lock on this thing? Are you just that confident that no one will take it from you? What a proud and overzealous puppy!” 

A glossy collar unfolded in her hands. She slipped it around his throat, the seal hissing shut like a kiss.

“Initiate nullification.”

A wave of heat surged from the collar outward as he felt himself being choked out and brought to a dreamless unconscious slumber. 

She leaned down, lips just above his ear.

“You’ll walk again, sweet thing. But only as MY beast of burden.”

He couldn’t answer. Phantom already owned his silence.

PART 2 - Her STALLION

The first thing he recognized was an intimate and familiar scent. The smell of clean, processed air filled his nostrils from his mask. He took a deep breath to wake himself. It was meditative. Other circumstances regarding the capture were only temporary. He was unending, glossy, and unblemished from any temporary setback. He exhaled calmly, and as he did so.

The smell of rubber and ‘fresh’ air mixed with an earthy, clean hay. He flexed his fingers and found his digits sealed in place, squeezing a stress-ball core around which a pair of rigorous mittens had been baked. The lenses on his mask slowly opened more and more light in, until he could see his hands in front of him. 

Hooves. 

His powerful hands were sealed up in mitts and mocking horse-hooves. 

He tried to tug his arms free of their bonds but quickly realized they were stuck; chained, steel-bolted in place with a large spreader bar. It kept him unwieldy and off-balance… or was that his feet too? The Specialist looked down and saw a pair of tall pony-boots ending in the same resin mocking him. He didn’t want to imagine what else his captor had in store. But he already knew. His sharp claws threatened to slice through the restraints, but they squeaked and stayed in solid place. 

She was taunting him, turning him from a proud and noble creature into a beast of burden. Her rubber stallion. 

An unusual zap ran through his body from his chest to his loins. It was similar to the shock that had laid him low. It was electric and exciting. Her rubber horse. Her big strong stallion. He was pulled down on the bar, half trying to break it, half trying to work out this feeling of being pent that he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“The stocks? As hard as the same metal your bionics are made out of. Tire yourself out all you want~"

Phantom’s voice was the thunder to the lighting already coursing through his body.

The Specialist was excited. He was hard, completely erect, feeling himself getting wet and poised for action. She strutted over with a crop in her hand wearing a riding outfit complete with a long-tailed coat - not different from her normal look. 

The stables were empty save for him, clean stalls and luxurious wood and concrete built for a small selection of horses. Empty save for him and Phantom. That and a few cameras lining the stalls to record every moment from every angle. 

“No doubt  you’ve seen the basics of your new Look, but you haven’t seen the most important pieces. The ones I took my sweet time on. There’s the hooves and mittens obviously because you’re not a person, you’re a beast. You’re MY beast. And animals like you don’t talk.” 

As she spoke, she ran a finger underneath his chin. He leaned away and felt his member gently wiping against her midsection. 

“Ahhh… easy, easy boy,” she said with a materialistic tone. “It’s going to be a LONG time before we do any studding.” 

He exhaled; a half snort at her arrogance, a half-laugh at her confidence. 

“Oooh, I know you’re all huffy. I’d try to get used to it.” 

It was dawning on him that the sound he’d made was distinctly equine. Like she’d modified his suit, changed outputs, filtered his sounds and motions to be that of a dumb animal. 

He huffed again as she reached for something from a leather bag at her side. 

*HUFFF-

“Curse and growl all you want. All I hear on my end is the whinnies of an untrained animal. And that will be rectified when we’re done, stallion.” 

She started to touch him, and he avoided huffing a third time. Phantom gently moved her gloved hands to his midsection and cradled his massive member in one hand. He felt himself grimace. His cocked flexed, he was moving it without intent but there it was. He brought his body forward, and she moved with him. Fuck. She wasn’t even doing anything. 

The rider started to stroke his long cock, running the back of latex fingers over the top until he was steaming. He imagined her pinned down and being fucked until she was a glassy-eyed sow, and that helped his ego but did nothing for his intense and growing need. Somehow, still growing. 

Incredibly, she kept going too. Lips parted and exhaled, then inhaled his musk. Hell. He thrust his cock forward, hoping beyond hope that she’d keep going with him. She didn’t say no, opening her lips to taste him and take the fat shaft into her mouth. He shuddered and there was a low murrr of pleasure escaping his gagged lips.

Nor did his cock escape her lips either. Fingering the bottom, gloved digits going down his shaft to his sack, kissing it. Her tongue lapping at his head. He just wanted her to go further. The fire inside him burned and he kept thrusting, but every time he did so, she simply gave him a ‘no’ and backed off.   He was ready to say “please,” even if it was sarcastically. He could feel himself squeezing the stress-balls in his mittened hands tight, flexing his rear and trying oh-so-hard not to look like too much of a beast.

She opened her mouth, letting her tongue lap against him, and just as it seemed as if she was about to go further, she backed off, leaving him a hot, steamy, huffing mess. 

HUFFFF. 

 Again, this time, but so much louder, so much more humiliating. The animalistic whinny that came from his mouth startled even him. 

The clinking of chains was the next sound to send a zap down his body as she showed off a chastity plate. 

“Carefully designed and very comfy for horses. Ventilated. Two mag-locks that will attach at the end, no release save for my explicit command. Rear access remains. It’ll go underneath the harness we’ll have for you later. There will be zero chance of external stimulation, zero full orgasms, and zero release until training is complete. And even then it won’t be until it’s time for your studding that you’ll be doing anything with that fat cock of yours. 

He complained with another loud whinny, and she tapped his chin. “Tsk tsk. You keep forgetting who you are. You aren’t The Specialist.” You’re my rubber horse. Just look.

She tapped something on his mask, and the camera view shifted; his lenses taken over to show him himself from an exterior view. “I’m glad you woke up, by the way. I wanted you to be at full capacity for this.”

Seeing himself was almost a shock. Another one. He tugged instinctively at the chains, the metal biting into the padded cuffs around his wrists, but there was no give. His breathing quickened, though it was muffled by the tight compression of the horse mask sealed around his head. Every inhale filtered through small, hidden vents in the molded snout. 

A stallion, big and proud. He felt the weight, the sculpted ears, the thick mane, the burden of it all. The glowing yellow eyes were his, but the face was not, hacked via technology to be a beast, not a king. No one would hear his voice. The fearsome persona had been swallowed whole by the equine visage now fused to his head, the belt around his waist, and the plug Phantom showed off in her hands. A long tail attached to a shaft and belt-straps to keep it inside him. The intense shame of it all made him even harder. 

The rigid neck guard fought him as he almost tried to look away, making his arms flail and twitch as Phantom lubed it up and got him absolutely, completely filled. A fat plug penetrating him from the rear, inserting, going deeper; uncomfortable yet undeniably stimulating, teasing against his hole and walls as he squirmed and felt it packing him full and then strapped in. The tail swished behind him as he twitched left and right.

“So, who do you belong to?” Phantom asked. 

“Nieiggggh…” 

She responded with the kiss of her riding crop. 

NEEEEIGH!

Another kiss, another sting against his rear. She got the harness locked over his chest, maximizing the restraint points she had access to. He clopped hooves against the concrete floor and stamped with dread. 

He huffed and moaned and pleaded like that, feeling the sting of her whip until she decided to have him marched out of the stables and towards a bed in a manor that he’d actually sleep in (under a series of heavy steel door-locks, of course). As she whipped and flogged him, enforcing him to march from his stables to his bedroom, he knew that he was hers - her stallion, her prized show-pony, and that there was nothing he could do about it. 

Part 3 - IMMERSION

After a first day and night, The Mistress of the House ordered her new stallion to be cleaned (he was cleaned every morning and night, but this was clearly important) and tacked, ready for riding and inspection. She also ordered that he be brought to the stables and harnessed up. Arms chained to his harness, legs spread, collar locked. She also had the D-rings utilized for a bit of extra security, with long bars at his waist keeping him locked to the wood. 

And that’s how she found him, standing still, sweating, huffing, whinnying, and ready for inspection. The sun was about to go down as she approached, and began with a close and careful look-over of his gear. When she was satisfied - “No seams, no sign of attempted escape, very good” - she did something he’d quietly hoped she would do for a long time.

Phantom placed down a small stool in front of him, sitting on it, gazing up at the horse who gazed back at her. She took a look at his chastity plate, vented steel, and removed it. Three magnetic locks disengaged at her remote command, allowing his cock to flow free. 

He was instantly hard. It had been a while since he’d been able to really focus and feel present, in the moment, and that feeling was now associated with a growing anger at his circumstance. Who was this bitch to do this to HIM? 

She grabbed each of his thighs and used them like handles to pull himself in close. Phantom hovered above his bulging manhood; an imposing monolith over his soft curving need… or maybe a hungry woman looking at a treat. 

Was this the ‘studding’ she’d offered? Was it something else? She opened her mouth and let her tongue slowly extend. Bands of saliva strickled along her maw, all lit by dark lipstick, as she moved her head down.

He bucked. It was reflexive, which was almost shameful. It was shameful. That he’d allow himself, no, that his body wanted to react, plunging his cock upwards, moving that extra inch or two to get closer to her tongue and mouth and the waiting pleasure that came with it. He could kick himself if he were free-  although if he were free, he’d probably  take it out on one of his test subjects instead of any kind of reflective self-flagellation. Here, there was no such luxury and he could only whinny. 

NNngggh…nyyyrrh… 

The whinnying sounds coming from his mask were so much more “real” now. Post-suiting, post-processing, the dreamlike feeling of being suited and reformed was over. Now it was his reality, and he was whinnying like a damn beast of burden. Nnneeeeeyyyygghhh… He felt the sounds start as words in his throat but exit as grumbles. 

She  went lower. He felt blood coursing through his veins, his heart beating faster. He could see her tongue nearing his cock, nearing the glowing symbol.

And just like that, she stopped. She stooped up, she walked away, and he let out some of the most pitifully plaintive yells he’d ever made. He realized that he was saying something like “Come ON!” at first, and now he was grumbling out words closer to “You bitch. “ They only came out as horse sounds anyway. 

HUFFFF. That was a universal sound, though, whether pony or jackal. The huffing of annoyance. That made her smile, too, and the squeak-squeak of his body against the table made her coo. 

“You just like me soooo much. Sooo eager to have some time with me. Well, you’re going to hate me after this.” 

Phantom returned with a muzzle-mask ending in long ridged tubes to deliver a potent aphrodisiac. He struggled away, and for a moment, Phantom was worried he’d break free before she realized that she’d planned for such an eventuality. 

She grabbed his head by the back of his neck, steadying him long enough to get the gas muzzle over his snout. Tubes mated and locked and it was strapped tight, adding pressure against the back of his masked and hooded face. She could feel the power stored in his limbs, and his anger, and his struggles. He wanted to show her that he was not a beast, he was a fearsome foe caged against her will. He wanted to fight his way out of it. Phantom was not interested, and as she turned on the gas from some nearby valves and tanks, she could see his beast come out further. 

“The first of your daily edging sessions begins now. That gas is rather strong.” She chuckled out loud, grinning at what she was saying like it was a funny joke. “It’s been known to absolutely bimbo-fy weaker men. I wonder what effect it will have on you? If you’ll end up pretty and pink and horny, or if it’ll just keep you what I expect - so utterly pent up that you’ll be ready for tomorrow’s training.” 

She came back to him as he started to struggle, started to feel the need building inside him. His desire for touches, climax, to break free from the restraints and fuck her face out was growing, though not in that order. 

Phantom couldn’t help herself. Her pony was leaking with need. She leaned down and gave him one more kiss on his flank and left him shaking, shaking, absolutely shaking. 

“A week of training, and then the gala,” she said. “It’s going to feel soooo much longer.”

Part 3a - TRAINING

She trained the stud inside when the weather didn’t permit outdoor activity. She set him up in a huge room with a mirror so he could always see exactly how he looked, and so that he could adjust his pose and posture better. He didn’t see the same level of use in the mirror. He saw himself on a treadmill at a slow pace, multiple angles of mirrors to let him see exactly what he was. 

He saw a rock-hard set of abdominal muscles, embraced in black. Pumped up with thick curves, rubber that protested against his movements. He had an urge to howl at the heat, and seeing himself in the mirror like this… this was the kind of toy, the kind of object that he normally valued so much.

You are a fucking god. Not some animal. 

And yet, the animalistic thinking was in his head. It had been for days. His hands and feet disagreed with his brain. He hauled the heavy load across the floor and each step was a struggle. He could feel the power stored in his limbs, denied and repurposed for ‘work’. He wanted to break free, break out, and skulk to the shadows until he could savage the entire manor. Wanted to show them that he was not a beast. But the rubber won. Clinging to him, holding him in place, with the hot and sweaty attempts to pull off the harness answered by squeak-queak sounds from his oppressive coating. 

He stopped for a moment and looked at another horse. 

Good god. I’m one of them. 

Those thick, muscular drones that he’d made, that he’d ogled. Vessels of pleasure that would expose themselves at a moment’s notice. Vessels ready to be abused by someone else in power. He wondered how much he’d have to be asked to go on all knees and let someone take out the plug for a good plowing. He bucked at the notion, one of the few things he could do. Ugghh… no good. The Specialist just dry-humped the air and felt his cock crane with attention. You’re the pinnacle, he thought. You’re the envy of all. They fear you. But him saying that to himself was small comfort. He was ready to start throwing his body just to get him going, to maybe break free from the harness, but Phantom’s voice cracked through his huffy, horny headspace. 

“Don’t get too antsy,” she said. “I assure you, if you’re good, we’ll do a check-up tonight.” His rod throbbed anew. He showed off how much there was stored in there, lording it over the other horses. In the back of his mind, he felt something unusual, a feeling that he could be worshipped as a beast and not an intelligent creature. The world grew dimmer for a moment as his willpower slipped, like a child on the edge of a cliff.

Phantom turned the pace up a notch. “Set it well. I want you moving at a nice steady cantor so you can make the distance. If I wanted some femboy toy toy show off I’d get that. But I got you so you could be my stallion.”

He whinnied. 

“If you’re going to be MY stallion, and I’m going to keep you, then you need to trot. And ideally, have the stamina to go the distance AND service me at the end of the day.”

Nee-eeeigh. God, was his voice that high-pitched? Impossible.

“I’m going to make up a number between one and … .well, I don’t have to say, do I?” 

She pointed at the treadmill’s readout, indicating how far he’d already marched. His legs ached, but it wasn’t terrible. (Or was he just telling himself that so he could show off for his dominatrix? His latex goddess?)

“If you haven’t passed that number, I’m going to crop that nice rear of yours black and blue, and tomorrow, you’ll be back on but with a few more humiliating options. What do you say to us packing that rear of yours, inflating the plug, and making every step ache at your prostate? And if you’re still no good, well, we’ve got tools for cows as well.” 

NEEEEIIIIGH!!!

===

Part 4 - THE AUCTION

The air was thick with the scent of blooming honeysuckle and fresh-cut grass. An old iron gate, adorned with vines, and beyond it a winding gravel drive. All of it meticulously groomed, of course, as Phantom did everything as much for her as for appearances. Through that drive, one went through a tunnel of ancient oak trees whose branches met overhead. 

Honey-colored stone and arched windows. A sweeping staircase as Phantom descended it, and at her beck and call, a fearsome creature now masked as her rubber horse. The Specialist’s suit was polished to a mirror sheen and worshipped like a dark idol. His suit was hacked and reformed, his mask transformed to be nothing but a beast of burden. Every contour bulged, which was just the way Phantom liked it. Absolute encasement, zero skin showing (obviously), arms locked in place in hooves and now attached via short chains to his nice, heavy leather harness. Materials of different styles made them both pop all the more, gleaming chains and leather and polished thick rubber. 

When Phantom thought nobody was looking, she licked that thick hood. Sculpted rubber, sleek, muzzled, flared nostrils, pointed ears. It was getting her so hot to see him like this, got her so steamed up to make eye contact with those glowing yellow eyes through the narrow slits of the rubber. That was the only hint of resistance left behind the mask and outfit. She leaned a head against his chest and practically drooled, biting her lips as she heard his breathing.

Huff….. Huff….. Huff…. 

Deep, calm, rhythmic anger pressed by rubber and the beginnings of training into a calm rage at his situation. While going out today, he was also given a nice thick metal posture collar. It was practically armor on him, unnecessary but powerful-looking. It sort of made him even more intimidating, forcing his head high and proud, denying him the dignity of motion. The MirageCorp logo emblazoned on his form. He really was so very masculine like this. Broad straps and a harness for a beast of burden; heavy black belts that hugged his waist, matching with silver hardware. All the D-rings and straps were good for utility, for standard cycles of training, heat, edging. Every limb was adorned. Twin thigh straps locked in parallel around his legs, their buckles flush against the glossy black of his suit, biting into pliant latex and hugging against his frequent bucks and struggles. All drawing the eye inwards to his chaste, needy manhood. Contoured steel sealed him in a vented cage in a way that defined him.

She tugged him to a waiting rickshaw, had him harnessed up alongside another horse. “Colt” was much more trained now, still filled with need, willpower, and stubbornness, but her time with the heavy rubber horse had taught him a certain amount of obedience for his goddess. Harnessed in a manner similar to The Specialist, Colt was ready to pull the Mistress down the street to the gala hall she’d rented, and he was eager to be seen by all. The Specialist did not feel the same way. He did not feel quite so enthralled by her hands and touch and words. He needed the crop on his rear and whispered threats (and offers) to get him to pull, and even then it was with great reluctance. She’d have it no other way. There was nothing quite as decadent as a pair of horses, one trained and one unbroken, matching  and marching together. Colt, a preview of what could happen to her beloved jackal, and The Specialist a symbol of her unyielding power. Even gods could be laid low at her feet. 

The three of them attended a gala at another country house down the road, within sight of Phantom’s estate. Glittering chandeliers illuminated velvet walls, plush furnishings, and masked guests dressed in silks and satins and shinier things. 

When they arrived, all eyes turned toward the great entryway. The doors were opened so the guests inside could see out, and glimpse their Rubber Empress, witnessing a sleek vehicle drawn not by horses but by her most captivating acquisitions. As they arrived and halted, Phantom dismounted her conveyance and ran a hand over each of their rear ends in turn. Attendants unharnessed them and escorted Phantom and her two steeds inside, and, because she was feeling both generous (to her guests and friends) and cruel (to her rubber horse, now halfway in heat) she let them all enjoy his body. 

“Who is he?” someone asked. “Doesn’t matter,” said another,  “Just look at him. This rubber slut is probably in heat by now, head filled with gas and thoughts of being studded. Phantom has outdone herself."

A blush rose beneath the Specialist’s mask for the first time in as long as he could remember. The degrading touches stripped away his pride, leaving only the Beast below, clad in glossy coating and shining metal. His mind wandered, intoxicated by the mistress tugging at his reins. 

The woman brushed up close as guests were busy grabbing thick handfuls of his thighs and rears, feeling his slender muscles. She leaned up close, really close, so that only he could hear her. Her lips brushed against his ‘ears’.

"They don't know you like I do. But they’ll learn."

Heat and humiliation and a shamefully intense erection surged through him at her words. The guests marvelled. 

At the event’s crescendo, Phantom guided him toward a brightly-lit corner where her "petting zoo" awaited. Guests approached with smiles and gleaming eyes, running delicate hands across his flanks, testing muscles beneath latex, murmuring appreciatively as he shivered under their touches. His fake tail swished away the occasional smack but that just got some of the guests more handsy. When else would they have the chance to touch the fearsome Specialist like this? To feel the advanced rubbery suit he wore? To touch and tease him, and also to see Phantom showing him off? A rare opportunity. 

The evening progressed. Guests were enjoying the show and some refreshments. They LOVED seeing him perform all of his training, and she loved seeing him do it. 

He cantered. He pulled. He knew how to stand up very straight at the swish of a crop. He even knew to stand still when Phantom adjusted some aphrodisiac and hypnotic gases, filling his lungs with drugs and nerves with need. Her favorite move was to give him a little extra, then lean in and snuggle up her head against his strong chest. Enjoying his pectorals and harness, then running a finger up around his cock. 

“After all this, you can have all the stud duty you want.” She smooched his neck and patted him, which was somehow worse than if she’d just whipped him with the crop. 

The moment of the auction finally came. 

“All right,” She opened with all the charade and exaggerated energy she could muster. She was literally trading a horse. 

“This stallion here is Lightning, and you’ll have to keep him shackled or he’ll bolt.” 

There was just enough laughter that it wasn’t embarrassing.

“Look at this. Look at THIS!” she said, punctuating each word with a slap of his thick ass. “Look at the body. Yes, yes, we can talk about him all day long, and we should. Look at those thighs, those muscles, that sexy mask. He ALWAYS wears the mask, even during duties, let me tell you. Yes, all of that is quite intense. But. 

There’s more to him. Behind the mask. Now, I won’t be taking it off, I mean in a metaphorical way. You see, beneath this rubber suit is a killer. A lethal enforcer. He’s dangerous, he’s powerful, he’s done terrible things. Kidnapped, sold into slavery, transformed and taken everything away from others. And now look at this glorious stallion.”

Another spank, this time with a crop. “Now here’s the thing, an inexperienced captor is going to have a lot of trouble with him. You see, he was - “

She shot a glaring green glance at the stallion. He felt himself get hard right then and there from a piercing gaze.

“He was a dangerous and resourceful individual.”

Still she kept his anonymity. He thought it was curious. Maybe that was smart. Phantom was avoiding letting the rest of the criminal underworld know that the infamous Specialist was up for sale. The chaos would have been immense. Maybe all this time, she was doing him a favor. Or maybe… just maybe… she was doing this so that he could enjoy himself. 

So that he could be nothing, nothing, nothing but her horse. Something changed in him, and he felt a stirring in his stomach. Not just his cock. Something in his deep nerves, a prickly warmth. Like hugging a porcupine that hugged back. He didn’t get it. 

“Whoever bids on him gets him tomorrow,” she said. People started to raise their markers. 

She leaned in to whisper one final thing, one last sentence to him as her horse. 

“Because tonight… you’re mine.” 

And for tonight, he loved being hers. 

=====

The hearth cast dancing shadows. Phantom crossed her legs. Tall, black boots squeaked - she hadn’t taken them off yet, though she had removed her jacket. The riding habit fit her form so nicely, she felt almost like she wanted to wear it for longer. The scent of aged leather and polish was so nice, after all. A long day filled with the exacting requirements for dressage had been a delight. The morning had started with shipping off The Specialist to the winning bidder - a terribly inexperienced young royal who was surely going to find him hard to hand. 

Her silk blouse, unbuttoned at the collar, delicate curves of her throat and the heavy fabric of her breeches. She shut her eyes, reclining in the chair. Yes. A good day. Though she’d have preferred to spend another night with Him. 

A creature of hate moved through the manor house. Suited feet on rich carpet, unheard beneath the crackle of the hearth and the silence of the manor. Subtle creaks of ancient floorboards often oiled up by his own presence. 

He found her by the hearth, her back to him, legs crossed, still wearing those tall, black boots. The very boots that had announced her avarice, her slow cadence, her greedy enjoyment. He looked at her throat. Envisioned it in his grip. Looked at the way the outfit was so tight. And she wasn’t even noticing him?

He was close now, a mere breath behind her. The subtle scent of aged leather and polish from her boots, a scent she found so nice, was now tinged with the metallic tang of his own returning puissance. 

Her eyes blinked open, her nostrils flared. Ah. The smell. The odor she’d enjoyed so much. 

She didn’t say anything at first. 

“Did you enjoy your little vacation?” she asked. “Did you show that prince who bought you a good time?”

The Specialist was standing above her, his head staring down, eyes locked, mouth closed. His old gear was back. His gooey maw closed. Phantom trembled slightly and hoped he hadn’t seen it.

“I had my fun, Mistress. But I’m just an animal, like you said.”

She seemed like she was trying to get up. Phantom just wanted to turn the tables a bit, get out of this awkward pose where she was staring at him dripping above her. She didn’t have any quips as he used his hands to force her back in her chair, holding her by her shoulders.

“This big, proud stallion…”

His maw opened. Phantom felt rubbery goo dripping on her face. Her eyes went wide and she flushed a bright red, then covered by black ichor. 

“...is still hungry.”

She didn’t have time to get out a scream before the rubbery goo plunged into her mouth, her nose, her ears. This was the most intense, forceful kiss she could imagine as his goo packed her mouth up tight and filled her up. She barely had time to even moan before he was extending a thick layer of rubber around her head, smothering and gassing her into blessed unconsciousness.

As Phantom fell back asleep, he cradled her gently. She had a lot more riding to do.