a story by Dan Standing

Part III

Hillary was still in shock. Not only was her mind trying to resolve the fact that she’d just been partially transformed into a horse, but there was all this new sensory input to process.

It had started when both her legs felt like a Charlie horse had run through their entire length. At the time Hillary had no idea that this was how she was understanding the sensation of her legs bisecting lengthways. Her ass and lower back felt heavy, and she could feel creaking and cracking going on across her bones as her lower body stretched backwards and her legs reformed. Then, from her hips down, a terrible itching spread across her skin – second only in irritation to the intense burn at the base of her spine. It felt like ants were crawling across her as thick hair grew in and her tail flowed over her equine ass. The sensation of her toes curling into themselves and hardening into hooves, with her horseshoes reshaping to fit, was the most uncomfortable feeling.

The most disturbing input came from her pussy. Although nothing about what was happening to herself felt sexy, her changing vagina felt otherwise. As her slit pushed back under her new belly to find its place between Hillary’s rear legs, altering to match the new genetics that surrounded it, there was no question that it was on fire with lust. Since the moment it had started dripping with need the damp crevice had been impossible to ignore.

Which was why Lydia had to repeat herself twice before Hillary registered what she was saying.

“Are you coming with me to the grazing field or not? People are staring at us just standing here. Especially since it looks like I am talking to a horse.”

“Oh, yes, yes.”

Four legs…four legs…four legs…just try moving one…

If Lydia thought they were being stared at before, walking with what appeared to be a drunken horse was not losing anyone’s interest. Not helping were the remains of Hillary’s clothing in her hands, the presence of which she could not explain.

The centauress was working hard on lifting two legs – which weren’t both on the same side – from the ground at once. She was kicking the back of her front legs. And if she thought the sensation of having a rim of metal between the ground and her fleshy human foot was strange, dealing with metal under a hard solid mass which gave way to the muscles of her leg made judging her steps difficult.

“She’s just a little spooked still, everyone give her some space,” Lydia assured anyone nearby as they slowly worked towards the open field across from the competition area. The human woman hoped that no one would ask how a horse that they had just seen led to the stables was now back out on the field.

“This is impossible,” muttered Hillary as they finally made it to the grass. The soft structure of the plants and soil was anything but easier to traverse than the hard-packed dirt that ran beside the course.

“Well, you’d better make it possible. You’ll figure out how to run if you don’t want to be…like this for the rest of your life.”

Hillary was concentrating too hard on her legs to have noticed the odd pause in Lydia’s sentence.

The afternoon was spent getting Hillary capable of operating her new body. It was slow, but ultimately successful. Lydia watched as her transformed lover galloped around the grass. Her thick strong legs striking the earth, her arms bent and held back for balance and drag reduction. Her nipples bouncing and wiggling at the tips of her tiny breasts. Her tail swinging and fraying overtop of a bit of Hillary that Lydia did not know was locked in an intense and perpetual heat.

Hillary was well aware of what was going on between her back legs, though. It was a constant distraction that she could do nothing about; she wasn’t phsyically capable of squeezing her horsey thighs together. And, of course, she couldn’t reach back far enough with her hands – not that she would do so in the open field. A desire to keep her mind on anything but that sensation was one reason why she’d taken so eagerly to learning how to run.

By the time she had trotting down pat neither had eaten. Since mounts were not supposed to be left unattended anywhere on the field Lydia and Hillary went back to the stable. The spaces for the horses were large and spacious, and Hillary’s own mount was indeed absent from the stall. Lydia opened the gate and let Hillary inside, placing the torn clothes on a shelf. She then left to find lunch and file the paperwork needed to switch riders/horses for the competition.

Standing alone in the stall Hillary could do little more than try to ignore her pulsing pussy. Yes, her body was sweaty and she ached all over. Based on how her human torso felt Hillary had never been happier for such a lightly weighted chest – although they had grown in relation to the rest of her. But her dull pain was not enough to take her mind off the humidity between her rear legs. She paced around in the small space, and found her tattered clothes. They were so small in her hands. She’d been considering asking Lydia to bring her a top, but it was clear that now nothing either of them had would fit.

Plus, what would happen – would everyone see her as a horse with a blouse wrapped around her neck?

Soon enough Lydia returned. Neither of them was quite sure what Hillary could stomach, so Lydia had brought a large platter of carrots, lettuce, and other veggies they were certain would not tie Hillary’s intestines in knots. As the centauride ate Lydia picked up a brush and began wiping down the sweat glistening on her horsey hide. Hillary practically vibrated from how good the bristles felt. Each swipe, as they freshened her thick coat, was heavenly. This wasn’t helping her ignore the slick slit so far behind her. She concentrated on eating.

“Feeling full?” Lydia asked as Hillary swallowed the last bite of carrot.

“Sort of,” Hillary replied, not sure just how many stomachs she now had to fill, “But I’m good enough for now. What next?”

“Well, we need to practice with me riding you.”

“Too bad I can’t run by myself.”

“Yes, well, if everyone sees you as your horse, and not a sentient mythological creature, I don’t think they’ll let you run riderless.”

“Will the saddle even fit me?”

“Let’s find out,” Lydia said, a little eagerness for adventure audible in her voice. She hefted the saddle from its perch onto Hillary’s horse back. Lydia was about to declare it far too big when it shrunk down to size right before her eyes.

“Well, that’s convenient…”

“What?” Hillary asked, unable to turn her torso and neck far enough to see what had happened.

“The saddle adjusted itself to fit you.”

“Well, isn’t Epona ever so considerate…”

“Yes. Which makes this next part only slightly less awkward.”

“What do you mean?” Hillary could hear a jingle of metal. Lydia came around fully into view and lifted something up so the centauress could see it.

“I am not putting that in my mouth.”

“A bit and halter are required items for competition, they won’t let you on the field improperly fitted.”

“No, I know that, I mean, I’m not putting that in mouth,” Hillary repeated, pointing at the previously used metal and leather in Lydia’s hand, “The saddle is one thing, but if I have to wear the bit I want a new one.”


“Get my credit card from my pants and go to the tack shop. I’ll wait.”


Again Hillary found herself alone, and this time the empty ache of her pussy was even more intense. There was nothing in the stall that was correctly shaped or clean enough to consider using to satisfy her. For a moment the centauride considered asking Lydia for a quick chance at relief, but she threw out the idea. How would Lydia react to such a thing? And what if they were caught? Lydia would be immediately thrown out, and then where would that leave Hillary?

Her thoughts were interrupted by Lydia’s return. She put all the new pieces together and brought them around to Hillary. Just like the saddle had shrunk down to fit her smaller back, the leather straps and metal cross-bar shrunk down to best fit her human head. As straps ran across her face and tightened on their own Hillary felt like she was in an S&M dungeon.

“Gisth isth du mostht uncumffortble thing ebuh,” Hillary muttered, spitting profusely as she tried to talk around the bit. Lydia unbolted the stall’s door.

“I’m sure that’s part of Epona’s point,” Lydia replied, placing a high-heeled boot in a stirrup, “Now steady yourself.”

“Wub? Hey!”

Hillary’s two right legs shifted to take Lydia’s moving weight, and then shifted again as her rider settled into place. It was strange – she could certainly feel Lydia’s weight and the saddle, but Hillary didn’t feel especially uncomfortable. It was like getting on all fours and having a medium weight bean bag laid across one’s back.

“How do you feel?”

“Fime. Bud don’d ebum think aboud using dose reigms.”

“I won’t, I’ll just hold them for show…assuming you can run the course without my direction.”

“Very fubby. Hold om – ack!”

Hillary had begun moving, and Lydia had instinctively pulled the reigns for balance.


“Ow. Don’d do dat agaim!”

“I’ll try…”

It was not easy for either of them to adjust to their new challenges. To stay steady and avoid yanking Hillary’s head backwards every few paces Lydia had to crouch down, relying on the low squeeze of her legs and the high vice of her arms against Hillary’s neck. Hillary was learning to run and turn at steady speeds so that it didn’t constantly feel as if Lydia was going to be flung off.

It was only after they’d run a few circuits with no balance issues before Hillary attempted the jump. On the first two landings Lydia pulled the reigns, but after that they each figured out how best to handle it. It had taken the rest of the day, but they had themselves sorted out. They were even making better time than Hillary had on her runs earlier that day.

Back in the stall they ate dinner, and Hillary’s coat got another brushing. After finishing they both knew Lydia couldn’t stay in the stables for the night. After helping the centauress find some blankets to use as a sheet and pillow for her human half to rest against they said their goodnights.

The stall had an open window which was at a perfect height for Hillary to roll up one of the blankets as a headrest. She placed it on the window sill and lowered her temple to it. Her legs instinctively locked into place so she wouldn’t tumble over in the night. At first Hillary wasn’t sure if she would fall asleep. She was upright, with a heavy barrel of weight beneath her. Right now, as she twisted her human half to comfortably rest against the window, it almost felt as if Hillary was only made of her torso. As if it had been fused to some enormous block of stone, instead of growing out of the ring of hair where the transition from one species to another was made.

It would have been easier to image her equine portion an inanimate lump if it wasn’t for her sopping wet horse pussy. The second brushing had truly set her alight. She’d almost broken down and begged Lydia to shove her whole arm inside the empty cavern, but she bit her lip. The threat of disqualification was too great. Instead, Hillary quietly sputtered frustrated horny murmurs to herself until exhaustion finally pulled her into slumber.

Lydia had gone from the stables straight to the spa, and found herself alone there. She stripped off her dirt-and-sweat encrusted outfit and set it aside for cleaning. She’d slowly pulled the boots from her legs, and carefully examined the metal U attached to the bottom of her soft foot. She traced her finger around the steel, following the arch that kept her foot locked upright and stretched.

The metal clanked on the tile of the spa as Lydia approached one of the floor length mirrors. She stood and examined herself, pivoting on the horseshoes fused to her soles. Her skin shimmered from the day’s sweat. But that wasn’t the shimmer she’d wanted to see.

Like all other horse riders Lydia ached between her legs when she was done each day. But, she didn’t ache between the legs like most riders did. One hand lifted and teased a full breast while the other slid down between her thighs. She gently spread her labia, and let out a long sigh at the glisten within her.

She’d always been fascinated by horses. They were powerful, majestic beasts. Riding them, owning them, and presenting herself atop them was a major turn on. She’d never considered doing anything inappropriate with one – the idea repulsed her. Her sexual attraction had always been squarely set on women, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think of the incredible beasts now and then as she rammed her plastic rod inside of Hillary.

But Lydia had just spent the day with a physical representation of a subconscious wet dream that would have blown Freud’s mind. She’d never imagined such a situation, never thought about how turned on she’d be by such a mix of human and beast, but here she was. This wasn’t a mindless creature; this was Hillary, who could voice a desire for Lydia to touch her…pleasure her…

The tantalizing woman’s breathing was getting heavy as she stared at herself, eyes locked on the horseshoes fused to her. She hadn’t even noticed how far she’d pushed her finger inside her lower lips. Remembering where she was she grabbed a robe and covered herself, the material cruelly rubbing over her incredibly engorged teats. Her balance on the horseshoes had greatly improved since the day before, and she had no trouble making her way back to her room.

A more self-centered woman would have resolved then and there to throw the race, to keep her impossible plaything. But the idea, at its base core, made Lydia sick to her stomach. She realized then how much she actually loved Hillary, and she would never seriously consider such an louthesome betrayal. She would do all she could to win that race tomorrow, and put Hillary right.

Inside her room Lydia let the robe slide off her shoulders and collapse to the floor. She slipped into the covers of her bed, her belly resting on the mattress. She bent her legs and knees back and rubbed her hands over both of her manipulated feet. The feeling of the horseshoes, immovably affixed, actually gave her pussy a little gush. For a moment she ground her slit into the fresh sheets, but then she let go of her feet and rose her ass into the air. The sheets kissed her full buttcheeks as the fabric pulled across her skin.

Fingers from both hands slid into her slit, finding all the best parts of her. Lydia’s clit was more engorged than she could remember it having ever been before. Her juices were thick and slick, and as she flicked her button a few digits slipped inside of her. She was so wound up from the impossible dream that her orgasm – her intense, crashing orgasm – came quickly.

Lydia muffled her scream into the pillow, as her body stiffened. The locked rigidity of her toes, aching to curl, was a pleasant torture. Gradually her muscles loosened and Lydia melted into the bed. Within moments she was also sound asleep.

to be continued…