You are a stallion, deemed unfit to stud. As far as horses, you're a dicklet who can just barely achieve 10 inches erect. It's not fair. Every night you see some guy who goes by @FeminismsCancer breaking into the stables and fucking all the prime fillies. Maybe if you gymcel someone will let you mate with a donkey? So you put yourself before the cart and transform your body, really sell the idea that your genes are worth passing on. And then, it happens.
You're shipped off to the big city to be part of the Mounted Unit. It's crowd control for you. Was it because of how fast you can run or how high you can jump? No, ironically none of that meant anything. It's because you're a lanklet and people can see you from far away.
Fast forward. You've overseen many a festival in your time now. Ribs By The River, the local state college's Underwear Marathon, Pride Month, you've stood sentinel. Then comes the big day. 4th of July. Easily tens of thousands of people have gathered. You stand in file with your police horse brothers and your officer partners. When suddenly, a familiar smell in the air. When you've smelled this smell in the past, it usually means some bonehead's about to get arrested. Alcohol. From the sea of sweaty, sunburnt beetroots emerges a small fire team of young women, drunk off their platform heels. One of them looks up at your partner and with siren-like vocal fry, beseeches him: CAAAAAAN IIII PET YER HOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRSSSSE~???
He allows it. She turns to you. HIIIIIIIII BEEEEEEBYYYYYY~ she says. She raises her hand to stroke you. Your partner presses down a little on your head, to signal that you should let yourself be petted. How do you react?
You're shipped off to the big city to be part of the Mounted Unit. It's crowd control for you. Was it because of how fast you can run or how high you can jump? No, ironically none of that meant anything. It's because you're a lanklet and people can see you from far away.
Fast forward. You've overseen many a festival in your time now. Ribs By The River, the local state college's Underwear Marathon, Pride Month, you've stood sentinel. Then comes the big day. 4th of July. Easily tens of thousands of people have gathered. You stand in file with your police horse brothers and your officer partners. When suddenly, a familiar smell in the air. When you've smelled this smell in the past, it usually means some bonehead's about to get arrested. Alcohol. From the sea of sweaty, sunburnt beetroots emerges a small fire team of young women, drunk off their platform heels. One of them looks up at your partner and with siren-like vocal fry, beseeches him: CAAAAAAN IIII PET YER HOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRSSSSE~???
He allows it. She turns to you. HIIIIIIIII BEEEEEEBYYYYYY~ she says. She raises her hand to stroke you. Your partner presses down a little on your head, to signal that you should let yourself be petted. How do you react?
