This Is Budweiser
When Hank managed to open his eyes again, he saw the world through foggy glass. He squeezed his eyes tight and blinked them a few times. The effort to try and raise his head provoked a groan. His neck felt like a 2x4, and since his father was in construction, Hank knew exactly how a 2x4 was supposed to feel.
With a snort of frustration, he flopped his head back onto the pillow. A white fan with wide, spade-shaped blades spun lazy circles overhead. The walls were lemon marange with white trim. The open window let a cooling sea breeze in. Somewhere, a phone rang.
Hank tried shifting his weight onto one side. Every muscle of his young body throbbed at once. Hank had to hold his breath to make the effort. He found the nurse call button and pressed it.
A moment later, his deep brown eyes widened at the stallion who came striding through the door, thick heavy hooves thudding heavily against the plywood. Hank's own father was a big horse, or had been in Hank's eyes until now. The Clydesdale nurse's russet-colored biceps were fat with muscle, every outline of those arms in sharp relief against his white button-down shirt. A stethoscope hung from his rippling neck. Pecs the size of barrels strained the width of the shirt. Hank could see how taught the buttons were.
The nurse rumbled out a soft chuckle at the expression on Hank's face and busied himself with a clipboard and pen.
"Finally awake, eh?" the nurse said in a rich bass.
Hank swallowed hard.
"Yep, though I feel like I've been through a glue factory."
"Sorry about the size of the gown, we don't usually get patients so small. Afraid we weren't able to save your boat."
Hank groaned again, louder. He put a hand over his eyes.
"Uncle Carl is going to kill me!"
"Don't doubt he will. She looked like she was a real beauty before the storm. Probably a couple thousand. I'm Jessie, by the way. You're at Big Bay Resort. Probably the only unscheduled guest we've ever had who wasn't arrested for trespassing," the nurse said.
"Big Bay? Never heard of it."
Jessie sat on the edge of Hank's bed.
"Where'd you start out from, son?"
"My uncle's place outside Lake Ozark."
"Then you're about 35 miles off course, north northwest.. And damn lucky to be alive, Mr..."
"Bunting. Hank Bunting."
Jessie offered his huge meaty hand. It swallowed Hank's up to his elbow.
"We're a private resort for the big boys from Warm Springs. I'd have been one, too, but I washed out. So I make do as a nurse hereabouts."
Hank shook his head in confusion and winced at the pain the motion gave him. Jessie chuffled in sympathy and stroked Hank's neck.
"Easy, boy. You'll be sore as hell for another few days, I bet. But no injuries, just exhaustion and a little hypothermia."
"Thanks," Hank said. "But I still don't understand who you're talking about."
Jessie rumbled a laugh and nodded behind Hank.
"Out the window, son."
Hank shifted to look and his jaw dropped. A parade of stallions strolled along the dirt path a few hundred yards away. They dwarfed - literally dwarfed - Jessie by a good two hands and certainly by several hundred pounds of muscle. They wore a menagerie of outfits - all of them far too snug, but then Hank doubted ANY clothing would be adequate for such monsters. One of the mammoth stallions turned his back toward the window and Hank caught sight of words printed on the black muscle shirt.
"Those are the BUDWEISERClydesdales?"
"In the flesh, large and in charge!" Jessie confirmed. "We set up this nice little retreat for them as a summer training camp. From here they head all over the country, doing parades and exhibitions to promote their sponsors."
"How do they get so BIG?" Hank whispered.
"Ah, never heard of bodybuilding?" Jessie asked.
"Sounds like some sort of bionic man thing," Hank said.
That got a thunderous guffaw from Jessie.
"Well, only if you use steroids, maybe. But mine, at least, are all natural!"
He grinned and raised his arms. His already impressive biceps swelled to peaks as large as Hank's head, his lats filling out the shirt so that it slid up his belly, exposing his navel.
"Whoooaa!" Hank breathed.
"Impressive, huh?"
"They're beautiful!"
Jessie's face flushed and he grinned wide, relaxing from the pose.
"Ah, I'm no pro. You should meet some the boys. Now THAT'S a physique! How old are you, anyway, Hank?"
"Sixteen."
Jessie's brows arched.
"Well let's get you up and moving, then, champion! You're right at the prime age to start training, if it interests you that much."
Jessie's gentle, steady encouragement got Hank onto his hooves. Hank blushed at the big heavy hand Jessie kept softly on his back as the bigger stallion guided him as far as the water fountain. Hank drank deeply but then held his temples.
"Ungh, why am I so sleepy?"
"You got caught out on the water in the worst storm we've had in twenty years, Hank. Lucky for both of us, someone taught you how to swim. It was probably one hell of a swim, too. You're not going to just bounce back in one day. Get some rest. I'll check up on you for supper," Jessie said. "And don't worry about your parents. I've been in contact with the police, and now that I know your name, I can tell them you're here."
Hank gave Jessie a grateful hug. Jessie's body was so warm, so firm. It smelled good, too, under the shirt. Jessie rested a big hand on Hank's mane.
"You're welcome."
* * *
Hank felt someone holding his hand when he woke up. The sun was setting. He turned his head and his father broke into a teary-eyed grin.
"Dad!"
They hugged each other tight. Hank buried his nose in the base of his father's mane, filling his lungs with the earthen scent that was so familiar and so wonderfully welcome after the terror of the storm. He felt his throat clamp down hard and choked out a sob. To his surprise, he heard his father sniffling, too.
"You're all right. You're all right," Mr. Bunting murmured, half to himself.
A soft feminine snout caressed Hank's cheek and Hank nickered as he kissed his mother. They were night and day, the pair of them. George Bunting, a big dark chestnut presence that dominated any room; Julia, a cream colored beauty with soft, soft light brown eyes, long lashes, and the hard body of a runner that always looked a little lanky to Hank, being a draft herself.
Hank's father wiped Hank's eyes.
"I'm sorry about the boat, dad," Hank said.
He got another tight hug for that and struggled to breathe.
"Don't worry about a thing, Hank," Mr. Bunting said. "Carl's just thrilled you're in one piece."
A familiar voice boomed from the doorway.
"Anyone hungry?"
Hank grinned as Jessie clopped into the room with a collapsible card table tucked under one bulging arm and a tray of steaming oat bread balanced on his other palm.
"How you feeling, champion?" Jessie asked.
Hank tried his neck a bit and beamed.
"Ready to run a race course!"
All three horses laughed. Jessie began setting up the fare.
"Your boy was pretty excited when I told him where he'd wound up. You've got a natural athlete in that colt, George."
Mr. Bunting's brows rose.
"Hank? An athlete? He's never shown any interest before."
"Then I guess you two must not have shown him a gym before," Jessie said. "Hank got one look at my boys on their way to do their morning jog and he was hooked."
George peered at Hank in mock puzzlement.
"Who are you and what have you done with my son?"
"Oh, George," Julia admonished. "He's always been eager to help you on the job, you know that. He likes helping to lift the boards onto that flatbed of yours."
"Hmm," George mused. "What do you think, son? Care to look at a gym when we get home?"
Hank's ears perked.
"Could I?"
George laughed.
"We'll set you up with some of my old equipment in the garage to start. If you're serious about a gym membership, I know what you'll be spending your allowance on."
A soft rap at the door made their heads turn. George gasped. Even Hank's mother gave a soft "Oh my!"
A giant of a Clydesdale filled the doorway, his body wider than the frame. A huge, golden "Budweiser" stretched across his black muscle shirt. He slowly strode into the room, making it seem to shrink, and cleared a huge throat.
"Excuse me, folks. My name's Thunder. I'm the lead stallion of the Budweiser team. I thought I'd check in to see how the colt was doing."
Hank struggled with the bedsheets for a moment. He stood up, ears flat at how lanky the oversized hospital gown made him look. Thunder smiled.
"Back walking already, I see."
"Well, I'm impressed," Jessie chipped in. "That 'colt' swam damn near half the lake in raging waters. And with no sports background to speak of. He's got one hell of a natural talent, wouldn't you say?"
Thunder eyed Hank with a raised eyebrow.
"You ever lift before, son?"
Hank's heart fluttered and he wished his voice wasn't still in the middle of changing.
"No, sir. But I really want to start!"
Thunder smiled fondly. Without looking away from Hank, he said, "Jessie, would you tell that donkey groundskeeper Bootstrap to look in the storage shed? I'm pretty sure we still have some old equipment in there. I'll arrange for some of the boys to help Mr. Bunting, here, get it delivered. If that's all right with you, Mr. Bunting?"
As the titanic Clydesdale's eyes focused on George, Hank saw his father's body posture turn subordinate for the first time in his life.
"I'd be honored, Thunder," George managed to say.
Thunder nodded his regal head in a slow bob, his massive neck muscles rippling.
"Good. It's settled then. Evening, folks. Good to see you on your hooves again, Hank."
All four horses gave a brief sigh of pure awe as the giant figure turned the corner and stomped out of sight. Julia fanned herself, and George ran a hand through his mane before giving a nervous chuckle. Jessie flashed Hank a wink.
"Don't worry, he has that effect on all of us."
The next morning, George found Hank fully dressed and in the resort mess hall, his tiny colt frame crammed between two gigantic backs. The owners had their massive heads bent down to listen while Hank described his ordeal on the lake. When it was over, Hank blushed as a pair of massive hands patted his shoulder blades.
"Yo, Don!" one of them neighed up the table to the cook's window. "Get my little buddy here one of the ciders from the back, will ya?"
George strode up to them and exchanged smiles with Hank. Hank's eyes were on fire and the grin plastered on his face looked permanent.
"Making new friends, I see," George said.
"Dad, this is Titus and Andronicus."
The two giant stallions shifted on the long bench to offer George a handshake. Hank's father looked like a colt himself next to them.
"You must be relieved," Titus rumbled.
"Relieved, proud, and grateful," George answered. "My son hasn't talked your ears off, I hope?"
Andronicus chuckled.
"Naw, he's an awesome kid!"
Hank's hooves crossed as Andronicus ruffled his ears.
Someone slid a tall cold bottle of cider down the long mess table, and Hank had to use both hands to catch it. He took a sip and blinked in delight at the flavor. Titus grinned.
"We get the best apples in the country shipped to us."
"No doubt," George agreed. He turned to Hank. "It's time to go, son."
"Awwww!"
"I know, but I've got work in the morning, and I'm sure we've taken enough of these mighty mens' time."
Hank gripped the bench with his hands and tried to hide the burning disappointment inside.
"Don't forget your cider, little buddy," Andronicus whickered.
Hank knocked fists with him and Titus before he clopped after his father. Thunder towered over George's truck, supervising the loading of some long pieces of metal. Hank looked at them in undisguised curiosity. There were stacks of what looked like metal pancakes, too. The whole truck swayed as its bed was loaded up, yet the two hulking horses with Thunder weren't under any apparent strain at all. Thunder walked over.
"She's all loaded up and ready, Mr. Bunting. They're the lightest weights I could find. I hope Hank's strong enough to be able to use them."
"Don't worry about me!" Hank said, copying the jocular style of Titus with one hand on his hip. He felt Thunder's chuckle through his hooves.
"Have a good trip home, gentlemen. I hope you'll come see us again when we parade at the state fair in St. Louis."
Hank turned to his father.
"Can I talk to Thunder alone for a little bit, dad?"
George smiled.
"I'll be in the truck. Don't take too long, Hank. Thunder's a very busy stallion."
Thunder and Hank strode in silence over to a white pasture fence. Thunder looked at Hank and waited. Hank took a deep breath.
"I want to join."
Thunder snorted a soft breath from his nostrils.
"You're a little young, Hank."
"Jessie said I was at the prime age to start training."
"You've got some real drive, colt. But the kind of training we do here isn't for beginners," Thunder said. "Every Clydesdale about your age dreams of being a Budweiser Clydesdale at some point. I wish I could take them all, but I need the best of the best, no exceptions."
Hank looked down at his hooves and fought back tears.
"Yes, sir," he whispered.
A thick finger lifted his chin. Thunder looked into his eyes.
"Two years. I'll still be here when you turn eighteen. Prove to me you belong here at the team tryouts of the state fair in St. Louis in two years, and I'll make sure I keep my eye out for you."
Hank fought back the urge to hug the giant. He didn't scamper about like a foal. He raised a fist to Thunder. Thunder recognized the gesture. He half smiled and touched his own fist to Hank's.
"One last thing before I go?" Hank said.
"What's that?"
This time Hank couldn't help but blush.
"Would you flex for me?"
Thunder cast a glance back toward the driveway and then smirked. He dropped down on one knee and beckoned Hank closer. Then he slowly curled his arm. Hank's knees turned to water. He clenched down hard on his bowels and felt butterflies surge through his belly. Thunder's flexed bicep was larger than a blue ribbon watermelon, with a vein snaking over the peak as thick as Hank's entire hand. Hank gasped as he ran both hands over the steel hard bulge.
"Ohhh...."
He shivered. In seconds he was hard. He wasn't young enough not to know what it meant. It had happened to him a couple of times in bed in the morning and it always felt so wonderful. Thunder's nostrils flared slightly wider and his smile this time was different. Slow. The way it curled upward made Hank's balls churn like ice cream makers.
"Wanna kiss it, colt?" Thunder murmured.
Hank bit his lip hard. His breath quickened. He brought his face down to the enormous bicep and slowly pressed his mouth against it. He had only scenes in movies to guide him, but he kissed Thunder's bicep like he'd seen couples make out in films. Tiny high-pitched whimpers burst from him. Suddenly Hank whinnied. A supernova of raw bliss erupted from his groin.
"THUNDER!" Hank squealed.
Thunder quickly pressed Hank's mouth to his muscle to muffle the sound while Hank rode the sensation with uncontrollable moans and gasps. Hank scrabbled away and leaned his back against the fence, panting. His entire body felt strangely warm and relaxed. Then he blinked. His pants were wet. Like his sheets had been sometimes in the morning. Only this wetness felt somehow sticky.
Hank turned an inquiring face to Thunder. Thunder was smirking at him, his eyes narrowed and glittering.
"You've got spunk, kid. I can't wait to see what you're like when you're of age. Better gallop on back to your daddy, now. Still got that cider from the mess hall?"
Hank could only nod. Thunder took it and splashed half the bottle directly against Hank's crotch. Hank yelped.
"Hey!"
"When your dad asks, tell him you tripped on a gopher hole. Not a word of this to anyone in your family, colt. Got it?"
Hank felt a little smile rise on his face.
"A secret?"
Thunder's mouth rose into that strange smile again and Hank felt his cock stirring to life all over again. Thunder touched his own lips with a finger and nodded. They touched fists again, and Thunder led Hank back to the truck.
"Uh, oh, what happened?" George said when they came up.
Thunder chuckled.
"Poor colt nearly bashed his snout in on a gopher hole he stepped into. We had to get dirt out of his nostrils, poor guy."
"Well," George said, "he'll have to sit in it until we get home. Sorry, son. Thank you again, Thunder."
"My pleasure, Mr. Bunting," Thunder boomed back.
As the truck turned in the driveway to drive off, Hank met Thunder's eyes one last time. Thunder gave him a slow wink, then touched his lips with a finger again. Hank made a fist at him and saw it returned. The truck rattled past open fields bordered by white pasture fences.
* * *
August dug into Missouri like a bulldog, latching on with a tenacious, unbreakable grip that shattered heat records across the state. George and Mrs. Bunting took to sleeping downstairs in the living room with the glass door of the porch wide open. George set up a makeshift bedroom in the basement for Hank, the coolest place in the house.
In true Clydesdale fashion, they bore the head with stoicism, taking it in stride until they got as used to it as they could. By the third week of the heat wave, George strode wordlessly into the kitchen and poured a tall glass of ice water for himself in the predawn light. His wife was at the table with a hand fan, despite the air conditioning. George gave her neck the briefest of kisses.
"Where's Hank?"
"Where he's been every morning he couldn't make the gym since the boat incident - in the garage with the weights." She shook her head. "I've never seen him this focused before. Not even on science projects for school."
George chuckled.
"Yep, I think Thunder and the big boys at the resort made quite an impression. I hope he's hydrating himself properly."
Mrs. Bunting eyed him
"He drinks more like a horse than you do, George. Eats twice as much as you do, too, or hadn't you noticed the spike in our grocery bills? He's taken to helping me in the garden as well, which is a first. Something about making sure the crops come in well this year. Homegrown, vitamin-rich feed and all that."
George smiled.
"Have to admit, I can't wait to see the reactions of his classmates this fall. They won't recognize him!"
The antique wall clock chimed in the living room. George looked at his watch.
"I'd better go fetch the boy. State fair is today, and Hank would kill me if we got there late."
George clopped out to the small white-washed wooden shed that served as the family garage. The truck was parked outside in the shade of a tall oak tree to leave plenty of space inside. George allowed that his son needed that space, now. George's ears flattened at the loud, pounding rock that hit him when he opened the door.
"Hank? Hank!"
The heaving, sweat-soaked figure of Hank Bunting jumped. Hank put down the barbell and switched off the radio.
"Sorry, dad!"
His voice had dropped a full octave in the last few months. Hank's frame was as thick as George's, now. An impressive set of meaty pecs rose and fell as Hank grabbed his towel and dabbed at his face.
"What have I told you about blasting music that loud? A horse needs good hearing."
"Yeah, well a good bodybuilder needs motivation."
"Excuse me?" George took a step inside the musky garage. "I don't have to take you to the fair, you know. Not with that attitude."
Hank bit back his anger and nodded, looking at his father's hooves. George sighed.
"Do you have your money with you?"
"In my wallet, yeah."
"Then let's go. I want to make it to St. Louis before noon. And put on a decent shirt," George said.
Ten minutes later, a freshly showered and changed Hank jumped into the passenger's side of the truck. He was wearing the 'Budweiser Clydesdale In Training' muscle shirt George had got him for his birthday. And for the first time, George noticed that Hank's body filled it out.
"How much weight have you put on, anyway?" George asked.
Hank grinned at him.
"A good twenty pounds."
George whistled.
"You can thank my genes for that. I always was an easy gainer."
"Mom's too, I think," Hank said. "Even as a runner, she's got a real nice muscle tone, you know? She doesn't even do abs exercises and she has a four pack."
"Don't remind me. I do have to drive, you know," George said with a sly wink.
Hank talked nonstop all the way to St. Louis. He made it sound as if Thunder and the other Budweiser Clydesdales were friends from school instead of the most famous team of horses in the world. They parked and arrived at the gate just at opening time. George nudged Hank on their way into the fair grounds.
"Did you see the way that vixen with the tickets was looking at you?"
"Huh?" Hank asked, his eyes sweeping the crowds and booths for any sign of the Budweiser logo.
"You've really filled out, son. Look around you. I can pick out half a dozen chicks eying you right now," George murmured with a touch of pride.
"O..oh! Um, that's...that's great!"
George chuckled.
"Damn, boy. You really ARE focused on your training, aren't you?"
"Bodybuilding is life. The rest is details," Hank quoted.
George snorted.
"Remind me to give you the birds and bees speech some time."
"There's Titus!" Hank neighed. George had to trot to keep up with him.
Titus was leaning over a fence post as he chatted up a squirming, blushing little bunny and his girlfriend. When he caught sight of Hank half barreling toward him, Titus blinked.
"That you, colt? The guy from the boat wreck back in June?"
Hank beamed and touched knuckles with him.
"What do you think?"
He swung his arms up proudly in a double biceps flex. George heard several hastily muffled gasps from behind them. Titus gave the grapefruit-sized peaks a critical eye.
"Man, what you been feeding this boy, George?"
George laughed.
"I wish I knew. Hank does his own nutrition plans. With some help from the gym trainer, of course."
"Yo, guys! Look who's back, and all grown up!" Titus bellowed toward a series of three massive horse trailers.
One by one, the giants of the Budweiser team, all dressed in the company's muscle shirts as well as matching deep red, skin tight posing shorts, filed out into the open with ears perked in curiosity. Hank shifted from one hoof to the other, tail twitching in joy.
"God, LOOK at them, dad!"
George nodded.
"They are something, aren't they?"
Heads turned as the equine behemoths gave Hank a warm greeting. Minutes later, Hank had vaulted the fence and was striking poses for the team while they gave thunderous applause and some pointers. Hank looked around for Thunder. Andronicus shook his head.
"He's not here, Hank."
"What? Why?"
"Got to train in the new team members, doesn't he? They need to be settled into the routine by autumn so we don't loose stride or get behind schedule."
Hank's face fell.
"..oh. You mean he's already picked them for this year?"
Titus put a hand on Hank's shoulder.
"The application cycle takes about a year. Thunder's with the recruits from last year. Don't look so down, colt."
Hank sighed.
"I'm fine. I guess I just hoped he'd changed his mind."
Titus and Andronicus exchanged a glance. Andronicus tried to sound casual.
"So, I hear you had a birthday. Seventeen now, eh?"
Hank shrugged his now beefy shoulders.
"Yeah."
"Well then, happy birthday, lil buddy," Titus said. He slipped a sheet of paper into Hank's hands. Hank only had to glance at the title at the top to know what it was.
He looked up a Titus, eyes wide with joy.
"I fill out the application, I get in?"
Titus guffawed.
"Not quite, colt. You're an applicant, that's all. The real deciding factor is in the essay you have to write on the back side. Plus, it depends on the makeup of the team from year to year. Some years, we have a full roster and don't need any new members."
"Thunder didn't tell me that!" Hank cried. It was almost a wail.
"Easy, boy," Andronicus whickered with amusement. "He'll need a new stallion for next year. Grant's announced his retirement."
Hank scanned the form. It was all fairly standard. It reminded him of a job application. He turned it over and could almost hear Thunder's massive voice as he read the essay's topic question - "What makes you think you can be a Clydesdale, son?"
"If you'll excuse us, Hank," Titus said, "we've gotta get ready for the parade."
Hank followed the two equine giants without thinking. He could feel the ground vibrate slightly under their mighty hoofbeats. He tried not to stare at the perfect view of their thick, muscular rumps. The red posers they wore were just barely decent for public wear.
They rounded the horse trailers. Hank stopped.
"Is that it?" he asked in awe.
Andronicus glanced back at him and nodded with a proud smile.
"There she is, Hank."
There, gleaming in the sunlight, was a brilliant red wooden carriage. The ivory wheels were as tall as George's truck, their spokes decorated with gold and ruby sequins. The carriage was the size of a bus, emblazoned with the Budweiser name along the side in proud, bold letters. Hank could see the openings that had once served as beer taps, which now housed the speaker system that would play the Budweiser jingle during the parade.
Hank stared at the gigantic harness straps.
"Could I try it out? Just to see how it feels?"
The two Clydesdales looked at each other. Titus shrugged. Andronicus grinned.
"Sure, colt. C'mon over."
Hank's ass muscles and hamstrings quivered in excitement. Titus gently instructed him how they harnessed themselves in.
"Here, take this. That's your driving halter. That attaches to the bridle. Next comes the breast strap. Secure that snug across your chest, there. You see the lines dangling down your back, attached to the carriage? Always wanna make sure you don't tangle those," Titus said.
Of course the harness was woefully oversized for Hank, even with twenty pounds of new muscle. He shut his eyes, imagining Thunder giving the command to head out. He pulled forward until the warm, thick leather lines were taught to his body. The carriage gave a slight, gentle creak but otherwise didn't budge, even with Hank straining until his thighs looked ready to burst his shorts.
A gentle, huge hand on his shoulder brought Hank back to reality.
"We gotta get ready now, Hank," Andronicus said. "It was good seeing you again."
"Good luck on the application," Titus added with a wink of encouragement.
Hank watched them leave with their huge arms around each other's waists. He stamped a hoof. He was standing in the middle of his dream job, and yet couldn't join in. A new thought occurred to Hank. Maybe the Clydesdales would let him ride on top of the carriage!
Hank trotted in the direction he'd seen the two giants head. He rounded the corner of the horse trailer and stopped, ears flicking in confusion. Up ahead, the team were stretching, pumping up their massive arms with some free weights, rubbing each other's exposed hide up with posing oil. But there was no sign of Titus or Andronicus.
A sound made him turn to the horse trailer. It had been faint, and Hank had to search his memory to identify what it had been - a faint, sharp gasp. Hank took a few curious steps toward the trailer. Instinct told him not to approach it head-on. Instead, he found a step stool and used it to peer into one of the high air holes in the side of the trailer.
Titus was naked as nature, his thick tail swaying fast as if swatting flies from that luscious, bare ass. As Hank watched, he saw Andronicous's darker-skinned hands writhe down over the two thick globes of muscle. One finger drew a playful line down Titus's ass crack and then drove itself inside, twisting and turning mercilessly. Hank heard Titus give a groan that shook the trailer. He heard the wet slapping and humming of savage, passionate kisses.
Hank took it all in with an eye blink, and the surprise make him jerk back. The stool slipped out beneath his hooves and banged the trailer's side. Hank sprawled in the grass and winced when he found he'd twisted an ankle.
In the time it took Hank to stand up, the figures of Titus and Andronicus confronted him. They were clothed now, in jeans that just barely hid the still-throbbing meat of their arm-thick cocks. Hank's ears lowered and he shut his eyes.
"I..."
"Stand up," Titus said.
It was hard to tell his mood from the tone of his voice.
Hank gathered his hooves under him. When he winced again, harder, Andronicus sighed.
"We'd better get some ice on that."
"No time," Titus said. "Parade is in ten minutes. His father can do it."
Titus folded his immense arms, regarding Hank.
"Well?"
"I....I'm sorry," Hank whispered. He blinked away tears.
Titus took a step toward him. Hank fought the urge to bolt.
"What you saw in there is something very private, colt," he rumbled. "Something special I share with Andronicus. Do you understand?"
Hank nodded hastily.
"I won't tell. I swear!"
"Titus, calm down," Andronicus said with a caress to Titus's neck. "Hank's a good boy. I trust him. He's practically a member of the team already."
Hank's heart nearly stopped and he blinked at Andronicus. Titus sighed and gave a reluctant nod.
Andronicus's smile to Hank was rueful.
"Titus here's had some hard times in the past. He can't help being a little protective of his happiness."
"Do you mean what you said just now?" Hank asked in a half whisper.
Both massive stallions sat down at a picnic bench with Hank, one on either side of him. The bench sagged noticeably and the steel bolts in the metal frame creaked. The heavy warmth of their big hands rested on Hank's back.
"Sorry I got my dander up on you, colt," Titus said. "Don't think I don't like you."
"To answer your question, Hank," Andronicus said, "I think once you fill out and start packing on your stallion size, with the kind of dedication you're already showing to your physique, I don't see how Thunder could say no. He's really fond of you."
Hank quivered and pushed his muzzle against Andronicus's massive neck. Both stallions hooked a meaty, bulging arm around his body and their noses touched his face. Hank put a hand on Andronicus's immense left pectoral. They started to fondle his ears and Hank shuddered in pleasure.
"What's it like?" Hank asked. "What you two were doing?"
Titus chuckled.
"Next year when you join the team, you'll find out. Thunder makes a point of breakin in the new stallions personally."
"And after you've recovered from him," Andronicus murmured against Hank's cheek, "I'll show you a trick or two."
Hank moaned. Titus snorted a hot, sharp breath from his nostrils.
"Fuck it," he grated. "We got time."
He yanked Hank over into his lap.
"You wanna know what it feels like?"
Then Titus was kissing Hank. Kissing him unlike Hank had ever been kissed by anyone. It felt like diving into an ocean. Hank wanted to drown. He neighed into Titus's mouth and Titus drank down the sound, his chest swelling. Hanks hands found his crotch, drug his fingers along the hidden steel hard length of it. One of Titus's thick fingers wormed its way into the back of Hank's pants and ground right up against his pucker.
Hank lost it, soaking his pants in seconds, a trail of cum starting to trickle out from his pant leg. Titus parted with a cocky smirk, licking his own lips.
"That's just a sample. Work. Train. You'll get a lot more where that came from."
Hank groaned.
"Give him a weight right now, I swear he'd try to eat it," Andronicus chuckled.
A faint, demanding deep voice echoed in the air, calling for the two stallions. Titus's ear flicked toward it, but his eyes never left Hank. Hank knew that expression. His father wore it when he was feeling sappy for his little colt. But coming from Titus - gigantic, godly Titus - Hank wanted to bury his tongue in that mouth forever. Andronicus broke the spell with a hard slap on Titus's huge shoulder.
"Break it up, love birds. We've got a parade to do."
Hank watched them leave. He almost missed his father's voice the first time it came from the opposite side of the paddock.
"Hank!"
Hank jumped and spun on the bench, hastily rubbing his lips. They felt puffy. If George had seen anything, he gave no sign. Hank half trotted over.
"Sorry, Dad."
George ran an affectionate hand through Hanks' mane.
"Don't be, Hank. If those guys inspire such a wonderful change in my boy, who am I to complain? You've grown so much since you met then, son. You're well on your way to full stallionhood. I've never been prouder of you."
Hank's ears splayed in a blush and he hugged his father tight. George hugged back and chuckled.
"Damn, boy, you're strong!"
"Not yet," Hank murmured. He glared his determination into the distance with black eyes like thunderclouds. "But I will be."
* * *
Hank's was the first application turned into the Budweiser training office the next year. It came with a set of photos in an envelope paper clipped to the form. Since Thunder hadn't seen Hank's progress, Hank had decided to show him.
The whole school buzzed about Hank's transformation. He had gone from being an oversized, lanky junior to a blazing stud of a senior in one summer. Before the start of the school year, Hank had managed to pack on another ten pounds. His old clothes barely fit him any more, and it grew rather embarrassing to have to ward off the jock-chasing girls every time Hank stepped into the hallway. They'd seemed to have forgotten they all had boyfriends on the football team.
Coach Archer called Hank into his office after the first gym class of the year. The beefcake of a dalmatian gestured for Hank to sit and then folded arms that were still imposing to Hank.
"You know I don't beat around the bush,," Archer said. "So let me put it this way. Last year, this time, I've got you down as barely being able to manage three pull ups in the weight room. This year, you did twelve with fifty pounds chained to your waist."
"I guess I'm an easy gainer, then," Hank answered.
Archer raised an eyebrow.
"I just want you to look me in the eye and tell me, man to man, that it's all natural, Hank."
Hank glared at him. He rose out of the chair and planted himself nose to nose with Coach Archer, nostrils flared in challenge.
"I worked my ass off all summer for this body. I worked harder than ANY of your football stars ever has. And let me tell you something. I'm going to be getting even bigger. You watch. By the time school's out for the summer, I'm going to be the biggest thing this school has ever SEEN. Bigger than YOU, even!"
Archer slowly put his paws on Hank's meaty chest to settle him.
"Easy, big fella. Wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't ask."
Hank took a step back and scratched a hand into his mane.
"I'm sorry, Coach. I didn't mean to snap at you. I don't know where that came from."
The dalmatian half smiled.
"Pride, Hank. That's where that came from. Pride in your hard work. I have to confess it's always bugged me how lanky you were. All that physical potential just screaming to be let out with a few good weights. And you say you did all this in one summer? You could be huge if you wanted, Hank. I mean that. You could end up being a real freak of nature."
Archer turned to the wall and slid a key off its peg, tossing it to Hank.
"That'll let you into the school weight room any time you want. Anyone in there gives you crap, you come talk to me. Let's see just how big we can make you, Hank."
* * *
Hank's grunt of surprise clouded the air in front of his face, and the bundle of presents in his arms nearly toppled. His shoulders had caught in the doorway. Hank smirked and twisted his thick body sideways, stomping snow off his hooves.
"That you, Hank?" George called over the carols floating from the radio in the kitchen.
"Yeah, dad!" Hank rumbled back. "I brought the last of the presents."
He nearly tripped over a mountain of clothing folded neatly beside the coat rack. Hank frowned. It was an odd place to put a pile of laundry. Then his nostrils registered the faint stallion smell wafting from them and the presents in his arms tumbled to the floor.
"You should be more careful, son."
The godly voice made Hank's heart stop. Hank whirled toward the hallway. Thunder was there. Thunder, in Hank's own house. The immense stallion's head was bent slightly due to the low ceiling.
Thunder's smile was warm as he held up his huge fist. Hank touched knuckles with him, then threw caution to the winds and hugged the mammoth stallion. When those gargantuan arms encircled him back, Hank's whole world disappeared. There was only Thunder, strong and huge, warm and firm all around him. Hank quivered. His loins ached with a yearning that was almost physical pain. Thunder gently pressed his hips forward to let Hank feel how much he'd been missed.
"Thunder," Hank breathed. "What are you doing here?"
"Sit down, son."
Thunder moved aside to reveal Hank's parents standing behind him in the hallway. Hank sat, and his parents brought seats from the kitchen so that Thunder could have the couch to himself. Hank could read their body language like a book. Something big was about to happen. Hank gripped the overstuffed padding of the chair's arms.
"You're in, Hank." Thunder said. He slowly grinned. "You can breathe, now."
Hank sucked in air, held it, let it out. He glanced over at his mother. Tears of pride ran down her muzzle. George held her with one arm, nuzzling her as she fought to control her emotions and held out her hand to her son.
Hank ran to her and kissed her cheek, then embraced both his parents with all of his considerable new strength. For several minutes, they just held each other while Thunder waited. When Hank turned to Thunder again, Thunder was still grinning. He raised his eyebrows.
"That is, assuming you still want the job?"
"I can be packed in-" Hank started to say, but Thunder's massive bellow of laughter drowned out everything else.
"And miss Christmas with your folks? What sort of a heartless taskmaster do you take me for, Hank?" Thunder exclaimed. "No, you'll stay and finish out your last year of school. We'll see you at Big Bay this summer and have the induction ceremony then. But I wanted to be here to tell you personally. My secretary slipped me your application and I stamped it the minute I saw who's name was on it."
He held out his massive hand to Hank.
"Congratulations...partner."
Thunder turned out to be a wonderful Christmas guest. Now that Hank was officially on the team, Thunder opened up to Hank and his parents about the realities of life as a Budweiser Clydesdale beyond all their expectations. They converted their living room into a dining room and Thunder fielded all of their questions over dinner. Thunder gave the food lavish praise, which left Julia blushing furiously.
"It's the first year I can remember where we've had no leftovers!" she said.
Thunder's chuckle rattled the cutlery. He rubbed his rippling abs beneath his shirt.
"Usually I have Christmas dinner with the boys, and let me tell you, it's a meal of Biblical proportions! I like this, too, though. Simple. Takes me back to my own colthood."
"Was it very hard for you in the beginning, Mr. Thunder?" Julia asked.
"Well," Thunder mulled, "I never was a small guy. Matter of fact, once I joined the team it was the first time I fit in anywhere. Physically, at least! I remember for the first week or so I was half sore just from bein able to stretch my body out for the first time in my life. I mean, most things just aren't built for a draft horse! My body'd gotten so used to bein cramped and slouched half the time, it was like it didn't know what to do with itself."
Hank hadn't spoken much all through dinner. Sitting beside the horse that had become his idle over the last two years, Hank couldn't think of a single thing to say. Thunder put a huge arm around Hank's shoulders.
"Well, Hank, I'd better get back to the hotel so you folks can have your Christmas."
"Aw, now, I'm sure we can put you up somewhere," George protested.
Thunder held up hands the size of the dinner plates.
"No, no. If it's all the same to you, George, I'd actually prefer the hotel. I've got a bit of a cramped drive home in the morning and at least their wedding sweet's big enough for me to stretch out a bit."
"I'm coming with you," Hank said.
Thunder raised an eyebrow at him.
"What about your folks? This might be the last Christmas they have with you for quite a while."
"I haven't seen you in almost two years, Thunder," Hank said. "I think they'll understand."
"You'll come back for Christmas Day and breakfast with your grandmare, won't you?" Julia asked.
Hank grinned at his mother.
"And miss her holiday pies? Of course I will!"
George laughed.
"I think Hank's man enough to decide for himself where he wants to spend his Christmas Eve. Go on, son. Don't forget your house key."
Hank and Thunder wordlessly bundled up and tromped out to Thunder's oversized pickup. Hank took note of the reinforced axles and guessed some custom work had been done to the shocks as well to support Thunder's weight for long periods of time. Once in the cab with the heater running, Thunder shucked off his outer coat and flicked on some carols.
"I didn't realize you'd missed me that much, son," Thunder rumbled. "I'm sorry. I AM happy you made the team. Oh! I was supposed to give ya this."
He fumbled in the inner pocket of his coat and handed Hank a card. It was from Titus and Andronicus, but there were signatures from all the other stallions on the team around the margins. Hank smiled while a warm glow filled his chest and carefully tucked the card into his own coat.
"I've never felt close to any guys like you and the other Clydesdales before, Thunder. Not even with my own father."
Thunder put a meaty hand on Hank's thigh as he drove.
"It's a special kind of bond we share, son. Like family, but deeper. We're a herd."
Hank ran his hand slowly over the top of Thunder's. He could feel the strength under those knuckles and tendons, coiled and ever ready. Thunder turned his hand over and they held hands all the way to the hotel.
Thunder and Hank had to take the stairs to his room. Thunder didn't fit in the elevator, and his weight was well past it's maximum load. Thunder climbed twenty stories as if it were a steep driveway. Hank forced himself to keep pace, but despite all of his training, was still on shaking legs by the time they got to the room.
Thunder smiled in sympathy and rested his hand on Hank's back.
"One of the things we'll be training you on, son, is stamina. Those parades can go for hours, hooked into the harness."
"Yes, sir," Hank said.
Hank sat on the edge of the double king bed, massaging cramps out of his bulging thighs while Thunder hung up their coats. The wedding suite was as spacious as Hank's entire house. Plush lavender carpeting and curtains, a beautiful view over the snow-covered roof tops with streamers of steam wafting into the night sky, even a built-in jacuzzi.
"Here," Thunder offered. He knelt in front of Hank and took over the work on his legs. Hank's fingers curled in pleasure. Thunder was a master masseuse. For several minutes, neither of them spoke. Hank started to take in the scent of the huge stallion. His loins smoldered.
"Better?" Thunder murmured. He glanced up, meeting Hank's eyes.
"Unh huh," Hank managed to say in a shaking voice.
"You sure?" Thunder rumbled, softer now. He slid fingers as big as Hank's fully erect cock up between Hank's legs. They brushed over his hidden balls. Hanks eyes snapped shut, squeezing tight. He stifled a gasp while that huge hand enclosed his cloth-bound erect and squeezed.
"Thunder," Hank whispered. It was a call. A cry, a whisper of sheer adoration.
Thunder kissed him, then. Hank hugged that massive rippling neck as Thunder's kiss pushed him onto his back in the bed. With the patience of an old stud, Thunder guided Hank's mouth the way he wanted to be kissed.
Thunder yanked his mouth away to let Hank breathe with a rough suckle on Hank's lower lip. Hank's eyes fluttered, trying to focus.
"Thunder, do you want...?"
"Do I want?" Thunder echoed. He chuckled. He mashed his mouth to Hanks ear. "Boy, I have wanted this, dreamed of this every night for the last two years. I wanted your little virgin colt ass the first time I saw you. I've jacked off thinking about you so many times I can't count em any more."
Hank bawled, the sound echoing off the walls. Thunder bit his neck, claiming him, and Hank was his. Absolutely his.
Clothing flew. Thunder grinned in approval of the young, panting stud who now lay on the bed before him, offering himself to the greater stallion. The more Thunder took off, the wider Hank's eyes got.
At last, Thunder towered over hank in absolute nude glory. Half a ton of pure equine power with low, slowly swaying balls the size of ripe melons, crisscrossed with veins. Thunder's shaft had dropped already, and now started to pump full, plump, hard. Hank's mouth went dry. Thunder smirked at him as he slowly slid a meaty hand down three full feet of stallionhood as thick around as a 2 liter soda bottle.
"Ready to be officially welcomed to the Budweiser Clydesdales, son?"
When they kissed again, Hank's mouth was devoured by the monster stallion. Thunder unleashed all of the pent up lust and fantasies he'd had for Hank over two years. Hank's jaw tendons strained to keep up. He gave back as good as he got. The competitive spirit of his work outs rose to the fore.
Hank grabbed huge fist fulls of Thunder's mane, yanking him even closer. Thunder was like a living force of nature he was trying to tame, an immense heavy animal presence that filled every one of his senses. Their shafts ground together and both horses let out a mutual duet of groans. Prespunk and sweat congealed together between them.
Thunder slowly lowered himself. His massive bulk nearly swallowed Hank whole. Hank hugged that continental shelf of a back and his arms couldn't even encompass a third of its width. Thunder mashed Hank's cock against his washboard abs. Hank whinnied and started to thrust with abandon. Thunder gnawed on Hank's neck. Great stormy gusts of impassioned hot air swirled against Hank's hide as Thunder's lungs worked like a bellows. His breath alone made the two Mt. Everest pectorals grind and throb around Hank's entire upper body.
Hank let out a squeal. His fingers dug savagely into Thunder's back. Spunk rocketed up his shaft and splattered into the cuts of Thunder's rippling abs, only to slowly ooze and drip back out with each squeezing tense of them.
They pressed brows together, panting. Hank was still rocking against Thunder's body.
"You wanna stop?" Thunder huffed.
Hank grabbed his nipples so hard Thunder growled. Their bodies crashed back together in pure rut. The entire bed began to sway, slamming the wall like a battering ram. Pictures fell, shattered, were ignored. They frotted until they could hear the gooey slick slime of their mutual sweat squelching in the open air. Thunder left great rings of bruised flesh all across Hank's young pecs and neck. Hank mercilessly worked those juicy nipples until Thunder let out a bellow that would have sent a full grown grizzly packing. Down in the lobby, ears perked at the noise.
Up in the room, Hank gasped for air he couldn't seem to find. He grabbed the sheet and managed to clear heavy sticky slime from covering his eyes. Thunder's spunk oozed off his lips and squelched like pudding in his teeth. Hank tasted it. Fire exploded in his mind. Blindly, he felt and found the source of that slime and bit down on the massive flared cockhead.
Thunder's eyes shot open wide, and then melted shut with a shiver of unparalleled ecstasy. He crushed Hank's head in his huge hands and lowed like some great prehistoric beast as the hot little young stallion cleaned out his cum slit and chewed on the rubbery stiff ring of flesh around his cockhead like it was a pork roast.
The bed was a mess. A great spray of stallion seed emanated out from Thunder's position, creating a starburst of darkening stains over the sheets, blankets and pillows. Hank knew some of the gooey slime was in his mane, dripping off his chin with his sweat. He didn't care. He wanted more. Had to have more.
Thunder gave a wince and grinned as the pleasure on his still-twitching monster head got rougher.
"Easy, boy," he chuckled.
Hank leered up at him with impish eyes and bit down with all his strength. Thunder snarled. Stallions locked eyes in challenge.
"That hurts, Hank," Thunder said.
"Deal with it," Hank shot back.
Hank saw Thunder's eyes turn to fire. He braced himself and only just got his jaws as wide as they would go in time to receive the first titanic thrust. Thunder was nothing but a muscle bound fucking machine. He clenched his huge hands around the solid oak headboard for leverage as he raped his chosen male mare. Into that puny mouth, down that succulent virgin throat. Again. Again! Harder! Thunder's sweaty mane flew. Froth flecked the corners of his mouth. He felt the headboard shatter in two. He came again.
Hank didn't panic. He used his nostrils for breath, leaving his mouth and throat clear to receive a good third of that titanic cock. Even so, he knew his throat would be raw for weeks afterward. Most likely he would be hoarse as well. The sheer girth of the cock ramming into his mouth made his neck bulge. Hank squeezed his eyes shut when the second wave of Thunder's cum hit. It was like a hot soup in his belly, the cock buried so deep in his throat he barely even had to swallow to take it all.
Thunder's mind returned. He looked down at Hank, pulling out as quickly as he could. Hank rolled over and let the excess semen pour from his mouth, then heaved in fresh air. Thunder rubbed Hank's back.
"Fuck, Hank, are you okay?"
Hank nodded. He swallowed and winced.
"I had to feel you," he rasped. "I had to touch the core of all that power, Thunder. I had to."
Thunder smiled. He gently gathered Hank into his sweat soaked, massive arms.
"Hank, you're a fucking warrior in the sack."
Hank smiled and buried his face in Thunder's mane.
* * *
No one at the hotel slept that night. The sounds of two mighty draft horses in the throes of passion left nothing to the imagination, either. Hank worshiped Thunder. His mouth and tongue tasted every square inch of his god flesh, from suckling his ears to licking the sweat from between his heaving pecs. From eating out his navel to lashing musky cum-sweat-slime from out of Thunder's immense loins and taint. Thunder tea-bagged him and slurped Hank's juicy young colt shaft. He let Hank feast on his massive bubble butt until they both exploded. Hank's lips were numb from kissing. His tongue felt as useful as water-logged leather. To even speak was faintly painful by the time the dawn rose and they collapsed in eachother's arms.
Four hours later, Thunder nuzzled Hank awake.
"We gotta get you home, trooper."
Hank let out an eloquent groan.
"I can barely move! What time is it?"
"Going on ten in the morning."
"Shit!"
Hank struggled to his hooves.
"I'm gonna be late!"
Thunder grabbed one of Hank's ass cheeks. Hank froze, time and thoughts forgotten. Thunder smirked at him.
"If you're already going to be late, you might as well be a little later."
Hank hadn't thought of a shower stall being a place to have sex. But with the door closed and the hot jungle steam swirling around him, reeking of Thunder's body, Hank decided it was his favorite. There was no foreplay this time. Just raw bestial rutting - Thunder's huge throbbing log sawing a squelching tune between Hank's eager, dripping butt cheeks. Hank popped the meager load his balls had managed to regenerate while crushed to the wet tiles by a wall of huffing, horny muscle. Cumming was a delicious agony as it spurted from Hank's overworked shaft.
It paled, as it always did, to the volcano that Thunder unleashed. Too big by far to fit inside Hank, Thunder was satisfied hot dogging his lover. They were so in tuned after a night of solid love making that, when Hank let off, it triggered Thunder to follow seconds later.
A knock to the hotel room door brought them back to reality. Thunder strode shamelessly naked and wet out of the cum-soaked shower. He pulled the door open wide with an idle stretch and a mighty yawn.
"Mornin, sir. Something I can do for you?"
Hank bit his lip, hiding around the corner near the bed, to keep from laughing at the expression on the hotel manager's face. The poor badger tried several times to speak before Thunder smiled and held out a huge palm.
"I'll add on enough to cover the damages as a tip if that sounds fair to you, sir."
The manager handed Thunder the bill. Thunder glanced at it while the badger worked up the courage to say what else he'd come to say. Thunder again finished the thought for him.
"I'm guessing from the number of complaints about noise I'm no longer welcome as a guest here. It was nice of you not to call the cops. Doubt they could've stopped me anyway, but even so, I appreciate it."
Thunder offered the manager his hand. The dazed badger shook it more out of habit than anything.
"Merry Christmas!" Thunder rumbled cheerfully and shut the door.
* * *
If either of Hank's parents suspected what he'd done with Thunder that night, they never said anything. Hank had prepared some story about a late night workout session to explain away his odd walk and soreness.
Alone in his room the next night, Hank couldn't sleep. He idly stroked his still-sore balls with a soft moan, thinking of Thunder. Thinking of Titus and Andronicus and his new family. Hank tromped out of the house, crossed the snow-covered yard and shut himself in the garage. He did a few pull ups to calm himself.
In less than six months, he would move out. Hank sat on the cold pad of the bench press, thinking of it. It was only Big Bay, it wasn't as if he were moving across the country. But to wake up and not hear his mother's soft singing as she made breakfast, to not go to bed listening to the familiar creaks of the house as it settled on its foundation. All the little nuances of odor and touch that told a horse which stable was his home would be gone for Hank.
Hank didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until the garage door opened to let in blinding white morning light. George puffed steam from his nostrils in relief.
"Goddamn, Hank. We thought for a sec you'd run away after Thunder! You spend the whole night in here?"
"Couldn't sleep," Hank said, embarrassed.
"Well, I suppose you're entitled. Go on in, Julia's got the cocoa on."
Hank's mother handed him a slip of paper with his hot chocolate.
"It came for you in the male just today. It looks like it's from Big Bay."
It was a postal notice. Hank was to expect a package he would have to sign for by the end of next week. He grunted.
"Must be something from Thunder. Maybe a late Christmas present."
It turned out to be a new supplement stack. A brand Hank had never heard of, with ingredients he couldn't begin to pronounce. It came with written instructions from Thunder on when and how to use it, and with a specific goal - 280 by June. Hank stared at the number. He currently weighed 230 pounds. It had taken him almost a year to pack on fifty pounds before, and now he was supposed to do it in half as long. Hank licked his lips. He couldn't wait to try.
* * *
"You seen him yet?" Andronicus asked.
Titus shook his head. He waved idly at a passing pair of Arabian mares and their attendant. They were competing in the horse show across lake from Big Bay Resort.
"Been a whole goddamn year. You'd think he'd at least have sent us a letter," Andronicus grumbled.
"He said he wanted to surprise us," Titus reminded him.
Andronicus snorted.
"Yeah, well then he'd better be a fuckin demigod, that's all I gotta say."
A small crowd of furs came toward the pair of massive horses from the left. Titus and Andronicus turned their heads. There were gasps, whispers, and the flash of camera phones. A wake started to form in the milling furs. Titus and Andronicus looked at each other.
The crowd parted. Hank's fresh new XXL muscle shirt strained to contain his bulging, veined body. 300 pounds of teenage draft horse strode forward, a six pack with abs as thick as soda cans slowly tensing and relaxing with each step. Hank slowly grinned at his two teammates.
"You boys'll catch flies, you keep hangin your jaws open like that."
It wasn't that Hank was bigger than the two giant horses. Both Titus and Andronicus tipped the scales at a quarter of a ton. But the sheer transformation from their vision of the Hank that had been to the Hank that stood before them left both stallions speechless.
"Good...GOD!" Titus finally breathed.
"You sure got some killer genetics, Hank," Andronicus said. "Who the hell is in your pedigree? Hercules?"
Hank chuckled, a deep round manly sound. No longer the embarrassed, whickering laughter of a colt.
"Remind me to thank Thunder for those pro-level supplements."
Hank swung his bulging arms upward. His biceps blasted out, fat and juicy as cantaloupes. Titus and Andronicus whinnied. They each grabbed an arm, running their big warm fingers deep into the cuts, over the wells, along the veins. Hank held their eyes and let them see how good it made him feel. Andronicus shivered and licked his lips.
"Fuck, do we have to wait for the indoctrination ceremony?"
Titus smirked, first at his lover, then at Hank.
"Andy here's normally a bottom. I think his pucker just got hungry."
"So when's this indoctrination supposed to happen?" Hank asked.
"Long about noon's what I heard," Titus said. "Thunder's got his hooves full getting it ready."
"Might as well see to movin you in," Andronicus suggested.
"Sounds good. Where am I staying?" Hank asked.
Both stallions grinned.
"Stable 24, same as us."
Hank shook his head in mock rebuke.
"Did you boys pull strings to do that? Just to bunk up with little old me? Shame on you!"
"Wasn't very hard," Titus said. "There's a tradition that when the new stable assignments are made out every year, one of us veterans can volunteer to take any new team members into their stable. Kinda like a mentor."
Hank laughed.
"Oh, I see! So I should be calling ya Coach then, eh?"
Titus grinned back.
"Laugh it up while you can, Hank. We'll see how cocky you are after I ring you through your first Budweiser work out!"
"Oooh, bring it, mare!" Hank shot back.
"Boys! Boys! We've got furniture to move!" Andronicus cut in.
"Hold that thought, I'll make it easier on all of us," Hank said.
He walked back toward the parking lot, his body making the exaggerated bodybuilder waddle with his fresh newly developed muscle butt grinding away at itself. Andronicus whined.
"I want first dibs!"
"Let the new guy chose, Andy," Titus whickered.
Both horses perked their ears at the faint rumble from the lot. Their jaws dropped again.
"I...don't...believe it!" Andronicus said. He glanced at Titus. "Are you seeing this?"
Titus could only nod.
Hank jogged toward them beaming like the sun, his black mane flashing in the summer light. A moving trailer that would normally have been hitched to a pickup was rigged up to be pulled by a horse, and Hank was pulling it - fully loaded - up to them. He huffed to a stop with a chuffle of exhilaration.
"So where's 24?"
"This way, partner!" Titus neighed.
The three stallions galloped together past the rows of enormous horse stables. Stallion heads turned and looked out of windows as they passed. A growing storm of applause rose. By the time they pulled to a stop in front of Hank's new home, the Budweiser Clydesdale team was there to greet them Hank touched fist after fist while massive hands clapped his back. Andronicus's bellow cut through the cheers.
"All right, boys! Let's set our new champion up!"
Hank had just time to unhitch himself before the team went to work. In half an hour, Hank's furniture and clothing were tucked into his own stall: 24-H. Hank was busy pumping a bicep for a few of his new stablemates when the loud clang of a dinner bell rang out.
Titus and Andronicus put their hands on Hank's massive shoulders.
"Show time, little brother," Titus rumbled. "This is your last chance to turn back."
Hank slowly smiled.
"Just tell me what I'm supposed to do for this ceremony."
Andronicus nickered.
"Just follow Thunder's lead."
The crowd of titanic stallions walked to the great mess hall. The doors were closed. Thunder towered in front of them. Even amid a sea of muscle, Thunder stood out like a god. Glancing around, Hank could see the silent adoration on his fellow stallions' faces for Thunder. They worshiped him as Hank did. Thunder could take his pick, mounting any of them he chose. They would all eagerly accept him.
"The final horse for this year's hitch team is Hank!" Thunder called out. Hank stepped forward. He held his head high and proud, picking up his hooves with the knees high, tail erect. He came to a stop before Thunder.
Thunder's eyes slowly feasted on Hank. For a moment, he looked Hank in the eyes and Hank saw the wave of silent, avid approval there. Thunder bobbed his head with a grunt of assent.
"Hank Bunting. Your application to join the Budweiser Clydesdales has been accepted. You've passed the physical requirements outstandingly. Are you ready to accept the Budweiser legacy as your own, and carry this proud tradition forward for the next generation?"
"I am!" Hank said.
Thunder raised his head, scanning the herd.
"Who has volunteered to coach our new herdmate for his first year on the team?"
Titus and Andronicus took a step forward and neighed.
"Both of us have. Jointly."
Thunder addressed the rest of the herd.
"What says the herd?"
A roaring chorus of neighs and mighty fists rose into the air. Thunder raised his hands to quiet them, then turned and beamed down at Hank. He thrust his hand out.
"Welcome aboard, Hank."
Tears in his eyes, Hank accepted the handshake. He yelped as Thunder pulled him into not just a tight hug, but a long and deep kiss. Hank embraced him with equal passion as his tears rolled down his cheeks. Thunder parted.
"Let's get this party started then!"
The herd roared and burst open the doors to the mess hall. Music blared. Lights flashed. Thunder guided Hank into the room. There were great streamers bearing the Budweiser colors and a massive banner hung across the entire hall, emblazoned with Hank's name. Hank's mouth fell open.
"This is all for me?"
Thunder bellowed a laugh.
"This is your party, son! Show us what you've got!"
The stallions formed two clapping rows as Hank took it all in. He sucked in a deep breath. He felt like a giant. A conqueror. A king. Hank neighed and ripped away his shirt. He strutted. He pranced. He started to flex. The more he did, the wilder the crowd became. Whoops and cheers gave way to cries for more. Hank stripped down to a Budweiser thong he'd bought for the occasion.
"Oh YEAH!" Titus roared.
"Thrust that meat, stud!"
Hank smirked and flexed his rippling arms behind his lower back, humping the air. Someone slapped his ass. One 600 pound Clydesdale got on his knees and blew Hank a lewd kiss. Hanks inhibitions shredded. He strode toward the kneeling stud. Grabbing his mane, he rammed his still-clothed cockhead into the stallion's mouth.
The crowd closed on Hank. Hands started to caress his physique. Mouths suckled his skin. Tongues licked along the cracks and veins of his muzzle.
"Mmm...drop it, stud," moaned a deep voice. "We wanna see what our new brother is packing!"
Hank snapped his thong away. He made his hard shaft slap back and forth across his bulging thighs. A conga line of sorts started to form. One by one, every stallion on the team approached Hank, dropped down, and sucked his cock. Hank rode the tides of pleasure. He bared his teeth, ears flat, nostrils wide. He let out a feral growl.
Thunder boomed to his knees, already naked. He smirked at Hank as he slowly swirled his massive tongue up one side of Hank's shaft and down the other.
"So. This colt-maker do more than just plug throats, baby?"
"Unnnghhh...wanna...FUCK!" Hank grated.
"Who first?"
Hank scanned the naked, dancing, gyrating crowd. Andronicus barreled toward him. Precum spurted from Hank's shaft. They collided, rolled, kissing and humping. Hank wrestled the bigger horse onto his back, then allowed Andronicus to get to his knees. Hank stood behind him, their heights now relatively equal.
"C'mon in, Hank," Andronicus moaned. He flagged his tail, spread his huge legs. Those moist, warm cheeks opened like the Red Sea.
Hank let out a berserk whinny He speared Andronicus with all his strength. Andronicus's cry was all he needed. Hank's world turned to fire. He ground his teeth against Andronicus's neck. He was nothing but a thrusting machine.
Someone got behind Hank. Hank recognized Titus's scent.
"May I?" he rumbled in Hank's ear.
Hank flagged his tail. He hugged Andronicus's massive back for support as Titus burst his way inside. One by one, stallion joined to stallion. A great undulating chain of muscle, sweat, cock, balls. Prespunk flowed like water. Saliva swirled and mixed, licking skin. A fog of horse sex musk clung to the rafters.
Thunder gave a great, powerful thrust. The force of it cascaded down the fuck chain so that Titus's flared head rammed straight into Hank's prostate. Hank let out an orgasmic scream. Thunder slammed his hoof down on a button set against the floor, and there was a loud series of pops, lost amid the noise of the growing chain reaction Hank had set in motion.
Through bliss-blurred eyes, Hank watched frothy golden liquid arc through the air from both sides of the mess hall. The arcs collided overhead and rained down beer over the ecstatic, writhing muscled bodies. Hank shut his eyes and opened his mouth.