Not that she was treated well by any standards. She certainly didn’t voluntarily partake in a demeaning act like a horserace---she would never willingly agree to be the Horse at least---and neither did any of the other Equines competing with her. Further, with her body nude and exposed to a stadium filled with free furs while at the same time broadcast to the whole world---and beyond. Melissa didn’t want to think about how many eyes have seen her in this disgraceful spectacle. To make matters worse, each of the Racehorses had to carry a jockey, in Melissa’s case a Mouse sitting cursingly on top of her while urging her to go faster, with threats and insults.
She had been abducted by raiders many years ago. Later, a racing stable had bought her and turned her into less than a slave. Now her whole life consisted of training and racing. If she did well, they handled her like an animal. If she failed to meet expectations, they showed her that being treated like an animal could be indeed a treat.
She hated that those races existed! She despised that slavery was legal in this world! Where she originated from, it was abolished centuries ago. But after she had been abducted and sold, no one cared.
Now every few months, she raced. She never had been placed into small events. From the get-go, it had been big ones watched by millions---sometimes billions. In her first dozen races, she ended dead last. Not just due to the lack of training, inapt of competing with the much stronger Horses that had more stamina. But also because she was ashamed. In her first race seeing the huge live crowd of thousands of people petrified her. She wanted to die from embarrassment when she recognized how many people saw her exposed body. When she finally managed to move a muscle, the first Horse had already finished half a lap. Though, with time, she got stronger and faster due to the rigid training regimen that her owners forced upon her, and slowly she got used to not being granted the smallest slice of dignity.
She smelled the sweaty body of the white mare. She stank more as one should after eight laps. Melissa assumed that the mare shared her own ordeal, in which she got groomed daily, but rarely if ever was granted the touch of water. Aside from rain, that was, which on an arid world like this was nothing one should bet on.
So, Melissa and the white mare, and to be frank, most racehorses, smelled like the unwashed animals they were treated as. But she caught another smell beneath the stench. Something sweeter. And after a few moments, she identified it. The white mare was horny. Unbelievably horny, to be precise, if she could distinguish it from all the sweat and dirt. Melissa had heard rumors that some horses are only permitted to orgasm after they won a race. The mare she was about to pass might be such a case. Melissa frowned.
A red Squirrel was the horny mare’s jockey who angrily looked over his back, seeing that Melissa moved in closer with every step. She heard him threaten the poor girl that her worthless cunt will be sewed shut if she loses one more race. Melissa pitied the girl, well aware that the white Horse won’t win today. And she knew too well that those sadistic bastards never put out empty threats.
Moments later, she passed the white mare, and with half a lap to go, only the black Gelding was in front of her. But he was strong and fast. She suspected him of being a bred slave. Not, unlike her, bought by a stable, but selectively bred and trained to be a racehorse from his birth. They are fearful opponents in a race. They are barely sapient beings anymore and in behavior and demeanor mostly resembling a particularly intelligent animal.
Despite the crowd growing louder due to the race culminating in its climax, she heard her jockey threatening her with punishment and additional training if she is going to lose. The exhausted mare attempted to mobilize the last smidge of strength left in her, to maybe eke out a win against the deballed Horse on the final meters. She tried but failed. Half a length before her, the black Horse sprinted past the finishing line and won the race. Putting Melissa in second place.
For her owners, it didn’t matter that she almost beat a much stronger opponent. In fact, being dead last or barely second didn’t make any difference to them. Melissa wanted to be proud to have almost beat a bred racehorse. Pride might be the wrong word though, the mare was quite aware that she didn’t possess such a thing anymore.
Though having been driven to her limits and come close to achieving something that she would have considered beyond her abilities, she felt sort of an animalistic pride. A feeling she loved and hated equally. Loving it because there were so few and little positive things as a slave. Bad because she truly felt like an animal--- a beast--- in those moments. As if those bastards won and finally turned her into the animal they saw in her.
Either way, for her owners, trainers, and jockey, being barely first held no value. And so the punishment threatened by her jockey commenced. The following months were hell for Melissa. Instead of the already taxing 12 hours of training and drill a day, it got extended to 16 hours. She felt like a newly bought racehorse as her body and muscles constantly ached, despite being a seasoned racehorse fit and muscular due to years of relentless training.
When the next race came around, she finished first---decisively.
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The Horse belongs to \r\n\t\t\t\t\t
| \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tFukano\r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t\t | \r\n\t\t\t\t\t\t
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