The sun rose. A rooster crowed. You hear a car on the gravel driveway to the stables. Upper door of your stall is open, so you stick your head out. It's Zeb and the team bus. You snort, imagining all the stallions crammed into the bus. Zeb and two other guys are carrying armloads of red rubber uniforms.
"Coach Zeb, how're we supposed to get these on the horses?"
"Any way you can, Tom. They'll stretch to fit. Just make sure you put the right suit on the right horse. Match the numbers."
"Does it really matter?"
"Well, if let's say you put a receiver in a lineman's suit, he'll end up with a big heavy body not suited to running and catching the ball."
"Which one's in the first stall? I can do him," said Tom.
"Nah, that's Studmuffin. Number 23, I got him. He gets a very special suit," Zeb explained as they walked down to the next stall. Tom checked Harry's number, and the other guy had that suit. You could hear Harry snorting and stomping, but eventually the noise subsided. Then you heard Harry's human voice, "Oh, man, I feel like I've slept a week."
The guy said, "Okay, Harry go get on the bus. Your teammates should be along in a little while."
"Okay?" Harry answered. He stumbled out of his stall, and ambled toward the waiting bus. He saw your head sticking out of your stall door, and walked over to you.
"Hey there," he said patting your head. He glanced between your thighs, and smiled, "There's a good boy. I'm Harry. What's your name? Oh, there it is, Studmuffin? Studmuffin. You are a god horse, yes, sir. If I had time, I might take you for a ride." He glanced over at the empty bus, and at the tack in your stall. "Prolly shouldn't, but, what the hell. A brisk ride might just wake me up, My head's so cloudy."
You don't remember being a horse, you don't remember I'm your teammate? You don't remember mounting me? Studmuffin's mind was racing with questions. Harry applied a blanket, cinched the saddle in place, attached the bit, and reins, and mounted up. He prodded Studmuffin with his heels toward the open stall door.
Zeb emerged from a stall down farther with Mark Weaver rubbing his head, and looking like he was also in a daze.
"Harry, what are you doing on that horse?"
"Hey, Coach, no one's on the bus yet, so I figured I have time for a brisk morning ride. Yee haw!" and you gallop off down the dirt trail with Harry on your back.
Zeb grumbled under his breath.
The bus was almost full, when Harry returned with Studmuffin.
"Hey, Coach, see I'm back before the bus is full. Maybe I should take Studmuffin for another ride?"
You are panting and drenched in sweat. He had you galloping for nearly an hour.
"Get off that horse, and put him back in his stall. And get that tack off him, and then get on the bus."
"Yes, coach," sighed Harry dismounting.
A few minutes later, your saddle is back on the rack along with your bridle and other tack. Harry was planning to wash you down, but Zeb entered and told him to get on the bus.
"Well, Studmuffin, I guess you figured out that Harry and the rest have no memory of being horses, and figure you will forget about being a broodmare. I could care less either way, but my boyfriend wants you to remember. And so I got you this special suit. Now let's get you suited up and on the bus."
You whinny in excitement. You're going to be human again, even if you have to remember being mounted by all your teammates.
Zeb is grunting as he pulls the tight rubber football pants over your giant horse's ass, and shoves your big horse cock and balls into the front of the pants.
Tom appears. He's sweaty and dirty. It looks like he was rolling in horse shit.
"We have to do this every week from now on?" Tom asked.
"What happened to you, Tom?"
"Rico took a dump when I was between his legs putting his rubber pants on him. So is this every week?"
"Well all except bye weeks. At least until the end of football season, then Pertwee Academy gets to stable them permanently."
Zeb puts the jersey over your head and forelegs. You soon are completed suited up in a red rubber football uniform. You grab Zeb's arm, "Wait, we're going to be permanently horses after football season?" you ask incredulously.
"Coach, the suit didn't work, he remembers!" shouts Tom pointing.
"The suit worked. He just gets to remember, but the suit has other properties. Studmuffin, you cannot tell anyone that you and your teammates were horses, or what we plan to do to you after the season. Understand?"
You nod your head. "Yes, sir."
"Now, get down on your knees, and give Tom a blow job."
"Wha-?" you start to say, but your body is already across the stall, and you're unzipping Tom's fly.
"Whatdya do to him, Coach?"
"Oh, Tom, Studmuffin here is now the team pussy, and gay slut boy. And as long as he wears that suit, that's what he will be."
"Damn, Coach, he's a damn fine c-c-c-c-ock-s-su-su-cker. Whew!" Tom replied.
"Oh, looks like Studmuffin enjoys it too. He's got major wood. Pity he can't masturbate or even cum unless ordered to cum. He will see more cock action in the next couple months than most guys ever will, but probably none of it will be his own cock. And when he's permanently stabled, Chad plans to geld him."
"Mmft!" you gasp with your cheeks full of Tom's cum.