As you stand a light breeze from the northwest blows through the stable. The wind offers a cool dry air chill. A shiver runs over your massive form and the hairs on your hide tingle in a seductive way.
In a box stall you turn to view the surroundings. Thick wood planks line two walls as a two level dutch door is your entrance. A block wall with a window looks west. Steel bars cover the window glass to guard a dumb animal from breaking it and being injured.
Ears here flies buzzing and the muffled noise of other horses stirring as they too smell you presence. Snuffing the pleasent smell of your phermones of equine body, brings a warm satified feeling.
Human thoughts are melding with equine instinct as rational thoughts become rather basic needs and wants.
Tail swishing as mane flicks, skin jiggles all sensed to the touch and bother of flies. A want to make this place seem more like home, your tail rises and with a crimp of the diaphram horse flop falls. "Ahh the sweet smell of home, says the horse sense of mind."
A groomsman walks the stall row. Seeing a new fine stud he enters to inspect the beast. Checking teeth for injury and soundness, then stroking front legs and lifting hoofs. Patting along the broad back he kneels to view the maleness. A soft touch he presses against the globe like testicles, which gives pleasure and a need for passion.
Passion has one outlet as a stallion, your massive horse cock moves like a great snake out of it's black home. Stepping a half step forward, you stretch you frame and show the length of the equine passion.
The weight of this member gives need to stiffen and as it rises the great cock bumps the furry belly. The touch causes even more stretch and wild passions. The release and it swings like a limp fire hose. All of which gives the horse mind new feelings and renewed passions. Up and down, up and down, each time the delight of some yet unrealized passion drives you on. At last the groom stands to one side, white sticky globs shoot forward and stick to belly and forelegs.
Looking down at the feeling of something clinging to legs, a pool of semen collects between your forehoofs. A inner feeling of passive delight and a satisfied self, you go back to swishing flies.
The groom pleased to see a fine stud walks out and returns with a quarter bale of hay, a bucket of grain, and opens the tap in your private trough.
Pleased with yourself you eat and swish your tail in satisfaction.
As night comes the groom brings a black leather halter and announces that you are the best looking Percheron stallion he's ever seen.
This seems to bring a good feeling, but by now the meanings of human words are a sound and has no meaning.
The dark of night as the barn doors are closed you lay down in a pile of straw and look for the dawnong of your first full equine day.