You order the "Moscow Mule in a brass cup". You heard of the Moscow
Mule that it was what popularized Smirnoffs back in the 40's and the
cocktail was served in a brass cup - at least in the ads. You're
curious to try one, now that you've actually seen one on the menu.
You are surprised at the size of the "brass cup". It's served in a
sort of "loving cup" that resembles an ice bucket more than a "cup."
You pick up the drink with both hands and tip back the bucket and
drink as the frothy drink splashes against your lips. It's an oddly
bitter sweet taste - ginger beer and vodka. You gag slightly at the
cloying nature of the drink and stare at the gallon or gallons of
liquid in your hands. Do they seriously expect you to drink the whole
thing? But as you drink, you surprise yourself and start to gulp it
all down.
The barkeeper is staring at you resting his head on his hands with his
elbows on the bar. His grin grows wider as he watches you drink. Not
too surprisingly your head is starting to ache, but what is surprising
is that you're seeing him at all out of the corner of your eyes, as
the cup should be blocking all your vision like it did when you picked
it up. Oddly as the cup is getting lighter, you're finding it harder
to grip. You set it down on the counter and bury your nose in the
brew. Your clothing is taut on your body and fitting poorly in all the
wrong places, but strangely after drinking nearly a gallon you don't
have to piss yet. Your clothing rips as you put your forefeet on the
floor, stepping backwards with your hind feet. Your shoes split. You
are aware of your body, but the fact that your body is changing does
not register with you. Only when you glance up over the cup at the
bartender's stare, do you notice the reflection in the mirror behind
him. It should be you, but you see a huge donkey in the mirror.
You guffaw, "Hee haw!" It sounds more like a bray, which after all
the vodka you downed isn't unreasonable. You speak in a strangely
deeper masculine voice, as a cool breeze blows across your back and
belly and your low hanging cock and balls. You comment, "Say that's an
impressive trick mirror. It actually looks like there's a donkey
drinking at the bar. And it starts and stops drinking when I do!"
"Mule," says the bartender softly, "Now finish up, Francis, I've got a
trailer waiting."
"Francis? My name's not Francis."
The bartender straightens up and looks him up and down. "No? Well,
you're no "Ed," that's for sure!" He laughs with his hands on his
side.
Then he walks over to the wall which is decorated with farm
implements, harnesses, yokes and the like. He pauses as he looks
first at them, then at you, then back at them. He selects some
leather from the wall, and walks around the bar toward you. You go
back to lapping up the Moscow Mule in front of you. Your hooves
harden as you lean forward. Your tongue amazingly laps the metal
bottom of the brass cup. You've managed to lick the cup clean, lapping
up the last drop. You proudly raise your head and see the mule in the
mirror mimicking you. It is an amazing trick. You see the bartender
in the mirror next to you, his arms are raised. He grabs your head and
forces a bit in your mouth as he pulls a bridle over your head. The
reflection of the mule isn't a trick you realize. You're thinking
slowly - but what do you expect after drinking that much Vodka. You're
lucky you aren't dead or passed out.
In addition to struggling against the man trying to restrain you, you
realize that you're naked and your clothing is in shreds at your feet.
You skin feels hot and itchy and sweaty, but you continue to drink the
big bucket of alcohol.