The Stampede
Part 1


Written by Septia.


I woke up early again. Parting my drapes I was greeted with the view of the fields field of rice pads and potato fields; orange beams of light reflecting in the marshland pools and throwing suncats towards my window. I shielded my eyes and kept my gaze out over the farmland. I saw the wind make itself known in the patches of raised vegetation, bending beneath its roil and caressing the rice ponds into ripples that formed crescent as it trailed the surface. How many times had I looked outside the window, and taken in the same venue? Just over the past year, it always felt the same. I knew the plants grew. I knew that it was close to harvest. Yet, throughout the months it had all looked the same. A beam of light reflected into my eyes, lids shutting reflexively as I withdrew a step in on the carpeted floor. Gradually, I adjusted, staring back out again. There, a silhouette as walking onto the field, an after-image etched onto the memory of my retina. I pressed myself against the window. One of father mine’s beasters had come to tend to the field. 
	They walked on the path between rice pads, across the potato field; despite this distance my eyes honed in on the contours of the defined, twitching rectangular ears, and the sweatshirt draped over his chest. At least I thought it was a male, most of the beasters father mine employed were, though by strength of commitment and body, you couldn't differentiate them from the mares. I felt a bump as my nose pushed up against the glass pane in front of me. I squinted, peering towards the upright figure in an attempt to glean more of the secrets held by the back light silhouette. I watched them raise an arm to wipe their forehead, then reaching towards their midsection, and rolling up their shirt. 
	“Stallion.” I mumbled to myself, watching as they discarded their shirt to wade into the fields, getting soaked as they keeled into the water to inspect the crop. 
	He was methodical, careful, taking his time in ensuring each plant was healthy. 
	'Manual labour.' 
	I heard a memory of Father mine’s words, something he had muttered when we had driven past the fields once. 
	'Least they’re good for something. You think it is fair giving your father that look, Guss?' 
	I remember recoiling when he addressed me, the memory made itself manifest in a quiver passing down my back. 
	'They aught to be thankful I even consider employing them, ingrate bastards wouldn't know how to feed themselves, even less earning an education for themselves.' 
	It wasn't the first time; as the months passed afterwards, father only showed his true colours on the matter with more vehemence. 


I watch the field slowly become populated, a half dozen beasters spreading out to tend to the crops. How many of them had been directly berated by father mine, how many worried about crossing him? And yet, they all still worked for him. For a moment I clenched the muscles in my fist, so I felt my nails cratering my skin. Despite his viewpoints, my father did value dedication and well performed labour, the stallions working the field were well-paid for their positions, despite it being under someone who thought this little of them. Suppose that was the reason they stayed, even if father mine was… 
	'I pithy them, as I pity a stray mutt or a sick raccoon. They lack the brains to properly comprehend their situation, or any charity I could offer. The Least teaching them the morals of straight and honest work does some good for this world'. 
	I felt a tug at my heart, a knot in my stomach. He treated them like… they were all inherently lesser. 
	Suddenly, I noticed a stallion stopping in the potato patches, raising an arm to wave me good morning. 
	I am glad they couldn't see my expression; I hesitated, but raised an arm to wave back. I had spoken to them so many times, gotten to know many of the stallions toiling at the ranch, I might have shared more laughs with them than my father. I looked away, at the decorated interior of my room: the soft bed, sculpted cabinets, stocked bookshelves, and multi screened computer set – a room veiled in shadows. I turned to face the light of the window once more. Watching the beasters begin their work along with the sun. 
	Father thought of them this way, yet he still paid them, he still hired them to work and live on the ranch, despite his rugged, wounding views, he had adopted them. I felt my heart snag in my chest. Did he feel the same when he adopted me? 


~ 1 ~


I ate breakfast alone. Father wasn't up yet. I thought back on the last seven years I had spent in this building, with father mine, and the fourteen years prior came sneaking at the back of my head. The memories of the orphanage were draped in sweat, chilled to ice in the eye of a snowstorm. So much of my life had been spent within that storm's eye, with an emptiness I saw others struggle with, and other having no concept of. An emptiness that I had been longing to fill, and then, when father mine came, was overjoyed to soon be rid off it. For seven years I had waited for that to happen. 
	Sometimes, I wish the storm hadn't taken pity on me, and simply, swept me away… I turned my attention to my breakfast, and finished my rice. 


~ 2 ~


“Oh daddy take me, fmmfs, harder.” 
	“You are such a sick freak, aren't they? Look how much this little whore pleads.” 
	“I bet another cock down their throat would shut them up.” 
	-Splllrrsths- The camera moved in close enough that I could see the screen dotted with a splatter of drool and… various other fluids, providing a visceral pang to the experience on the screen. I sucked in breath through my teeth, leaning back in my chair and whilst I tended to the… rising desire the video provided me with. With father not being at home, I didn't need the headphones, and could immerse myself in the minutiae of every splatter and grinding thrust winding their way out of my speakers. This wasn't my first time viewing this particular video, my eyes darted across the screen, anticipating the moments and angles of the beasters bunching up around this one, lea human the long shot of the boy presented with the throbbing meat slab of a deep dark cock, his fluster, and then the zoom in to show his lips wrapping over it. The camera panned along his journey down the mast, then shifting angles to show two other beasters with theirs fingers sunken deep into his ass, clenching to hear him squeal with his bob full of dick. 
	“Mfmf, phoa…” I huffed quivering as he passed the white ring halfway down the mast, and struggled to keep going. 
	“Can't even take my meat, didn't take you for a vegan, show me how much you lust for this sweaty, juicy beef.” 
	The voice… crisp coming out of the speakers, but… it didn't send the same shivers down my back, as it did when it came out of my headphones, penetrating right into my ears… I let out a sigh, leaning back and grinding down my crotch, before pausing the video. 
	I usually came back to Stackporn, there was a lot of… effective content, uploaded there. Though, I always gravitated towards this channel, ‘The Stampede’. They didn't update regularly, though almost every video… hit home. A lone boy, or often a boy, passed around in a gang bang of beasters, trained, begging, made eager and placed to please all of them. Sometimes one on one, often devolving into a choreographed dog piling. The camera always ready to give a close-up of the action as things were steaming up. It got, abusive at times, though, all the participants were willing… everyone. My heart beat faster. Thinking that, someone would allow themselves to be at the mercy of these people, even if they were friends since long back, they let it go this far. Guess that his fascination as part of why I kept returning to them, eager to see the new who would be stampeded. I held my headphones in my lap, weighing my options. Father mine wasn't always out this late, I should take this chance to listen at full blast. But, it lacked a bit of that… edge, when it wasn't coming directly at me. I guess, it made me feel closer to the action. I, wouldn't want to be in that situation though, of course. Of… course… At least, I tried to reason with myself I didn't. Though, here I was again, re watching ‘The stampede stuffs daddy boy’ once more, watching the video, seeing how daddy boy's cheek distended around the sculpting contours of the thick man meat wedged past his lips. Did it… really taste as salty as they, always said it did? It was, probably theatrics, they were professionals. But… what if it did? I pressed play again I watched how the camera panned back to the two pale silver goats molesting the boy's hind, taking turns to smack into it and hearing him squeal and splutter with his mouth full of cock. His legs begun to shake, and he slumped onto the ground, the camera shook. A voice from off screen called out “Hey the bitch collapse. “ 
	“Can't handle all this meat you lightweight cunt.” the Lama asked. The black buffalo hefted his moved to the back. 
	“You two get him by the chest, don't wanna interrupt the sucking,” the black buffalo said and grabbed my rear, taut so the plush rump meat swelled up between his digits, this was a hard grasp, and the boy cried out, muffled by the cock. The twins each pinched one of his nipples, and together they hauled him up, carrying him as he kept suckling the thick mast. They, raised by his rear primarily, in a taught grip that reddened his cheeks when he was placed down in the cough, the beaster at his front grabbing his head. 
	“Aaah, that we go, just lean into it, I want my dick slick with your saliva.” 
	I sighed and fondled my balls, pausing again. My chest heaving and deflating. One hand, it was so intense with the volume turned up, on the other… I missed the closeness… I navigated to another screen and opened a folder. I scanned for the videos I saved, maybe if I opened it in a program with better volume and bass controls… My eyes glossed over the names of depraved content. 
	“I don't have any Stampede videos here?” I mumbled. This perplexed me, I always used to save a video if it had an impact on me, guess I had watched them so much… maybe I had just, been too distracted most of the time. I headed back to the video, planning to download their entire library, though, I would start with this one. I wanted to… experiment a bit more. I began to move the file to the new folder, halfway between the windows, something caught my eye. The file dropped on my desktop, and I took a few m, its name highlighted. It was cos, considerably shorter than most file names, and didn't contain anything mentioning the content of the video. Instead, It subsisted of a single, string of numbers. 
	I stared at the file. Some websites renamed the uploaded content tho them, garbling the name to a string of numbers so the server could processes it within its own system. But Stackporn didn't, it kept the original filename the uploaded gave it. Either it had passed through some other website or program first… maybe it was deliberate? I thumbed the number into my phone, the s, one by one. 
	“4, 2… 9.” The screen lit up an icon, affirming the validity of the string. It was a phone number… I rolled back in my chair, glancing at my phone lit up with the with the number from the file matching the filename, I needed distance to think. Why would the Stampede put a phone number in the filename? Perhaps, just an elaborate prank by someone on their crew, but for what motivation? Perhaps it was a way to reach out, contact some of the studs working one of the studs working on the crew, a way sneaky way for fans to contact them. Even as the thought mulled over in my head I realised I romanticizing the situation in my head, and next I would think calling it would send a beaster leaping into my room to carry me of to a fantasy kingdom. I scoffed, shaking my head. And yet, why that other options were they? It could just have been a mistake. 
	Though if it wasn't. Perhaps it was a donation service, a hotline for some event. Perhaps, part of an obscure alternate reality game, and by chance I had simply stumbled onto the clue which others took weeks to find from obscure clues? Clues that lead to, downloading a hardcore, willing rape gang, beaster gang bang video, which you had to download… I scratched my chin. Who would realistically find this number? A big fan of their videos, of their content. Enough to archive it for future… use. Their biggest fans. And for what reason would they want to reach out to them… my breath snagged down my gullet, a sharp inhale. I stared at the video pen, still open on the other screen. I stared at the man, surrounded on the couch by stallions… it could be a way, to pinpoint-target willing participants. 
	My eyes glued to the number, just out of reach from where I was sitting. My body didn't allow me to control. Heart palpitated, hammering… Did they want people like me to reach out to them? So they could have others to involve, the abuse and record, were all the other subjects in the previous videos recruited in the same manner? It hit me that I had thought 'people like me'… My fists clenched I couldn't, I wouldn't be… I… It was just, me romanticizing everything again, except instead of being saved, they'd take me in, toss me to the floor and… a-. And… I clutched my hands over my head, breathing so I felt my lower palms growing damp. Time diluted to a crawl, until my frantic breathing pace subsided. It, could, also just, be a prank, or any number of other possibilities. Bt, my mind was set on the meaning of this number, and it scared me. If it was, who said I would be accepted or, who said I would actually, enjoy, being in the same position as the subjects of their videos… Blood rushed to my crotch. I let out a long sigh. 
	“This is gonna eat me up if I… If I leave it be.” I visualized the situation as a band aid, slowly moving back to my phone, and finger shaking as it neared the call. -Cllch- my finger hit the screen much sooner than I thought, in it was calling. By sheer reflex I cancelled the call. My thumb aching as it pressed taut to the glassy hand slumped to my side, I gave out a long sigh. 


I stared at the number, laying back in bed, computer shut down, all light coming from the lamination of the this, enigmatic number. I began typing a text message. 
	'Is there anyone there?' It was done, sent. A minute passed. I knew this because the time rested just above the message I sent, and I didn't look away for a second of that minute. Or the next one. Sweat beaded at my forehead. Silence. My heart still pulsed, but, sank. I set the phone down, and got up for some water, I had wracked myself with stress for nothing. 


The water felt cool, refreshing, cleared my head. It was tough to let go of it, sure, though it was rather far fetched of me to think they there was another message on my phone. I spat out the water reflexively swallowed, coughing up a mist from the sudden gulp, and slammed the glass down to look at the screen. 
	'Yes. Good evening.' 
	Heart was back racing, but now adrenaline pupettered my fingers. 
	'Ar eyou sis one of thts stalliosn form stampede?' I hit send before I had a chance to evaluate my grammar, or spelling… I was such an idiot.
	'Yes.' 
	The response was instant. I took a few breaths, sat back on down on the bed, and slowly typed a response. 
	'Do you, look to accept, applicants through this number?' What, was I at a job interview now? 
	'Indeed. Species?' 
	Oh skies I was, wasn't I? 'Human.' 
	'Age?' 
	'Twenty one.' 
	'Height?' 
	'175 cm.' 
	It went quiet again for a while. It gave me a moment to process that was happening… I soon realised I needed much longer than that. 
	'Information shared here does not leave this discussion. However, if you partake of our videos, you ill submit our use of your appearance in the filming. Understood?' 
	This was serious. This was so much more serious than I could comprehend. 
	'Sure.' Another few moments passed. 
	'Send three pictures. Picture one: close up, face, any expression. Second: long shot, full body, front, nude. Third: long shot, full body, back, nude. You have five minutes.' 
	I scrambled to stand, up, hitting turning on the lights, my eyes scrunched up but I forced myself past it. I didn't have enough time, I just snapped a picture of my face as I scrambled out of my underwear, then stood against the wall with my phone propped up on a chair, front, then back. Done in less than two minutes. But, I spent another two just, staring at the pictures. “I look awful…” but, as the time grew new I hurriedly sent them all. 
	'Had you pinned for a girl at first. We like what we see.' 
	It hit me that they hadn't bothered to ask gender, I wasn't sure how I was supposed to feel. Wait… they like what they see? All of them? 
	'We have a time over morrow, expect a full day. Is this acceptable?' 
	father was going to be away, again. it hit me that he might have gone straight to the next business trip after leaving this morning. But he always told me before hand. Or, mostly. Sometimes… 
	'Yes'. 
	'Look, you have seen the videos,' this message dropped the professional pretence, my hand shaking as I kept reading 'you know what are you getting yourself into, right? If you say no decline permission now, this whole conversation never happened, we erase your images, scrub this history, it would never have happened. If you approve, there is no going back, without leaving my boys quite disappointed. Do you understand?' 
	I read it again and again, measuring my breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth. I could back down… It would be so easy… and I wouldn't have to deal with all this stress. 
	'Yes.' 
	'Do you accept?' 
	'I accept your terms.' 
	'Where do we pick you up?' 
	I typed in my address. It was all I could muster. 
	'Make yourself ready, we will be com we will be. 
	I didn't know if I was expected to say something else here. My body, shook with shivers. I heaved out all the breath in my lungs in one, quivering sigh, and slumped back in bed, staring at the roof. How was this happening? And, how could I be ready, in just one day? 


~ 3 ~


The following day, from start to end was, unreal. I didn't feel at home walking through the house, eating, the little I could, trying to focus on any tasks at all. Regularly I looked through my phone, reading yesterday's conversation again, and again But each time, it was there, it was all there… In the evening, I started to binge videos from The Stampede seeing them gang bang a number of shaking, eager applicants, starting slow, but soon jerking a cock in with each hand and taking down their mouth, all as they were felt up, swatted, havivng thick flanks ground onto their frame. Towards the night, I could smell the faint musk in the air, feel the caress of searching fingers, recoiling at the abrasive swats. It was gonna happen…it kept my heart fuelled by a concoction of fright, excitement, and litres of adrenalin. 


~ 4 ~


I sat at the patio, staring down the road. I had hastily chugged down some porridge for breakfast, though now I wish I had taken my time. I had waited for a while. I didn't allow the thought of this maybe being a prank after all reach me, I had invested myself too much already. Though, minutes passed, and I sank into the emptiness of waiting for something. Then, it came. Rolling over the hill, the car's growl growing in volume. 
	I rose, breath stepping up to the runway as they closed in, the car making a stop ten meters away. The door opened… A black coated buffalo stepped out. My heart clenched together. I recognized them, the buffalo that had hoisted daddy boy by his ass, and casually stuffed his cock down so many tight asses. He soothers joined him from the car, each clad in buttoned shirts, ad taut jeans hugging the contours of their thighs, 
	“There he is.” The buffalo affirmed. Then, another beaster stepped out from the driver's seat. A camel, his mane khaki, but and his muzzle sharp, coat in a chestnut, somewhat yellowed, hue, blending with the casual suit he was dressed in. I recognized him, he wasn't always prominent in the videos, though he was always there. The lemon chestnut camel strode up to me, my eyes topping just under his muzzle as he inspected me. Then, his gaze turned behind me, to the main building of the ranch. 
	He whistled. “Our applicants are not usually this well off for themselves. They often come in a few different categories; There are the connoisseurs, the eager fanboys, and the curious sluts who do not have a clue what they are getting themselves into.” 
	An embarrassment welled up from being judged so quickly maybe I should have met them in town… 
	“The connoisseur tends to be in the upper echelon of our volunteers, inviting us to their main to their mansions, perhaps attempting to impress us, to show their worth as a usable slut.” He paused He turned back to me. 
	“If I may be blunt, judging by the tone of your messages, your pictures, and you aren't one of those. You aren't flaunting, oh no, you are waiting outside, coming up to us. Awe struck,” as he talked, I felt my heart race, “you have not seen a real dick in your life, you ivory slut…” He smiled, eyebrows narrowing to a bemused snear. “This aught to be entertaining.” 
	It, honestly scared me. It wasn't just that he could read this on me, but that it was the first thing he brought up, I didn't even know his name, and already… I knew were I stood compared to him. My eyes peered down his suit, towards the crotch. 
	He snapped his fingers. “Eyes up here,” he commanded, I sapped my head up, fluster sneaking onto my cheeks. 
	“Take a good look, you won't have many chances to look thigh high up for the rest of of the day.” 
	“A-a-… aah ha…” I mouthed. 
	“Adorable.” He turned back, “Come now, we want not to keep the boys waiting.”
	I stalked back to the house, slowly following, towards the car. 
	“I-…” I began. The camel stopped. 
	“M-my name is, Guss.” I managed to heave the words out of my mouth, like regurgitating a gag lodged down my gullet. 
	“Hmm, sure,” was all he said on the matter, “Brawn, ensure our esteemed guest is made comfortable.” 
	“My pleasure,” came a voice from behind me. I knew it was the buffalo, but how did he-. A blindfold was swathed over my face, tied firmly, so I couldn't see past the layers of fabric, then with a bump in my back he urged me to walk, guiding me to the car. Why was this needed, if they knew I would come willingly? That the proverbial gag was lodged back down my throat, as I was crammed in the back seat of the car, sandwiched between two beasters, and the air tainted with a dense blanket of hay stained musk.