Gromet's PlazaPonyGirl/PetGirl Stories


by Varg the Wanderer

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© Copyright 2015 - Varg the Wanderer - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; Other+/m; FM/m; plane; fall; marsh; drug; bond; gag; mists; cage; vet; collar; chip; tattoo; pet; owned; naked; cons/reluct; X

Chapter 1

Smack! The wrench slipped, and even though Carl was pulling instead of pushing on it, his fingers still managed to be driven into a row a screw tails. The wrench flew from his grasp, and he heard it go clattering off down the inside of the fuel tank, heading towards the fuselage of the airliner he was working on.

“Goddamnsonofabitch!” He muttered, clenching his teeth and gripping his hand. His two middle fingers had taken most of the impact, and it felt like they had just been stung by a few very upset hornets. Things just weren’t going his way today, starting with being assigned to work inside the wing of an old airliner and heading downhill from there.

He lifted his safety glasses and wiped the sweat from his brow. Despite the monstrosity of an air-conditioner outside that was supposedly pumping frigid air into the wing the fuel tank was sweltering. The southern Louisiana heat was overpowering the behemoth cooling unit, and Carl wondered if some nitwit hadn’t turned the switch from “cool” to “fan”. And the ironic thing would be, he thought to himself, he probably did it because “it’s too cold.” He never could figure out how the locals managed to function when it stayed this hot and humid.

He groaned, and rolled over. His body was cramped and sore from laying in an awkward position for so long in such a cramped space. Fishing his hand under the inboard rib, he managed to feel and snag the wrench he had just lost. Thankfully, it had caught on a row of fasteners the next stringer back; still within arms reach. Placing it in his tool bag, he ran through a mental list to make sure he had everything before zipping it up, grabbing his flashlight and sliding back on a foam pad laid across the stringers, slippery with his own sweat. He paused as his feet found the opening to the tank, and he awkwardly tried to contort and bend his lower body to get both feet through the toilet-seat-sized hole.

Out of all of the people that worked here, he was by far the tallest. Why then did his supervisor insist that he work in the cramped, confined conditions of the wing fuel tanks? Did he piss the man off? He already knew the answer. He didn’t have a big beer belly keeping him from squeezing past the hole, unlike most of his colleagues.

Finally managing to get both legs through the access hole, he slid down to his waist before fishing around with his legs for the mobile work platform that spanned the eight foot drop to the ground. Maybe he should live off pizza and beef for a few months and get a different work area. Or just look for a different job. One not in the south in the middle of July. -Where the HELL was that damn stand? Had someone moved it away from the airplane on him again?

Cursing, Carl pulled out his phone and checked the time. He wasn’t supposed to have his cellphone inside the fuel tank. Something about lithium batteries and fuel vapors being unsafe, but he was quickly learning that the rules around here were more like guidelines anyway. -Hence his missing stand.
The screen lit up, and he cursed again. A minute ‘till break. Those bastards had probably bailed early and left his ass. Well, he wasn’t about to spend break in the tank, especially when he could feel a refreshing breeze against his legs. He’d have to come back later for his tools but he could just back out as far as he could and then drop. It wasn’t that far down, was it?

He backed to his shoulders, said a silent prayer, and let go.


He felt like he had just fallen in to a half frozen bog. He was soaked, even more than before, instantly.

And holy shit that water was cold.

Above him he caught a glimmer of something bright before it vanished, leaving nothing but angry clouds and a frigid heavy drizzle.

Funny, there should be an airplane there. He thought. He had caught his fall with his hands behind him, and they could feel mud and what could be plant stems. Not for long though. The cold was quickly making them go numb. His boots were in more muck, and his ass was, well, swamped. Cat tails and reeds surrounded him, blocking his vision around him.

Carefully he climbed to his feet. A gust of cold air made him stumble and almost took his breath away, but he caught himself and looked around. The airplane, the hangar, hell, the whole damn airport was gone. Out of sight. Vanished. Was he hallucinating? Did he actually have heat stroke? Was this swamp really just someone dousing him with the water cooler? He scratched his chin for a moment, bewildered.

Where the FUCK did the damn airplane go? Did he have amnesia? What the hell happened between crawling out of the tank and here? Just then another frigid gust of wind came, nearly bowling him over again. It was a brink reminder that he had bigger priorities than worrying about why the airport was gone. Right now he needed to get the heck out of this marsh, and find some shelter and hopefully some dry clothes or heat soon, or things were about to get a whole lot worse. He could worry about the hanger and the airplane later.

He scanned the area again. Marsh seemed to stretch out in all directions as far as he could see in the haze, spotted by patches of leafless trees. In one direction there seemed to be a horizontal line, running almost parallel to the horizon through the marsh. Almost, but not quite. And judging by how straight it appeared to run, he was willing to bet that was man made, be it a road, ATV trail or otherwise. Seeing as that was the only distinguishing feature he could make out, it was his best bet to find civilization. Even if it was only a seasonal snowmobile trail, the trail would eventually cross a road, and roads eventually lead to people.

He shivered and took his first step towards the road. His foot squelched in his soaked boots, and another icy blast buffeted him. God this was going to be a long walk.


There were voices. They sounded distant, garbled. His throat hurt like hell. His limbs felt like they were packed with ice; numb with cold, they felt too heavy to move. He felt like he was laying on his back… maybe. He couldn’t tell. Maybe he was upside down. His legs were spayed out. His arms were above his head.

But there was warmth in his belly. Oh glorious heat! He thought he would never feel such a wonderful thing again! And it continued to get warmer, and as the heat built, so did a subtle pressure in his gut, which brought to his attention something else entirely: Something was shoved in his ass.

He opened his eyes, and was met with brilliant light and blurry outlines. There was one blur in particular that moved, right above him, that was beginning to look a little like a gigantic black and white horse head.

Oh God, He thought, please don’t let it be horse aliens.

There was a deep, male voice that spoke, sounding like it was coming from the horse blur.

“Ho!” The blur exclaimed, “He’s coming around.”

“Alright,” another deep, yet feminine voice answered, “that’s good. I’ll find the sedative before he starts to freak out.”

Carl blinked his eyes a few times, trying to clear the blur. He was moderately successful. The horse head above him became a little clearer, and he could tell that yes, indeed, it was horse… in a green jacket. The neck looked different than normal, like the head was supposed to sit perpendicular like a human head instead of inline like a horse’s head should normally sit. Yet the neck was still very equine in shape, albeit much shorter, sloping gracefully into to collar of the horses jacket.

He groaned. Or he tried to. All he accomplished was breathing out a little hard. Now he knew he was hallucinating. He tried to move his arms so he could sit up, but was met immediately with pressure on his wrists. Something was holding them solid. Maybe it was aliens. That would explain his ass.

“No-no,” the horse said in a soothing voice. It was as if it were speaking to an injured animal. “Don’t move. Everything is ok. We’re helping you. You are going to be alright.”

Another horse appeared at his side. This one looked big, but still smaller than the first (which was so big it could have been a draft horse). This one had tan and white markings, and had a look of sympathy in its eyes.

“Poor guy,” it said in the feminine voice from before, holding up a syringe and what looked like an IV tube. Carl made to try and sit up again, to stop it, to find out what was going on befo-


There was a mouthguard in his mouth. It didn’t seem to interfere with his breathing, but he hated the feeling none the less. It reminded him too much of Pugil stick training in basic. He had been partnered with a mountain of a samoan recruit. They had been going at it a couple times and Carl had managed to hold his own, when the other recruit made a charge. Carl had foolishly tried to meet him head on, but instead felt like he had been hit by a truck. A pugil slammed into him several times on the ground before he had even realized what had happened.

He made to spit the damn thing in his mouth out, but his jaws were clenching on it, and he couldn’t let go. He became aware of something wrapped around the outside of his mouth too, and under his chin, holding his mouth closed. He slowly became aware of straps, too, encircling and running around the back of his head, forward of his ears, and over his crown. They held his jaw shut firmly, but not unbearably tightly. What the fuck happened now?

“He’s waking up.” Said a man’s voice, a man he should know from somewhere…

He opened his eyes. He was laying on his side this time, in a cage just slightly longer than he was and about five feet high. Judging from the view the cage was about five or six feet off the ground. A stainless steel table stood in the center of the room outside. The door was split half way down the length of the cage, with the section in front of his face about two thirds the way open, and smack in the opening was the female horse, lady, whatever-the-fuck-it-was in the white lab coat.

A tan and white hand grasp another syringe with fingers that ended in large, thick, heavy-duty black nails. In her other hand she held an IV line that his eyes traced back in his general direction. The image of the same horse pushing the plunger in before he lost consciousness the last time flashed in his head. He made to say “NO!” but his throat burned like fire and no noise came out, and before he could move she had already connected, pushed the plunger in, and disconnected. The adrenalin had just started to pour into his system when suddenly he wasn’t concerned about it. It was what it was, and he would just have to deal with things as they came. No sense worrying about it. A few seconds later she reached down and he felt her pull the IV out of his neck.

“What was that? I thought he didn’t need any more sedation.” asked the male voice.

“Oh,” replied the female horse-lady as she slid the cage door closed with a clank, “just an anti-anxiety. Poor fella’s had a rough time. I don’t doubt that he’s terrified and this should help him take stock of things without a lot of thrashing and fighting.”

He was caged, and something strapped to his head, and was drugged, and yet he somehow didn’t care. He knew he should, and he knew nothing in this situation seemed right, but whatever. They had said they were trying to help. Aside from holding him down, strapping something around his mouth and head, caging him, and drugging him multiple times, they hadn’t done anything exactly bad to him, right? He remembered something up his butt, but he remembered the warmth and the cold and rain before that. If his memory served him right, the way to warm someone with severe hypothermia was to heat the core first with, among other things, a warm water enema. He felt he could forgive that. He was alive, probably thanks to these horse people, if that’s what they really were.

“Gerald, are you sure you want to keep him?” the horse lady said, watching him intently through the bars. He tried to grunt a reply, but again, his throat flared with pain and didn’t make a sound. He tried to whisper, but he could tell nothing made it past the muzzle.

“Do you think he has an owner, Francine?” Replied the male horse. “You said he wasn’t tagged or marked and wore no ID.”

He wished this hallucination would end already. So far to his dismay it wasn’t giving any signs of stopping.

“No.” Said the female horse. “And that’s just it. I don’t think he’s lost. I think he’s never seen a pferman before.”

Carl was only half paying attention to their conversation. His eyes watched Francine back, still in partial disbelief as to what he was looking at. He had to figure out what the fuck was going on, and then get the hell out of here. He could use the anti-anxiety drugs to his advantage for this. Calm thinking is clearer than panicked thinking.

“Seriously?” Gerald’s form came into view beside the horse lady. He didn’t just have a huge head, the entire creature was just plain massive. Carl guess he must have weighed at least a ton.

“Holy shit” thought Carl, “That guy is literally at least ten times my size!” He tried to recomposed himself. The shire of a man, for Gerald really did meet the description of an anthropomorphized draft horse, had so far been calm. Not a threat. Yet. Carl needed to not get distracted.

“Just look at the way he’s watching us. He’s not scared, probably thanks to the drugs, but he’s not relaxed like normal humes do when I give it. Gerald, something’s not right with this one. He’s different.”

Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. He repeated the words of his marksmanship instructor several times in his head. He needed to act calmly. Deliberately. Think things through first. Clearly they thought he was something else. Something other than human. Damn, if he could only talk with these people.

“Your saying he’s screwed up in the head from being lost so long?”

Alright. First things first. He knew he was in a medical center of some sort. The last thing he remembered before waking up here was the joy he had felt in finding the road in the marsh. The rush had given him a small burst of energy, and he had made it a few yards down the road -long enough to wonder why they made the lanes so wide on a two lane road with no shoulder- when exhaustion overcame him. He remembered falling to his knees, feeling so tired. The cold didn’t seem to bother him anymore. He had stopped shivering long before reaching the road. As he hunched over he had only meant to rest a moment, to get his strength back. The rain had subsided (but the damn wind had not), so he had laid on his side for a minute, just wishing he had a small spark to move his lead weighted body forward again. To pick it up off the ground again. God standing seemed so impossible. He just wanted to sleep…

That’s when the warmth had suddenly kicked in, and he had been so… drowsy. And then nothing.

“No.” Replied Francine. “Even stray humes know what we look like from their youth, but he’s just bewildered by us. It’s like he’s feral, but yet he’s very calm, like he’s calculating. Watch his eyes, you can almost see the wheels turning at a hundred miles an hour. And his facial expressions. They’re so, well, pferman. I’ve never seen a hume this expressive.”

A draft fluttered over his body, making him aware that most of his skin was open to the air. He glanced down, and sure enough he was stark naked with the exception of his hands. Speaking of which, what was on his hands?

He held one up to better look at it, but it only moved a couple of inches from his waist before it stopped. He could feel the belt snug and unforgiving around his waist, barely hidden by his slight stomach. His hand was covered by something large and egg-shaped. It appeared to be made out of heavy rubber, and tapered down to a heavy, rubber-ish looking cuff that was snugly fastened around his wrist. A “D” ring on the front was linked to something out of sight in his position- probably the belt it tugged on. The cuff was held closed by a hasp on the back of his wrist. It looked like a rather indistinctive low box that had what looked suspiciously like a ring for a circular key cut in the top side. Inside the rubber egg, his hand felt like it were in a rigid glove, held in a position like he were holding a sandwich. He could flex his finger a little with some effort, but they were quickly pushed back in position when he stopped. A gentle test of his other hand reviled the same thing,

The drugs couldn’t suppress the alarms that rang in his head at this discovery, but he did his best to appear calm. Cage was one thing -he was an unknown to these… people? They did wear clothes after all. And the muzzle strapped to his face might have been for a broken jaw, perhaps. But with the discovery of his hands he realized he was restrained. In his mind, the head harness had become a gag, the cage a cell, and the strange creatures outside became much less innocent.

“Oh!” Exclaimed Francine. “You see? He’s never been in mitts before. Domestic born humes are introduced to them soon after they’re weened so they can be safely handled when they grow older. A bit like working with a calf. He doesn’t know what to do, but you can tell he’s not happy. Gerald, are you really ready handle a wild hume as your first one? I know you’re interested in this one because you found him, but he might turn out to be really aggressive, and you might be able to work through that with enough training, but some you can’t. A feral hume can be really dangerous. I mean, that whole getup he’s in isn’t for show. I can help you find one through a reputable breeder and I’ll make sure this one finds his way into a rescue where they are experienced at working through any issues he might have.”

While he listened to the horse lady babble on in her nonsense about humans, as if they were a dog or cat, Carl slowly shifted his feet to see if they were free. He moved his left leg forward until it his the bars of the cage. No resistance. Good. He kept his eyes fixed on the two horse people, ogling them both in hopes they wouldn’t notice his further attempts to learn his condition. He drug his left foot slowly up his right, past his ankle to about half way up his calf. There was nothing around his ankles. More good.

Gerald was thinking about Francine’s offer.

“No,” he said after a few moments. “I mean, I think your right. He’s probably going to be a handful and a half, but I feel like I stumbled on him for a reason. Like he’s got something for me. Besides,” he grinned, showing a mouthful of square teeth, “I already registered him, bought his collar and had his tags attached. You know they don’t accept returns for anything like that.”

Carl slowly rotated his body so his head moved away from the cage door. He was surprised when his back hit the rear wall and instead of cold steel he felt the nip of warm metal. The cage its self was heated. That was why he wasn’t cold.

“Look, I’ll buy the collar off you and transfer the registration. I’d need one anyway before I can send him to a rescue.”

Neither of them seemed to notice his movement, of if they did they didn’t care, so he slowly brought his knees up towards his chin. The latch was visible through the bars in the center of the doors. If he stuck his toes through the bars he might be able to catch something with one and open it.

“Thank you, but I want to at least give him a shot. If he’s not working out in six weeks I’ll give him to you and you can send him to the rescue, but I at least want to try him.”

Carl wasn’t sure why they were referring to him like he was a pet, but if it was anything like the dogs back home, being “aggressive” usually spelt euthanasia somewhere down the road. He needed to get the fuck out of here now. Before they decided to-

“Alright. Should I neuter him then? It might make him easier to handle.”

Yeah. That.

“Hmm. Nah. I’ll order a device online to keep him from making any unwanted little humes. We can see in six weeks if he still needs to get snipped. Who knows? He might turn out to be a fantastic little guy. He might give some great healthy young ones.”

I have no clue who you are dude, but if it comes down to you or her I and my testicles really want to go with you.

He looked back at the latch. He needed a plan. Getting the fuck out of dodge was a priority. If he wasn’t successful, and with his hands stuck in those damn eggs it wasn’t looking good for the home team, it might save his nuts or even his life if he wasn’t aggressive. His original plan was to flick the latch and slide the door open fast, kick the closest pferman in the face as hard as he could with both feet, scoot off the edge and hop to the ground, then run to the closest door and bail, worrying about finding something to cut the mitts off later. There was bound to be some sharp scrap metal in the woods somewhere. Broken glass. Something. But now he had to weigh things. If he hurt someone and then the other pferman nabbed him could sink his ship. They would either label him aggressive and ship him off to “retraining” or death, or lop his nuts off, or both.

Still, the surprise of popping out of the cage like that and the distraction of injuring one of his captors was essential to any escape on his own from the cage. His odds weren’t good to start. If he half-assed an escape they would be close to zero. He needed to give and escape all or nothing.

“Alright,” Francine said. “Let me get what I need to chip him and mark him.”

With that she stepped to the side of the cage and he could hear her rummaging through cabinets. He felt his heart quicken its pace. They were going to implant an RFID chip in him to identify him. He needed to act soon. The big pferman, Gerald, seemed to be a little naive. With no immediate danger of loosing his testicles, Carl might be able to pass himself off as docile, dumb, and harmless. Which might mean that some of his restraints would eventually be removed, and Gerald’s guard would be dropped enough for him to slip away. Or Gerald was like those people that keep their dog chained in the back yard all the time, and he’d have to contend with the restraints, doorknobs at forehead level (an impossibility for him with is hands held at his waist), teathering, and fencing, possibly for the rest of his life.

“Ok, I got everything.” Francine said, setting a number of items down on a tray next to the exam table.

They were about to fucking microchip him. His mind raced. He needed a decision now, to give it his all and either escape or go down in a blaze of glory, or roll over and be a good boy in hopes of a better opportunity. Putting it like that was all he needed.
Better to die on your feet than live on your knees. It’s now or never. He swung a foot up and stuck his toes as far as they could through the gap closest to the latch. They could feel the edge of the latch, and that was it. A smooth corner, top to bottom. Damn

“He is smart,” said Gerald, “He knows where the door lock is already.”

I showed intelligence, double damn. He cursed his mistake.

“I told you he’s going to be a handful.”

She walked back over to the cage and produced a key.

They’re not dumb. He noted, remembering the key holes in his mitts. Apparently the rest of his kind they kept could undo a buckle too. Escape here was looking slimmer and slimmer. He swung his feet around and scrunched against the wall. He would have to launch himself out when they opened the door and hopefully catch them off guard.

“Alright.” She said, “He’s going to try and make a break for it when I open this, so why don’t you get his collar and snap it on him before we take him out.”

Gerald bent over and when he stood up again he held a shiny black strap about an inch and a half wide in both hands. In one hand Carl could see a small tongue, like a mini version of that on a seatbelt, and in the other was a small flat box like the locks on his wrists. He could see part of a D ring centered on the far side of the collar. Several tags dangled from it, the D running through a hole punched through them. The mechanic in Carl wondered for a split second how they got on there without the D having an opening, and then he realized that that particular collar was meant to go around his neck, and he wouldn’t be able to remove it once it got there. And then they were going to microchip him. He coiled himself back further, his legs as tense as springs. Gerald took a step forward and literally filled the entire half of the cage Francine was about to open. Shit. Carl decide he would have to aim for one of the corners, hopefully slip past waiting hands (and that damn collar), spill down onto the floor, and either let the impact break his neck or scramble for the door.

“Ready?” asked Francine.
Carl took a deep breath.
“Yup.” Nodded Gerald.

Francine slide the door open as Gerald reached for Carl’s neck. Carl exploded off the back wall suddenly veered hard right, but Gerald corrected surprisingly fast. He not only caught Carl’s neck perfectly, the collar clicking into place snugly around his throat, but he manage to scoop Carl into his massive burly arms, wrapping him up all in one fluid movement.

Carl was in shock. The massive pferman calmly tucked the human under his one arm and Carl felt a massive hand slip under and grip him by his collar. He struggled for a moment, but it was like trying to resist a locomotive -while the pferdman wasn’t crushing him, his arms might as well be made out of concrete. Carl was still trying to compose himself as to what had happened when he felt a sharp pinch between his shoulder blades, just below his neck. Then it was gone, and his heart sank to his toes.

He was chipped.

He was owned.

He went limp in Gerald’s arms. The fire that had been in his belly had been reduced to a pitiful ember. He barely felt the little pricks on the back of his neck below his collar -the tattoo of an identification number no doubt- he was marked for life; if not with a chip and a tattoo, then the scars where he had them removed.

“There you go,” Gerald said, trying to sound soothing. “Such a good boy!”

“Done.” Said Francine, throwing a handful of things in a sharps bin.

“Hear that Thor? You’re done! Now we get to go to your new home!”

You named me THOR?! I… I don’t know if I love it or if I want to kill you.

Something was clipped to his collar, and Carl was gently lowered to his feet. A heavy leather leash ran from Gerald’s massive hand, looped to the floor, then came back up and vanished under Carl’s chin. Gerald stuck his left hand through the loop and quickly took up most of the slack. Carl felt a gigantic hand rest on his head, playing with his hair and gently scratching him behind his ears.

“Alright. Let’s go pay the nice vet lady and then we can go.”

The room was cool. The concrete tile floor under his bare feet made him wish he had his boots, or at least his clothes. There was a tug on his collar, and the hand dropped to his shoulder, guiding him forward. Carl’s eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for his clothes in a pile somewhere. He didn’t see them as he was lead out of the exam room and into what he recognized as a waiting room in a doctor’s office. Or in this case, a veterinarian’s practice. The furniture looked was way out of proportion for his size though. It might have fit someone like Francine -whom Carl was estimating to be about the size of a quarter horse on its hind legs, or Gerald even, but no adult human could sit in anything there without looking like they were a five year old.

Gerald came to a stop at a counter that was about a foot and a half taller than Carl. He stared at the strange looking shoes -more like really wide human hiking boots- on Gerald’s feet. If he didn’t wake up soon, he was about to be taken outside. His feet weren’t going to like that. God he hoped that parking lot wasn’t gravel.

“Well Mr. Schmitt, an overnight observation, vaccinations, fluids, medications, treatment for severe hypothermia, chipping, and tattoo. I’ll sell you the muzzle-mitt kit too. You need to keep that on him for at least a week, probably more like two. He’ll come out of his shell by then and you’ll know if you can trust him not to pull any monkey business with those mischievous fingers or teeth. I’m serious Gerald. Expect him to play wonderful and sweet and harmless over the next couple of days and try to get you to let him out, but don’t fall for it. Day after tomorrow you can probably unclip his arms from his belt, and let him stretch, but thats it. Nothing more. His muzzle will let you bottle feed him the liquid food, which would be good training too. Forcing him to accept that you control everything in his life will help him adapt to be domesticated and bring out that submissive behavior in him that both of you will like. In total, it will run you-“

He heard her slide a piece of paper across the counter and sighed. The next week wasn’t going to be pleasant. Still, if he knew the game he could play it and remain strong.

“Mmm,” murmured Gerald as he looked at the paper. “Let’s try to not repeat this Thor. Taking care of you will be a lot cheaper than picking you up off the road again.”

Gerald fished around in a cargo pocket in the tan pants he was wearing. Carl stared at a painting high up on the wall while his mast- NO, he refused to call him that. His owner. Nope. Still uncomfortable.

His captor? Still, no. From what he had gathered, the guy had scraped him off the road and taken him here. Now he was paying for his medical expenses. Was Carl, Thor to Gerald, free to leave or do as he please? No. He was against his will and completely dependent on Gerald, but the man was accepting responsibility for his well being. He had to give credit where it was do. Owner it would have to be.

-Until he figured out how to escape, or could communicate with Gerald that is. From the way they spoke in the back it made Carl think they assumed he couldn’t understand them. Surely once he showed the pferman that he was sentient and intelligent just like him he would let him go. Right?
He hoped it would be so. He had to. If everything else was as well planned as his current outfit he might have to depend on Gerald letting him go rather than escaping.

“Thank you,” Said Francine. “And if he does turn out to be truly feral, please please please call me right away. You’ve got a big heart Gerald. It gets you in trouble.”

Gerald smiled. “I will. Thank you. I’m sorry to have interrupted your weekend like this.”

“Pfft. That’s just part of the job. Take care.”


There was another tug at his collar. Gerald had turned and started walking towards the other end of the waiting room, with Carl plodding after him. As they approached the door he looked through the glass. To his delight, the parking lot was paved.

But it was also raining.

Carl slammed on the brakes in the open door. The abrupt jerk on the leash nearly knocked him over, but thankfully Gerald stopped and turned when he felt the tug. Carl tried his best to move his restrained hands to cover his crotch, hoping his owner would understand the indication that he needed some clothes; not just to keep him warm in round two of this frigid rain, but to cover his nakedness. He had been able to get over things in the vets office. Outside was a different matter.

“Aww, I guess it is a little cold for you,” said Gerald. He scooped Carl up in him arms. Carl was humiliated, but there was nothing he could do. Gerald smiled and continued his one sided conversation. “You need some fur! We’ll have to get you something to keep you warm after you get settled in this week”.

Normally he might have not cared, but now that things were out of his control being naked bothered him. Especially in custody of another male. And he would be naked and bound under him for at least a week, something that was definitely deep in the “uncomfortable” zone. Thank god he was still on whatever Francine had given him. He hoped it lasted until he could get some clothes, or at least a pair of underwear.

The cold wind was at it again. Carl shivered and tried to press himself against the pferman’s body for heat. His body plain hurt from the cold, probably a lingering effect of the hypothermia, or maybe the drugs, but either way Carl just wanted to be warm and he didn’t care how. Gender be damned, a warm body was a warm body.

Gerald carried him effortlessly across the small parking lot to a blue draft-horse sized pickup truck. Carl would have guessed it was a late eighties-early nineties, horse sized version of a three quarter ton ford or chevy. It looked like neither and yet both all at the same time, with lights that ran along the waterline front to back. Gerald slung his new pet up onto his shoulder as he opened the driver’s side. From his new position Carl glanced into the bed of the vehicle that was littered with tools and parts before he was brought back down and thrust inside the cab and onto the bench seat. Gerald scooted him back a little bit before he climbed in and sat down. Carl shivered on the cold cloth, and he only waited for Gerald to fasten his seatbelt before he wiggled next to the pferman, smashing his torso against the man’s massive thigh in an attempt to siphon some heat out of it.

“Aww,” said Gerald. He gave Thor a quick pat before he reached behind the seat and produced a slightly tattered looking blanket. He shook a couple of leaves off it before he opened it half way and draped it over his pet, tucking it in around him.

“There you go.”

If Carl had use of his arms, he would hugged him. Instead he gave the leg a pat with his head and closed his eyes.

There was a buzzer, then the chugging of a starter, and then the familiar sound of a heavy diesel snarl to life. It idled for a few minutes. He could hear Gerald fiddling with the heat, then the radio. Then he played on his phone. Eventually Carl opened his eyes again and finally took stock of the truck.
It looked exactly like how one would expect it from the outside. Worn but maintained. Old but functional. The cloth on the seat was actually a cover. It felt like it was covering more cloth, which was nice. It was a standard, with a shifter about as tall as Carl’s waist coming up out of the floor. There was very little clutter, the only trash was what looked like an old chip bag. It was about the size of a standard big grocery store chip sack, but to Gerald it was probably the snack size. The floor looked like someone had ridden in it dirty work boots.

And on the floor on the passenger side were Carl’s clothes. Soaking wet in a pile, yet there they were. A small victory in Carl’s mind. He was hopeless to do anything with them with his hands bound, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to trade a dry blanket and Gerald’s warm leg for soaked cotton clothes, but they still existed. And unless Gerald threw them out they would continue to exist. Maybe Gerald would dry them out and let him wear them to save a few bucks. Carl wouldn’t argue with that.

The engine must have finally warmed up, because Gerald put his phone back in his pocket and shifted the truck into gear. Carl felt them back up, then drive towards the road, pause, then pull into traffic. Once they had accelerated Gerald took his hand off the shifter and set it back on Carl. Absent mindedly petting him through the blanket. A few minutes went by, then:

“You see that I saved your clothes? I didn’t tell Francine about those. You were wearing some weird ones. I found a tiny phone in your pocket too. It wouldn’t turn on, but everything was soaked, so I wouldn’t expect it. And besides, I have never seen a hume wearing clothes like a person. Simple stuff we’ve made to keep you guys warm in colder weather, yes, but not like that.” He chuckled, “And carrying a phone too! What’s next? Will I find out you have a car parked out in that marsh somewhere? Have a job you need to get back to?”

Carl shot Gerald a dirty look, but he wasn’t paying attention.

“No,” continued Gerald, suddenly serious, “you have more mystery than you let on. I suppose I’ll never know it, but you aren’t your average monkey, are you? Your previous owner was either quite eccentric, or your yourself are something very special. ”

He smiled down at his pet and began running his fingers through his hair.
Inches away, Carl grinned evily behind his muzzle.

Oh Gerald. If only you knew what I have in store for you.

Miles wore on. It seemed like Gerald either lived in the middle of nowhere, or had picked the furthest vet he could. Eventually, fatigue caught up with Carl, and he drifted of to sleep under Gerald's petting.




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