Field agent

by BRK

Special agents Adkins and Barber interview a rancher in relation to their current case. There’s something odd about the handsome Latino, though—starting with the fact that he won’t get down off his horse.

Added: 18 Apr 2020 2,690 words 2,495 views 5.0 stars (8 votes) This story was commissioned via Patreon.

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“Damn it, Adkins, you’re driving too fast again. How can we expect people to respect authority when we don’t set an example and follow the laws ourselves?”

Special Agent Andrew Adkins glanced at the speedometer, then cast a sidelong look at his golden god of a partner, Special Agent Jake Barber. He might look like Apollo, he thought, all blond and broad-shouldered with heart-stopping blue eyes, but when he opened his mouth he sounded more like Apollo’s accountant. Adkins hadn’t seen that dick-hardening smile of his more than a couple times in the six months they’d been partnered. Maybe just as well. “It’s 45 through here,” he said, his unflappable Tennessee drawl coming out a bit. “I’m 7 over.” He’d have added that they were in an unmarked car and no one would know they were FBI, but he didn’t bother. People always knew.

“Just sayin’.”

Adkins shook his head. “You need to loosen up, pardner.” Not to mention paying attention to the things that matter, he added mentally—like how much I’d like to bone you, if that stick in your ass weren’t in the way. Adkins was proud to be an FBI agent, but sometimes Barber took it a little too seriously.

They pulled up at the gates to the massive wrought-iron gates of the Zamora Ranch, the property that abutted this part of the Nebraska border. There was a video callbox, so Adkins rolled down the window, ignoring the rush of heat rushing in to do battle with the Ford sedan’s anemic a/c, and pressed the button, pulling his ID with his other hand. After a moment an image appeared on the screen of a handsome, dusky Latino with clear brown eyes, short-cropped dark hair, a carefully trimmed beard and mustache, and, somewhat surprisingly, no shirt, though he was wearing a dark-chocolate cowboy hat that really set off those eyes. Adkins almost whistled—this guy would give Barber a run for his money in the hotness sweepstakes, and Adkins didn’t see that too often. Or maybe they’d win together, their night and day features complementing each other perfectly. There was pure blue sky behind him and the image moved and shifted, suggesting the shirtless rancher was on the move. Adkins guessed he was answering the gate alert using an app on his phone.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Adkins said, holding up his ID for the camera. “Special Agents Adkins and Barber. May we have a moment of your time?”

The rancher cocked his head slightly, though he seemed to keep moving if the motion of the image was any indication. “What about?” he asked.

Adkins quickly pegged his reaction as curious rather than guilty. “Reports of repeated vandalism over to the XR Ranch across the state line,” Adkins said. “Witnesses last time had the suspect as a man on a horse headed this way, so we’re checking all the ranches and estates in the area.”

The rancher’s lips quirked. “A man on a horse, huh?” he repeated, seemingly amused for reasons Adkins couldn’t guess at. “All right, come on up. Drive toward the house and I’ll meet you.” He pressed something on his phone, and the call-box chimed pleasingly as the gates started to open.

Adkins pulled onto the paved private road that shot straight through open, grassy fields to an unassuming white house some ways distant. They were only halfway to it, however, before the shirtless rancher came riding up on an impressive-looking chestnut stallion near a gate in the wooden fence. He was indeed shirtless and showing off a very well defined and slightly hairy chest and abs, though what drew the attention most were the strong shoulders and powerful-looking arms. Down below he was wearing nondescript jeans and boots, and though his legs were nice enough Adkins’s eyes were pulled back up to the man’s arms and shoulders, and his brilliant, asymmetrical smile.

Adkins pulled over and turned off the car, and they both got out and walked over to the gate, not bothering with their suit jackets in the heat. Adkins sized the man up as they approached. He did roughly match the witness description of a dark-haired man, mid-thirties, white or Hispanic, though no beard had been mentioned. But as they passed through the gate into the field, closing it behind them, Adkins had a weird sense that whatever the man was hiding—and he was hiding something—it wasn’t four or five nights over the last two weeks spent busting up the pipes and generators at the XR. The rider, for his part, had fixed his heated gaze on Barber. That, at least, was practically routine.

If anything, Adkins’s curiosity was more pricked by the horse. Adkins had grown up helping run the family stables and knew his horses, but the chestnut was behaving oddly in a way he couldn’t figure at first. Then he realized: the horse was always looking exactly where its rider was looking, but it wasn’t doing anything else—no shifting, no tossing, no personality. It was as if it were a mere extension of the handsome man watching them from his back. Darned peculiar.

“Could you come down off the horse, sir?” Barber asked curtly. Adkins could tell he’d also noticed the partial description match and was eyeing him favorably for a pair of cuffs.

“No thanks, Agents, I’m good,” he said happily, looking over Barber with transparent lust. He moved closer and extended a hand downward toward them. “Rick Zamora.”

Adkins shook first, meeting the rancher’s eye as he bent to shake, and Zamora smiled wider, as if he was pleased by the idea of Adkins trying to suss him out. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Zamora,” Adkins said.

“No trouble,” the rider said.

Barber shook briefly. Peeved at having to carry on a conversation in the still-bright late afternoon squinting up at his interviewee, he brusquely began running down the dates and circumstances of the vandalisms. Zamora watched the golden hunk of an agent with rapt attention, a subtle blush staining his cheeks as his eyes drifted to the bulging shoulders, heavy pectorals, and thick biceps filling out Barber’s open collar white dress shirt.

Zamora nodded and told them that he hand his hands were leading a starlight horse-ride for the county commissioner’s college-age sons on one of the nights in question, which, if verified, effectively ruled him and his employees out as suspects. Adkins barely listened. He was more intrigued by how Zamora seemed unable to hold back his growing need for Barber. Adkins had often encountered something similar in interviewees before—heck, he’d had a permanent hard-on the first two weeks of their partnership, and periodically surprised himself with a big, hard Barber-boner whenever his partner was being friendly and cooperative.

But the intensity of the rancher’s lust was like nothing Adkins had ever seen. It was like he was just made that way, libido on 11 and climbing exponentially up from there. Constitutionally Zamora had so much ardor in him—or maybe so much potential jizz—that when he saw an exceptionally hot guy like Barber, containing it was almost impossible.

When he glanced over at his partner he saw that Barber was feeling it, too. Adkins had never seen Barber turned on or amorous in any way, which had probably done a lot to quell Adkins’s unrequited attraction to him. But Barber was looking red in the cheeks, too, and slightly flustered—and there was a big, hard bulge Adkins had never met before in Barber’s dark, soft-pleated trousers.

Adkins turned and gaped up at the handsome, wide-shouldered Latino. Was Zamora so saturated with heated, fathomless arousal that it was spilling off him, irradiating them with almost palpable lust? Adkins checked himself and realized he was hard too, though he’d barely noticed, caught up as he was in Zamora’s epic craving and Barber’s unprecedented responsiveness.

As he looked over the scene, though, Adkins realized there was an aspect of this situation that was even more bizarre than the rest. The strangest thing about the rancher’s indisputably growing attraction was that the chestnut was also manifesting a powerful arousal a concert with his rider’s. From where he was standing Adkins was able to watch in astonishment as the stallion’s cock was unsheathing and slowly hardening even as Zamora drank in his perfectly beautiful partner. Even stranger, it wasn’t a horse cock, except in the literal sense: the massive erection extending further and further along the horse’s belly was a dark, dusky human dick that matched Zamora more than the horse, though it was more the size of the rancher’s leg than anything Adkins had ever seen on a man.

As his eyes shot back up to the clear brown, brim-shadowed ones of the man they’d come to see, an inescapable, impossible conclusion snapped into place in his head. “No way,” he gasped.

Zamora glanced at him and tossed him a knowing grin, then addressed Barber, whom Adkins could tell was still simultaneously suspicious and incredibly aroused, though he seemed to be losing focus. A few spots of sweat had appeared on his forehead. “There’s a culvert leading to the state line on the far side of the property,” the rancher said, his voice a little huskier than before. He shifted a little si that he and the horse were more or less facing Barber. “I’ve caught miscreants sneaking through there before. We should check it out. You’ll, uh, need a horse, though,” he added, eyeing Barber as if considering what kind of mount would be best for him.

Barber was getting distracted by his own inexplicably welling passion. “What?” he said, his gaze fixed on Zamora’s.

“We need to ride together,” Zamora said, leaning forward slightly. “Would you like me to give you a horse?”

“Yes,” Barber said dazedly. Riding together clearly sounded very good to him. Then, shaking his head slightly, he added, “Yes, that sounds like a good plan.”

“Mr. Zamora—” Adkins started to say, but the rancher cut him off.

“Agent Adkins,” Zamora said amiably, “could you do me a favor and stroke along my flanks a bit? Just the flanks, that will be enough.”

Adkins glanced down at the cock underneath the horse. It was all the way hard now and so huge it was almost poking out between the front legs of the chestnut. It was also aimed directly at Barber. His own brain was swimming with lust. He stepped closer. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Zamora raised a brow at him. “I’m giving him a horse,” he said. Bending down a little, he added, “I guarantee it will make him more fun to be around.” He winked.

Adkins looked at his golden god of a partner. He’d often thought Barber needed more sex to unbend his occasional officiousness a bit, and making him more like Zamora meant the increased sex part was more or less guaranteed. But as Barber filled his vision, all Adkins’s arousal-muddled brain could think was how much hotter Barber would be if he were more of a man—no, more than a man.

And then, all at once, he was no more able to contain his desire than Zamora. He felt it flooding out of him, mixing with the heady arousal Zamora was churning out and with Barber’s own burgeoning need. No longer questioning, Adkins reached up and began stroking the chestnut’s mighty flanks.

Barber was looking between them, a small furrow of confusion between his brows. “What… what’s going on?”

“Your horse is coming,” Zamora said. He sounded a little breathless now. Adkins stroked along the horse’s flank firmly, wondering if he should get down under and take more direct manual action. But when Zamora repeated, “Your horse is coming,” he could tell three was no need. Zamora was about to blow.

Barber’s eyes widened. “Are you—what—?” he stammered.

“Yes! Yes, it’s coming,” Zamora said, and then suddenly Adkins was looking not at a man on a chestnut stallon, but a huge, magnificent Zamora-centaura. A man… on a horse. And what a man. He was bigger than before in both his human and his equine parts, with muscles like small boulders and horse parts the looks capable of astonishing feats of strength and endurance. He had longer flowing hair and a thicker beard, though his chest and abs were only a little more hairy. Handsome before, he was stunningly, darkly attractive now as he roared his orgasm, letting loose an almost literal flood of hot spunk that doused his golden god partner from head to toe.

Adkins kept a shaking hand on the centaur’s brawny flank—he had cum too, in time with Zamora, though again he’d barely realized it—and stared as all of that hot jizz, enough to fill a horse trough or three, started to disappear, absorbed into Barber’s transforming body, his clothes melting away as though they didn’t belong. Adkins watched in fascinated awe as Barber grew in size, scaled up a full foot taller, even as he developed a second pair of legs behind the first, and another pair of arms to match. Two red, rigid cocks jumped against his cut, hairless ten-pack abs, and two more, even larger shafts were trying to shove between Barber’s powerful front thighs.

Adkins gaped at Barber. Barber gaped back at them, then down at himself. “What the fuck?!” he said quietly, his voice filled with wonder.

Adkins looked up at Zamora. The centaur seemed just as surprised as he was. “Was that supposed to happen?” Adkins asked.

Zamora shook his head, still staring at Barber, who had just discovered he had four hands. “It’s always turned guys in centaurs like me before,” the centaur said, sounding perplexed. Then he shrugged his muscular shoulders slightly. “Perception filter should still work,” he added philosophically. “Everyone not in the know will just see him as a very desirable but normal human, with clothes and everything.”

Adkins looked back at his partner. “Is that so?” he asked. He wondered what had happened differently with Barber. Probably, he’d realized at some level that he couldn’t keep being an FBI guy if he was a man on a horse. He’d accepted the transformation, but through force of will Barber had stayed a man. No, Adkins corrected himself, his dick starting to harden again already—more than a man.

“We should… check out that culvert,” Adkins said absent-mindedly, staring hard at his bronze, beautiful boytaur of a partner.

“The culvert. Right,” Barber said, blinking back up at him as sounding just as stupefied as Adkins. They both looked at Zamora.

With the help of the fence and Zamora’s great strength they were both able to climb up on the giant centaur’s back. Then they set out at a gentle pace toward the other end of the ranch, with Adkins grasping onto Zamora’s sweat-damp torso and a still somewhat dazed Barber holding onto him from behind. Having just seen what Zamora’s cum could do, and with his partner’s two front hard-ons digging implacably into his back as he clung to him with all four of his powerful, sexy arms, Adkins found he couldn’t help wondering just what kind of potency Barber’s spunk might now possess.

Excitement kicked through him as a new thought arose. With Barber’s need to get off so amped up Adkins could feel it soaking into him from behind like waves of convection coming off a fucking kiln, the likelihood he wouldn’t find out just what Barber’s spunk could do to a guy, and very, very soon, was fast approaching zero.

Adkins licked his lips. Partnering with Barber might turn out okay after all.

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