The crowd of ungrateful peasants jeer and howl as you are led through the crowd with your naked body on display for the lascivious leers of the angry crowd of lowborn vermin. Your eyes are wet with tears and your cheeks burn with shame from suffering the utter humiliation of having your royal body stripped bare before the eyes of these uneducated peasants, and it appears that your torment is far from over.
“Royal whore!” An emaciated farmer with a gap tooth shouts, “Highborn slut!” A portly millworker howls so hard that spittle flies from his cracked lips.
“Oi!” A brawny farrier shouts over the jeering crowd with a perverse grin of malicious depravity, “Let’s give the little bitch of a princess to ol’ Brutus!”
The crowd howls with excitement at the thought and you are left confused for a moment wonder who this forebodingly named Brutus might be. Your tearful eyes widen as your silent question is answered and you see that Brutus is not a who, but a what. Brutus whinnies and snorts as he is led towards you by a grizzled old farmhand with a look of sadistic excitement for what is to come plastered on his gnarly face. The filthy draft horse is massive, and its muscles are frightfully well-developed from years of hard labor being yoked to the farmer’s plow. Flies buzz around the Stallion’s backside and its hooves are caked in mud and worse as it makes its lumbering way towards you.
“On yer knees, yer highness!” The muscular farrier sneers as he roughly shoves your naked body to the ground, scraping your knees on the cobblestone street, “Yer gonna treat ol’ Brutus real nice, just like the good little whore you are.” The farrier growls as he makes way for the enormity of the massive draft horse's unwashed bulk.
The stallion looms over you as the grizzled farmer holds his reigns tightly and stares down at you with a perverse leer. You avert your eyes from the farmer’s and gasp as you see what hangs heavily between Brutus’ hind legs,