THE STALLION RIDES
3 - Sloppy Stallion Seconds

by Araddion

2014 R. Keith Peck

 

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Story Code: MMF//vaginal/piss/bestiality

 

"Two mares," Forest reiterates, leaning from the truck cab's window. Diesel fumes fill the air. He really needs to get that looked at. "Antoinette and Ekaterina Magna. I want 'em both pregnant before I get back."

Thumbs-up. "No problem, Mr. Boss Man."

Laughing, he reaches out and tilts my hat back, then pulls my face to his and kisses me. "No beating off, either, Horseboy. We got that sling and I want to use it!"

"You better hurry back, then." I heft the ball-bulge in my jeans. "Got full nuts, Forest, ready to go."

Forest guns the truck, driving through the gate, the trailer rattling over bumps and holes.

A fat, red sun looms near the horizon. The heat never abates. I stink, man. I reek of sweat and horse jism. Buzzing flies follow me as I walk towards the stables. I pull my hat down low again, where it belongs.

Two mares. Christ. More jism has gone into more cunts today than I've ever seen. Today's been one long porn show. Stallions fucking mare. Tails high, balls surging, manes flying. Giant oily cocks, glistening with juice and sperm, plunging like pistons between folded lips dripping wine. If Blacky had been here he'd be seeping sperm through the crotch of his jeans. Damn near that state myself.

From the stallions' stable comes low, rumbling whickering. The jocks are comparing conquests.

The mares' stable -- upwind today, which is why the stallions are so goddamned nuts -- reeks of cunt. They're on heat. All of them. We've got to get them bred. Wombs need seed.

"Come here, girl," I say, standing at the gate of Antoinette's stall. Though I'm not partial to females, I think she's beautiful. Not five years old, she's sleek and streamlined. Forest says she'll win derbies, but I'm not into money. I'm all about equine sex lives. Breeding. Washing stallion cocks. Collecting semen. Dreaming.

Antoinette's coat is roan dappled with white. The pale blond banners of mane and tail stream behind her. She's frisky as I lead her out. Passing her stablemates, she nods and swishes her tail, showing off. Yeah, girls, I'm gonna get fucked! She trembles with hunger. She knows exactly where she's going and what's going to happen and she wants it more than anything in the world. I know how she feels. When my cock's hard or my buttholes hungry I'm all about the smells, the hardness, the muscles. I tether her in a corral and make my way to the stallions' stables.

Heads thrust from their stalls the moment I open the door. They see my silhouette against the pumpkin sunset glow, and whicker in a unison that quivers like a minor earthquake. Then they fall silent. All eyes are upon me. Who will I choose?

Enjoying my power I strut between the stalls. My choice is difficult. You? No, too young. You? Not with that begging, pleading look in your eyes.

I pass the play equipment Forest and I have set up. These boys know exactly what we do here. The stallions see the sling as a station of conception ... maculate, sweaty, and male. I remember last night. Forest and I fucked each other in the sling, our stallions milling around, getting off on the spectacle of mere human fucking. We were exhilarated with terror.

Which stallion? Need one with fresh balls. Problem is -- who's left? These studs have been working hard all damn day, doing what males do best: gushing sperm.

Thor? His dong hangs from his sheath, twitching against his belly, but I sense his weariness. Sultan, though, is eager, his shaft rigid and dripping. That gray stud can -- and has, and will again -- fuck all day. Fucked her, bred her, bring on another one, up and at 'em again, come on, dude, I've got the balls you've got the herd let's make lots of colts! But even his titanic seed sacks must be drained by now. Sure, he could fuck and cum, but will Antoinette conceive?

Shaka Rex? Hmm. Interesting idea. He's not bred today. But the stallion loves to drench Forest and me with his sperm while we play. From his nickering and his bobbing head I sense he's eager. Fine.

"Come on, Shaka."

The big red dong solidifies into a steely shaft as I lead him through the stable. Heads turn. Derisive snorts sound from the stallions in their stalls.

Upon seeing Shaka Rex's fine muscled body, Antoinette kicks her hind legs apart, squats, and gushes piss. Immediately the corral smells like the seashore. Her tail lifts, swishing aside to expose her swollen vulva. Ever see Alien? You remember how the eggs gaped open to disgorge a facehugger? Normally they wink, but not Antoinette with Shaka Rex. She wants that giant red dong.

Shaka Rex stomps his hoofs. His eyes move from her body to bore into mine. I grin, taunting him. He stomps again. His mighty cock throbs against his belly, as long and as thick as an arm. I stand there, holding the reins, teasing him.

"You like what you smell, don't you, stud?"

Once again Shaka Rex stomps. I stare at that behemoth, that dong only a god could sport, and I lick my lips and I recall my dreams. When Shaka Rex's eyes go red I detach the tether and slap his haunch.

"Go to it, stud."

Shaka Rex approaches Antoinette slowly, head held high. Desperation consumes Antoinette. She lowers her haunches. Shaka Rex sniffs her vulva, his lip curling, revealing huge teeth. Her cunt reveals a glistening tube of moist, pink flesh. Shaka Rex trumpets, but he doesn't mount. His nostrils quest over Antoinette's body, never touching her but coming to know her far more intimately than mere sight allows. He nips her sharply several times. She is the mare. He is the stallion. She may guide the herd at other times, but this is the moment of mating, when the stallion predominates.

As Shaka Rex circles round behind her I scramble into position to see everything. This is the porn I like to watch.

Shaka Rex leaps forward, brandishing his cock. He lunges onto Antoinette's back and stabs forward. That first thrust misses, ramming Antoinette's ass right below her cunt. The stallion's cock bends almost double. Both horses regroup. Antoinette lowers her haunches just in time to catch Shaka Rex's thrust. She screams as the stallion sheathes himself. For a brief moment his foam-flecked balls quiver as they rest against her ass. His teeth clamp to her neck. He remains still, savoring the moment, this union.

Then the fucking begins.

I can't help myself. I stroke my hardon through my jeans. Fuck you, Forest! Goddamn, what an abominable thing to do. Forbidding me to jack off on a fucking stud farm! My breathing is shallow. My lips are dry. My sphincter squeezes, relaxes, squeezes.

Shaka Rex is in there for the nut. Hips churn. The stallion rumbles, asserting his power. Antoinette's eyes flutter. Her hooves shift to support their combined weight. The giant meat spearing her causes huge strings of juice to worm out of her cunt. Shaka Rex is uninterested in Antoinette's pleasure. So is Antoinette. She's getting bred. She doesn't want an orgasm. She wants five gallons of horse jism inside her. She knows he's going to fill her with the one substance in the universe she needs right now.

And, roaring like a tornado, Shaka Rex cums.

"Fuck yeah, stud, do it!"

Droplets of precum soak my jeans.

The big red horsecock slithers free of the mare's cunt.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

"Attaboy, Shaka!" I got to admire that stud.

What pours out of Antoinette is what you might expect to see if a truck stuffed full of vanilla ice cream broke down and all that creamy goodness melted. Hell, Antoinette farts more cum from her cunt when Shaka Rex withdraws than what she pissed in her excitement. Her womb must be bloated with trillions of little stallions, wriggling and writhing, seeking an egg.

Shake Rex trots towards me, nodding his head, huge cock retracting to his sheath. His eyes bore into mine. He wears an expression any male can recognize on any species. That, dude, is how you fuckin' breed! His eyes drop to my crotch and he snorts. He turns. Standing five feet from me, his eyes fixed on Antoinette, his cock re-emerges, limp and rubbery, and he releases about ten gallons of piss onto the dust.

As I lead Shaka Rex down the central aisle to his stall, his stablemates watch us. Low whickering and leering neighs fill the air. Good work, buddy.

After I shut the gate to his stall Shaka Rex thrusts his head out, peering down at me. His lips curl. He smells the mare ... the ones in the stable, or Antoinette, or both. His expression is clear. He wants to fuck again. Maybe this stallion isn't as big a faggot as I'd thought. Should I let him have a go at the next mare?

As I make my way up the aisle Sultan stomps. The stud wants to fuck. Should I? He's a sexy bastard but I've got to keep my mind focused on my task, which is getting a pair of mares pregnant. Let Sultan have a go at Ekaterina Magna? Tempting, but not smart. Sultan's bred three mares today, juicing each mare twice to make sure they're stuffed with a fresh colt. So he can't have much left in his balls. Seminal fluid, sure, but not the gold stuff.

"Hang on, buddy," I tell him as I pass. "There's always tomorrow." I say it reluctantly, because Christ knows I like watching Sultan fuck.

He sniffs derisively at me and pulls his head back into his stall. I swear I hear him sniffling.

Antoinette staggers a bit as I lead her to the mares' stable. She walks with the air of one whose mind has been blow. As if all the stallion seed bubbling within her cooks her mind like LSD. Her eyes roll like marbles, her jaw hangs slack and her tongue a dripping pendulum. I hear Shaka Rex's jism slosh in her womb and she emits loud, blustering farts from her pussy as the excess continues escaping.

Antoinette doesn't smell like the seashore anymore. She smells like a stallion.

Freed of the tether, Antoinette trots to her water, lapping it up. She lifts her tail as if she doesn't want its strands clotted with Shaka Rex's drying cum. Or maybe she just wanted to show to everyone, mares and me, that she had a plug of jism about six feet long embedded inside. The tail-high pose reveals everything, from her asshole all the way down to her hooves. I can't see the lips of her pussy; they're bathed with jism. Every inch of her backside from her vulva, down the back of her thighs, to her hooves is soaked with jism. White worms of stallion semen dangle. Air farts from her cunt, sounding just like bubbling mud.

I dream of horses, OK? Since puberty hit. And the dreams I have ... they're not normal dreams. I'm not riding a horse, a proud cowboy with my gal on my arm. No, the dreams are the kind that causes the mob to ignite the torches and tie ropes into nooses and invoke psychiatry, the modern age's Malleus Malefictum. Evil dreams. Kinky dreams. I have 'em. I wouldn't trade 'em for any plastic paradise in suburbia. You got to be who you are, you know?

Forest warns me against my dreams.

Forest isn't here.

Should I be thinking what I'm thinking?

Remember, Horseboy. You were assigned a task.

One more mare remains. She must be bred. A stable full of stallions with drained balls. A mare with gallons of semen leaking from her cunt. Another one, empty. My cock, throbbing.

Like spilled Legos snapping themselves together, the thing to come shapes itself.

Must move quickly.

Back to the farm house. The sun hovers in the west, a great low-flying UFO. Upstairs to our bedroom. I strip out of shirt and jeans, but I keep my boots right by me. From my drawer I pull out a yellow, dirty jockstrap. It used to be white but when you keep dosing the thing with cum and piss and lube and spit it sheds that revolting color symbolizing purity and becomes something true and honest. Motor oil streaks the pouch, having been ground into it by all those times Forest has screwed me while stretched over the cold engine of the truck.

It reeks, OK? That's the whole point of washing it. After I don it the bedroom smells of me. Horseboy. Kinky, nasty Horseboy. Smell my balls, guys, and smell nothing else. This smell is who I am. If you don't like this musk, if you don't respond to it, we can't fuck.

The jock is a little small but the fabric is supple. It stretches over my groin. My hardon thrusts above the waistband, dribbling precum. I slip my boots back on. And my hat because I'm a fucking cowboy.

Heads emerge as I stalk down the central aisle of the mares' stable. Ears prick up. My jock scent overwhelms the smell of hay and horseshit and the smell of freshly stuffed cunt. Hooves scrape on the floor. Whickers wonder at what the hell I'm doing.

Therese's a worn pine bench covered with frayed halters, tin junk, and folded canvas. I sweep all that crap to the floor. I pick the bench up, and head on. Sweat courses over my buttocks and flows from my pits. My heart sings to the tune of all the forbidden songs of history.

Antoinette looks up with surprise when I fling open the door to her stall. I place the bench on the floor. I close the door. Antoinette's eye s rest on my giant hardon. Her eyes turn moist.

"I don't think you're pregnant enough," I tell her. One should always be honest with horses.

She whickers as I slip my jock's waistband under my balls.

"You like my cock?"

She'd damn well better. I carry balls swollen to the size of cantaloupes between my legs. She turns. Her tail lifts higher. Slut. I slide the bench in place behind her. She squats. My lip curls. Her urine splatters on the pine. Droplets sting my flesh. I watch piss course over the floor, carrying hay with it.

I pop her flank. "Ready, honey?" I ask, climbing up on the bench.

She doesn't answer, staring fixedly at the wall. She doesn't answer with sound or even motion. But I smell her. She reeks of need. She needs cock. She needs juice. She needs what the Horseboy's got.

"Fuck yeah!"

I sink my cockhead in. Like molten Vaseline Shaka Rex's jism, hot as sin, bubbles over my cock. I freeze. A huge sound escapes my throat. More than a sigh. More than a moan. A paean to the gods of those ancient religions who knew and celebrated the fundamental unity of man and animal.

I'm fucking a horse!

So many new experiences. I've never fucked a cunt, human or equine. It's different from a butthole. Not as tight. Of course, how can it be? It's designed and built to take horsecock and deliver new life, and Shake Rex has stretched Antoinette to take a locomotive up there.

But what I'm after isn't exquisite physical sensation, but perverted spiritual connection.

"I'm fucking a horse!"

Fingers of stallion cum extend from Antoinette's cunt, drawing my cock inside.

I blow a load the moment my balls slap against Antoinette's equine flesh. I blow a load of human seed into an ocean of sublime stallion juice. Picture a guppy burping bubbles into the vastness of the Pacific. In comparison to Shaka Rex ... that's what my load is. Miniscule. Dandelion fluff in the Astrodome. The full contents of my nuts are no challenge to this realm Shaka Rex so thoroughly filled.

But goddamn it feels great! Shouting, spitting, cussing, shooting, I almost fall of the bench.

I don't lose my hardon. Who could? The air I breathe smells of stallion and mare. It is sex. Squishy, juicy sex. Mix the blazing high of amyl night with the hazy, warm unreality of good weed and add a good measure of methamphetamine's pounding urgency ... yeah, man, that's what it is like. Fucking mare cunt.

This moment is, as far as I'm concerned, when I became a man.

I look down and there's my big cock drowning under the flood of Shaka Rex's cum. There it is, my huge dong, the meat that a thousand men have begged me to take out because they're going to split open, and it's in Antoinette's pussy and it looks like a garter snake slithering into Mammoth Cave. Shit! I'm embedded balls-deep in an organ that accommodates the titanic, awesome weapon of a stallion. I'm nothing, a spark, a firefly lost in the gulf between galaxies.

"Come on, baby! Let's fuck!"

Remember the sound of gravy bubbling in a pot? Antoinette emits that sound as I pummel her. Strings of cum crawl from her vulva, hanging, swinging as she moves, smacking against her ass, anointing her flesh. Ropes of stallion juice sway from my balls as I thrust. She's hot in there, hotter than anything I've ever felt on my cock. My cock is a submarine, probing an ocean of sperm.

Mares, like all living creatures, crave orgasms too, and this is one thing we puny monkeys can give them. We're not stallions, who mount and juice and strut off. We can savor fucking. We can turn it into art. She begins to quiver under my strokes, and these motions sharpen when I bend forward over her back, reaching around to stroke her belly. Slave to primitive instincts her legs part. She neighs her appreciation. Her fur, stiff yet soft, shifts as my palms roam over her. I find her clitoris, a small rock submerged in the tide of cum, and I play with it.

When she cums I'm sure it's the first she has ever experienced. Her screams make the planks tremble. I swear I hear a distant coyote howl, fearful of her apotheosis. I know the stallions hear it, over there in their stables. I grin, picturing Shaka Rex, stomping his foot in his stable, his giant dong erect again. I know he smells her. I know he smells me. He's a male. He can put two and two together.

Boom!

"Come on, lady, have my babies!"

I howl and jet again. Such is the strength and volume of Shaka Rex's load my ejaculation doesn't even create a current in that thick slimy sea. I mean, I picture my load displacing the stallion's deposit. I picture torrents of horse semen escaping Antoinette's vulva. I picture a titanic load of human semen swelling in her.

Reality is different than dreams.

I stagger off the bench, stumble backwards, crashing against the wall, panting and almost out of my mind.

I grin. I laugh. Shit. I've done it.

"I've fucked a horse!"

Antoinette looks at me reproachfully. She could've used some more thrusts. I laugh. Well, lady, that'll come later, like when what you've got filling your cunt doesn't sear me so deeply. When it's just Antoinette and the Horseboy, and Shaka Rex is over there in his stall, thinking his faggot dreams about the younger stallions.

My cock juts up, fully hard, slapping against my belly. Leaking stallion jism has cleaned my jockstrap. Whatever scents that were mine are gone. It is sodden with horse juice. The pouch cups a huge pool of jism. Tiny strands of mare juice sparkle on it. Slimy semen tentacles quest here and there. Like an avalanche of syrup it oozes down my legs, filling my boots.

"Goddamn!" I tell Antoinette. "That was fucking hot!" I pop her flank in comradeship.

She squats. She pisses. She wants more. I see her need, glinting in her eyes like the flames of a newly kindled lantern.

"Sorry, babe." I click and wink at her. "Got another date tonight."

I pull the bench away, closing the door behind me, and leave Antoinette in her stall. I glance down the line of closed doors. One mare peers at me. I recognize her. It is Ekaterina Magna, my sole remaining chore. Heh. My date. Her nostrils flare. She murmurs to herself.

"Hey there, sweet thing." Anyone else, hearing that tone in my voice, would have vamoosed, terrified by the sinister undertone. Ekaterina Magna quivers with excitement. I feel her eyes taking in my sperm-coated hardon.

Chest out, shoulders back, bench on my shoulder, jockstrap pulled low so it is wrapped round my thighs, swaying cock cracking whips of stallion jism, I strut down towards her. My eyes bore into Ekaterina Magna's. Her tongue slithers over her lips. Bitch needs me.

When I lay on my hand on the latch of Ekaterina Magna's stall, doubt hits me head on. Sure, my groin is drenched in stallion jism. But think about it. Antoinette's cunt anointed me with only the merest spurt from a stallion's coltmaker. A tiny dollop. A glowworm, one among millions. This paltry coat won't do.

Two pregnant mares before I get back.

It won't be enough.

I set the bench down next to the door. Ekaterina Magna, who'd scurried into the straw-lined depths, thrusts her head through, peering down at me. The pungent seashore odor makes my mouth water. My balls plump. My cock throb. I could throw myself into the bonfire, let my lust consume me. But I want to do this right.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. I'll be right back with what you need."

She neighs with forlorn sadness, watching my hard, muscled ass as I stalk away.

I think the official name for the device I take from the storeroom is something like Equine Semen Collection Device. I call it a horse fleshlight since that's exactly what it is. It is a jacket of soft, pliant material that feels wanton when you fill it with warm water. I've learned that the stallions love it when the water temperature is exactly 98.6. When the bastards cum it's like trying to keep control of a fire hose. I fit to one end of the sexton a collection bag. Normally stallions like to mount a dummy mare while they use the horse fleshlight. They don't need that round here. Horseboy is talented.

I stroll down the stalls, carrying the fleshlight. Who? Who will I chose? Well, Sultan kicks the stall door upon seeing me. The sound booms like a cannon. He stares at me, his chest expanding a contracting like a bellow working a blacksmith's fire to white heat. Yeah. For what I have in mind, the quality of the ejaculation isn't so important. He'll go first. My cock bobs.

The gray stallion's cock slithers from his sheath when I enter his stall. Sniffing the air, he whickers and advances, frisky and trying to rear. His nostrils flare, drinking the scent pouring from Shaka Rex and Antoinette fluids mingle on my body, still coupled in an olfactory orgy. Sultan's hot breath warms my crotch. I feel his lips nuzzle my balls. He snorts and stomps. Sultan's great head rises and he gazes down at me serenely. Good, little one, good.

I slip the fleshlight on Sultan's hardon. He neighs, bobbing his head in approval. He likes the fleshlight much better than my hands. He stands, twitching and groaning, as I move it to and fro. I'm careful not to let his thrusting meat rip open the collection bag. I know a lot of special tricks and Sultan knows I know them. From time to time he stomps a hind hoof, demanding a twist. Sometimes he kicks his legs apart because it's natural for males to show off their nuts when they're hard. He loves having his balls toyed with. And if you stroke his thighs Sultan goes nuts.

Sultan screams, a sound like the Archangel Gabriel's trumpets, and ejaculates at least two pounds of horse semen into the bag. After slipping the device off Sultan's cock I check up the bag, examining the ejaculate. Yeah, a little watery, but there are ropes of sperm in that fluid.

I scratch Sultan's belly. "Not bad." He trots away, his cock retracting. "What, not even a kiss?" He rolls his eyes. He's done. Get out. Come back when he's horny again.

Sultan did well but the bag's not full. Pregnancy requires one egg and an ocean of sperm.

Thor catches my eye. He stands in profile in his stall, not moving, not chewing, just standing there displaying his magnificence, his giant cock jutting between his hind legs. His cockhead is semi-flared and a long snake of precum dances between it and the hay-strew floor. He snorts. Well? You coming? I got what you need.

"Hell yeah, buddy."

Thor doesn't deign to sniff me. He's Thor. I'm Horseboy. Sure, I nailed Antoinette, but Thor has bred herd after herd of mares.

The act of getting him off is simple. Slip the fleshly over his cock. I have to manhandle that flare. Wank the stallion. I swear he sighs with relief as the motion begins. He too likes his balls fondled and his thighs stroked but he always gets off on my dirty talk.

"Yeah, buddy, betcha she creamed when you put it in her, betcha she's with another mare right now and they're both licking your sauce out of each other's cunts, yeah mare sixty-nine, betcha every time she pisses she wishes you were there to smell it, betcha all she wants to do is spread her legs and take your cock and squat and drop your colt and do it all over again --"

Roaring like a blast furnace, Thor came. Two pounds of stallion juice, rich with milky strands of semen. It mixes with Sultan's when I jiggle the bag.

Red Peril is a roan stallion, very young, with a fiery disposition. It's a little dangerous to enter his stall. He's strong with the unpredictable side of the Force. He's never hurt anybody (yet) but he'll kick at you when you get too near his ass. Unless you're Shaka Rex. But he likes the horse fleshlight and the moment he sees it his cock drops from his sheath. He snorts disapproval when he smells Sultan's and Thor's jism in the bag. But he doesn't object when I slip it on his cock and work him hard and fast. Young, dumb, and full of cum, his orgasm almost bursts the collection bag. I have to drain some of the water from the fleshlight, reducing its tight grip on Red Peril's shaft. This allows his ejaculation to blast backwards. Ever see one of those old films where they've loosened a street corner fire hydrant? Red Peril juices like that, except thick and gooey and it smells awesome, the way stallion cum always does. When I slip the thing off his slack cock, his sheath, his thighs and even his tail drip with excess sauce.

Red Peril lets me stroke his nose. "Good one, buddy. Thanks! I'm gonna put it where it needs to go!"

He snorts, moves a little bit away, and dumps an enormous mess from his ass.

I detach the bag. Rather than sealing it properly I spin it shut the way you do bread when you've lost the tie. Fuck cleaning the fleshlight; I'll do it tomorrow. My cock's training. My balls are recharged.

The sun peers above the horizon like an eye half-asleep. I flick on the lights in the mares' stable. I trudge down the aisle, eight or ten pounds of stallion juice in a bag slung over my shoulder. I'm a jockstrapped, hard-bodied, sex-demented Kris Kringle.

I kick open Ekaterina Magna's stall and strut inside, hardon blazing. "Hi, sweet thing," I say, setting down the bench behind her. "Let's make a baby!"

She's a pretty thing, Ekaterina Magna. Charcoal-gray coat, with black mane and tail. She's sturdy and powerful ... a good runner, but you wouldn't guess that from her body.

You can laugh, if you want, when I talk to the horses. Trust me, it works. No, they don't understand the words. They understand the tone. A mare understands that when a male struts through her door, hard cock bared, reeking as I do of sperm and testosterone and sweat, that I'm here to satisfy her needs, to fill her belly with the life she wants more than anything to nourish. So what if I don't have four hooves? I've a cock. That's what she needs.

She turns, presenting herself. Her scent draws me in. Her tail lifts. I brush it out of my way. Her cunt opens; revealing a pink cavern, oily and quivering. It closes, and then winks open again. She needs that space filled.

I'm not sure why I fasten my lips to her vulva. I blame straight porn. The dude, no matter how hot, always pays oral homage to his birthplace. A perverse thrill stabs me, a cold pike impaled from butt to skull, when my tongue slips inside. I've spent enough of my life with my face buried in some dude's crotch or his butt to have become addicted to male pheromones. The female scent? It's a scent that bloats your balls, makes you want to howl and fire cum.

Ekaterina Magna likes my technique. There's a moment of shock, and I picture her great head tilting upward, jaw dropping to reveal her enormous teeth, her eyes rolling up. She grinds her vulva all over my face, smearing me with fishy oil. I swear if at all possible Ekaterina Magna would have backed me against the wall, worked her haunches against my face, and vacuumed me inside her. Head. Shoulders. Chest. Hips. Thighs. Feet. She would have sucked me inside until I lay balled up in her womb, feeling her womb shuddering with the power of her beating heart. My balls would've poured juice directly into her womb. She would've stood there, shifting slightly, feeding on the writhing energy inside her, until she finally burst in the most titanic orgasm imaginable, my rebirth a blast from an equine cannon. I'd have ejaculated helplessly every minute in that obscene ordeal.

I'm munching on her cunt, my face almost buried inside -- silky pink flesh oozes on my nose and chin -- when her scalding flood begins. Imagine being in a hot shower with your eyes shut. But then imagine the smell, that seaside smell that repulses you because you (like me) are into guys, boiling around you like steam. Her piss is bitter when it fills my mouth but it intoxicates me with fire when I swallow.

Ekaterina Magna doesn't stir while I set the bench in place and climb onto it, the bag of semen slung over my shoulder.

I pop her flank. "Breeding time, sweet thing."

I've got a big cock. I'm not merely proud of it. I'm arrogant about it. But I'm not a fool. I really thought I'd get a thrill, looking down, seeing my weapon poised at her winking gate. Reality is a bit demoralizing. I can call myself Horseboy but I'm no stallion. I can dream of being Shaka Rex or Sultan or Thor but my cock is a human cock. Puny.

Her cunt winks and draws me in. She's slick inside. Lust paints her pussy with all-natural Astroglide. And Shaka Rex's cum still coats my cock. Grunt. Thrust. Heaven sheathes itself on my cock.

"Fuck!" I howl and erupt into her. I spew at least a six foot long lance of monkey cum into Ekaterina Magna, but I know it's nothing. I remember Antoinette, plugged full with stallion juice. I grunt and I pump but no matter what, I just don't have the balls.

Ekaterina Magna turns her head, ears flat against her skull. Is that it?

"No, sweet thing, it isn't!"

You don't lose hardons fucking hot equine flesh. Even though that cunt is far from the tightest thing I've ever felt impaled on my cock, it enflames me. I'm coupling with an animal. I'm violating the laws of man and God. Anyone who caught me and Ekaterina Magna joined so delightfully, so bestially, will have no pity. Churning my human cock in her mare cunt makes me irredeemably a deviant. If the cops burst in, it's either jail or worse: the sex offender's registry, an unusually cruel American punishment. It doesn't matter that she's grinding her haunches against my crotch. The fact that she's not hobbled won't save me. All that will matter is that two animals of different species were caught coupling, and a council of hairless apes, no longer able to burn at the stake, will pass sentence.

But you know? Fuck 'em. Horse cunt is the best cunt! Goddamn, this is a thrill!

Ekaterina Magna's orgasm ripples along my cock. Juice oozes from her lips and slimes my balls. It almost brings me off again. But wait. What am I doing? I'm here to breed. The problem isn't just the paltry amount of semen I can put up her. It's my human sperm. She can't conceive, and her piss washed away much of Shaka Rex's coat.

I wait a few minutes, shuddering, backing away from the precipice. She continues to grind against me, needing cock. There's an invisible vortex swirling from her cunt, seeking to suck in all the cum it can find.

"Sorry, sweet thing," I say. "I wish I had another two feet of meat. You'd like that girl, wouldn't you?"

She neighs. Hooves clomp. She bows her neck three times, frustrated.

I pump. Fuck this mare, man fuck her!

I tilt the collection bag forward. Perfect aim. A cup of stallion semen plummets, splattering on my cock. My strokes churn it to froth. Rivulets run down my cock into her vagina. Another pour, this time two cups. I can't smell the sea anymore. Just stallion jism. I pump the stuff up her. It now feels like I'm fucking a rubber sock full of hot motor oil. Long sticky strands of stallion jism whip from my cock. Thick membranes plaster my pubic hair.

Nice. Breathe the smell. Listen to the obscene sound. Hear her grunt. Feel her vagina gripping my cock.

Fuck it. Let's go all out.

I know my hat off my head. I lift up the bag. I pour. The goo splashes on my head, and courses down my body. It's like being absorbed by a giant amoeba -- no, being eaten alive by an octopus. Tentacles of horse jism seek out my cock. They flow down my shaft, creep to my cockhead, and then crawl into Ekaterina Magna's cunt.

She's cumming. I feel it. I hear it. Even through the hood of horse jism, clinging like a placenta to my head, I hear her trumpet and stomp and feel the earthquakes smashing through her body.

It's when I suck in a big mouthful of jism -- must be Red Peril's; I don't know how I know it, but I do -- that a bolt of lightning flares, and my cries overwhelm even Ekaterina Magna's. I am a bit of flesh, through which a strand of cum emerges from some other universe where atoms are sperm.

As I dismount the bench I see Ekaterina Magna's eyes, warm and moist, peering at me. I stroke her neck.

"We did it, sweet thing," I murmur to her. "You got Horseboy's colt in you!"

My mind's too blown to clean up much. I set the bench outside. The collection bag goes into the trash. I strut down the aisle.

"Hey, ladies!" I call out as I shut off the light, "Horseboy's on the prowl!"

It's dark outside. I wait. The night is warm. I don't dress. I don't even pull up my jockstrap. I stand there, not thinking, just feeling, and remembering.

The lights of Forest's truck illuminate me. Legs spread, arms clasped behind my head. Piss stream from my long dong. Horse jism dries on my muscles. The brakes squeal and Forest climbs out.

"What the hell have you been up to?" He's not sure if he should be angry or turned on.

"Horseboy's been doing his chores." I jerk two thumbs my direction. "You got some pregnant mares, Mr. Boss Man."

He sniffs me. No mistaking the aroma of stallion cum. "Well. No use for the sling tonight. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

"Fuck that! I'm gonna let this shit dry and I'm going to sleep in it all night long!"

He almost says something that I'm sure would've been 'hell no!' had he gotten that far. He sees what's in my eyes and he knows what's in my mind. So the moment passes.

That night I dreamed a new dream, one I'd never dreamed before.

A stall, strewn with hay. Myself. A mare. The mare squats. Her tail lifts. Her cunt winks. Her belly surges. Fluid gushes. She extrudes the entire body, much longer than I expected. I see hooves. For a moment I'm relieved. I think she came giving birth because she rises unsteadily, shivering, her eyes clouded as if drunk.

The mare holds my eye. Does she need breeding? She has no colt. She must need cock. My cock surges. Longer than ever, it smacks my chin.

The colt staggers to its hooves. The coat is glossy black. His torso, however, is a mirror image of mine, even down to the shade of the tan. Not as muscular; this is a colt, not a stallion. Both nipples are erect. He stretches, yawns, revealing armpits free of down.

My colt's eyes are bright and wide and warm as dawn itself. He races towards me, exclaiming, "Father!" Man and centaur embrace as mare looks on.

Shuddering I awake, feeling a rain of jism on my body, streaking me from forehead to navel. My erection fires blast after blast.

Wet dream! Haven't had 'em for years. Erotic dreams aplenty, but wet dreams are a page out of my history I long thought turned.

I fall back onto the sheets; panting, drained in a way I haven't been for years.

Beside me Forest grunts and rolls over. I hear him sniff. His hand closes over my cock, still hard. "Damn," he says. "You need more?"

"Yeah, Forest. I need lots more."

 

- stand by for "The Stallion Rides - 4 Anonymous Stallion Barebacks Horseboy" -

- Coming Soon -
- The Sequel to "Gone Fishin'" -
- The Novel Rolling Thunder -

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