FSE

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Sue opened her eyes again and blinked a few times to clear the sweat dripping down over long lashes, the racehorse’s breathing still measured in rhythm with what she knew from experience was the proper pace. It had long since become something of a mantra for her, the grating in the back of her throat, the swelling of her lungs, her nostrils flaring out as she inhaled, then lips gently sputtering as she exhaled… and the k-dop k-dop k-dop of carefully maintained hooves along the cement of the trail, sometimes in rhythm with the music playing through her earbuds, often not. When she was younger that was something with which she struggled, but so many years of constant practice had pretty well eliminated that habit from her tendencies.

Still, though, she couldn’t help but think back to when she had first signed up for the cross-country team back in high school who knows how many years ago now. The coach had been a broad-shouldered spotted hyena, always with a bit of a miasma hovering about him, but the younger mare had never fully been able to figure out if that was from him taking a break from class every twenty minutes to go smoke behind the gym again, or if he just didn’t shower as much as he should, or if that was just a hyena thing – but every time she set out for her now routine morning, noontime, and evening jogs, she couldn’t help but remember his comment upon seeing her name on the list:

“Well, now, how about you Tennessee Walk your way on over here, huh, Soul?”

_ _

It was a bad joke, and it had been a bad joke even all the way back then, but it still always made her smile, in that I can’t believe he fuckin’ said that to me kind of way. That was before she had figured everything out, and now at least she felt much more put together, and had at least some idea of how to prepare for and handle a run. This trail barely capped out at two miles flat if she swung around the very exterior bounds of the curves, but in these past few months it usually allowed her the time to down her entire water bottle just in time to hit the fountain on the way back; as she tilted her head down to follow the sidewalk ahead she could see the familiar shape of the little structure coming around the next bend, her breath steaming in her lungs, her chest swelling and shrinking with the rhythm, her legs pumping, her hooves clattering…

…her phone clutched in her other hand since the sweat dripping between her breasts had caused it to slip out again and again. That had never really been a problem before, though she had recently switched sports bra brands, and it seemed this one hugged the bigger twins a little bit looser than her previous one. Still she made sure to dab the anti-chafing powder along all the proper nooks and crannies and crevices upstairs, and then before tugging her gym shorts up, to do the same to the smaller twins as well, which was another thing that she was glad she had figured out since school.

Being racehorse up both sides of the family, Mom and Dad having both competed professionally and still participating in the yearly county marathon, Sue was all meat and muscle, one hundred percent, and that meant that she had to buy men’s underwear and shorts for herself, since the women’s and unisex just lacked the proper cargo space for the amount of saggy, leathery heft and mass that she carried around, her sheath about the same size as a clenched fist hanging away from her lower belly, her balls like… she had to think back to that party the other weekend. What did we figure out? Were they like limes, or lemons? Something like that… but both the boys and the girls required a bit extra from the powder to prevent the sweat from getting where it shouldn’t, especially now that the seasons had really started to pour over into full summer. She had gotten out a bit late today, which meant that already the sun had begun to dip down behind the trees at the other side of the park, and painted the sky in that lovely sherbert spread of creamsicle orange to strawberry pink.

Soul-of-Susquehanna, daughter of six-time local Chuckletucky Derby winner Margarita Pizza (“yes, really spelled that way,” she had to tell boyfriend after girlfriend who asked) and her beloved Side of Fries (“but Dad just goes by Spud these days”), who won the Derby the four times her mother didn’t, slowed to a stop and finally bent over to fill her empty bottle from the tap. She wiped the back of her hand across her sweat-lathered forehead and waited for the exertion-stickiness in the back of her throat to begin to clear; it felt good to breathe without the constant thumping of the sidewalk beneath her hooves. She tilted her head back over the lip of the bottle, swept the cool water into her mouth, held it there, inhaled through flared nostrils, held it, breathed back out… swallowed, then did so again, and again. She could down this entire bottle in three good gulps, which had surprised, startled, and otherwise stunned quite a few of her bedroom partners in the past, but usually it was better instead to-

Something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, and Sue paused in her measured slurping though still followed the routine cool-down breathing rhythm. This part of the trail brushed up against the border of the park, around which the creek which she knew skyrocketed the property value of the houses for rent here snaked back between an expanse of trees, but – about three quarters of the way between the fountain and those trees stood a lone dog. German shepherd, it looked like, if the ferals could be compared visually to their two-legged counterparts.

She had dated a German shepherd once, back in college. Sue lifted her other wrist, tapped at the screen of her fitness tracker, saw that her heart rate was indeed in the correct zone and suitably dropping back down now that she had finished her run. But the poor boy could only manage about forty squats at once, and that just wasn’t enough to keep up with a mare like her.

Sue blinked, mouth of her water bottle still against her upper lip, and then idly cast around the nearby green of the park to see if she could find the owner. A few indistinct figures were still playing basketball over on the other side of the field, and she thought she had passed by someone else jogging the opposite way earlier, but… the mare tilted her head, peered closer, wasn’t sure if she could see a collar beneath the thick ruff of plush fur around the dog’s neck.

The mare sighed out with the relief of tasting water once again, then moved back to top herself up. Immediately the shepherd’s ears perked and he glanced up at that spot, legs squaring, then back up to her, tail wagging, surprisingly bright eyes catching the dying light of day so that they seemed to glimmer in gold.

Surely there’s an owner, she thought, holding the button to refill her bottle once more. It’s not up to me to do anything about this. Not my responsibility. Besides, it’s not like I’ve ever wanted a dog, or thought about them, or made sure to get some time in every time I went over to visit my last boyfriend, or…

_ _

But when she looked up the shepherd was still there, and started wagging all over again when it noticed her gaze. Sue looked around again for anyone coming to claim their pup, then shrugged, capped her bottle, sighed, and took one and a half tentative steps towards the canine – and then froze when the dog almost immediately bucked down into the classic play-bow pose, forepaws stretched out, chin rustling the grass, hind end hiked and tail wagging with such force that it made his rear wobble from side to side.

Well then… and Sue glanced down at her phone to check the time, then up at the sky to gauge how much light remained to the day. I already got here late. What’s another little delay? She took another step forward, saw how it excited the dog further, then another, and couldn’t help grinning at how it leapt up and back but still faced her, then she began to steadily walk forward, with intent and expectation.

Surely enough, bit by bit the dog seemed to be leading her back towards the line of trees at the other side of the grass, particularly where there was a clear ingress into the more wooded area of the park. Side to side the canine dodged and dove, as though it were the one playing with her – but then just as suddenly as it had appeared and made itself known, it rose up, let loose an energetic bark, then turned fully around as if to point at that space in the trees-

-and, wow, that’s… that’s a butthole.

Sue stopped in her tracks, hooves digging down into the grass and supple earth just beneath, heart suddenly pounding in her chest, shorts a bit tighter even as she tried to avert her gaze from what had to be a willfully raised tail. Was that- She looked around once more, and yet again confirmed that she was the only person on this side of the park. Did he fucking wink at me? With his eyes, I mean. No, that had to have been the light, right?

The shepherd looked over her shoulder at her and then wagged his tail again, the movement tugging gently at the displayed skin beneath along with the pace of his step. Unsure if he wanted her to follow but certainly wanting it to be the case, Sue glanced around, shrugged to herself, and then stepped back into a canter to close the distance.

The thing was, this park was actually still the same as the one at which she used to practice her running, growing up; the unbeatable Potato-Pizza legendary racing couple had lived just barely a mile across the creek, allowing their young up-and-coming Soul – once she started college she decided to instead opt for the more common Sue – to jog that brisk mile here, take a break, then do the loop once or twice, and head on back home, just in time for dinner.

As the years went on, though, Sue’s goals had changed a bit, and the young mare had made many thorough explorations of the sections of the park off the trail, sometimes on her own, sometimes… accompanied. So she had some idea of where this dog was taking her, when he dipped through the trees there and then veered off to the left along the creek, then came up a collapsed section of the bank, then around a little bit, and into a small clearing where she had often found discarded cigarette butts, scuffed roaches, crushed cans…

“Okay, okay,” she rumbled, glancing down to ensure she wouldn’t trip on any fallen branches, “I’m coming. What do you want from me? Be patient, I’m-”

Cigarette butts and cans, but never an intact, male feral dog eagerly waiting for her, hind end far too clearly on display for it to be a simple show of excitement. How he stood granted the mare a full, unbroken view of his bared hind end, from the cotton-fluff base of his raised tail down across the velvety tan, succulent pucker of his wrinkled tailhole underneath, almost too perfect, too inviting to be natural with the way it stood apart from the surrounding fur. Then hanging beneath there, jiggling with each of his breaths, swinging and jouncing side to side once he began trotting again, the pair of intact balls clutched gently within supple skin of his sack, now lifting up, now sagging back down again, now lifting up, each time with the pursed lips of his rim tugging inwards, ready for a kiss.

Forcing herself to look away again, Sue stepped over the last root at the mouth of the clearing, reached down to slip a hand into her shorts to adjust the inevitable sticking of leathery skin sopping with sweat as well as simmering arousal, and then – nearly tottered backwards at the sudden presence of dog nose shoving up into the same dank crevices, the shepherd wedging himself into sweat-soaked fabric and digging deeper.

“Whoa, boy – what in the-”

But try as she might to bat him away, the eager dog just continued zooming back in to his main point of focus there, quickly and easily finding the exterior boundary of Sue’s impressive mass. His nose smoothly squishing into the side of her sheath through her shorts, the skin loose, supple, roomy from the heat of the day and exertion of her run; he dug in and then scooped up from underneath, then nosed further down along the center of her sack, found where the hefty orbs parted, and shoveled his snout beneath there as well.

Bright golden eyes flashed up at the mare from between her legs, the feral’s breath hot and tense enough for her to feel the tickle through her shorts. He dug between her thighs with the same eagerness and intensity as that damn otter during that party, except he had had his paws on her legs to keep then squeezed around his little head. This feral, though, repeatedly lifted up between, beneath her summer-sagging sack, allowing her balls to drape around either side of his snout, nose lifting up into the semi-firm mass of sensitive flesh just between the root of her sack and her own tailhole a little higher up.

By now the mare’s pants swelled considerably out in front, and twitched and throbbed with each following nuzzle, and still she tried to bat him away. One hand underneath his chin to push him out, another coming along the side of his muzzle to turn him away – and then she tried to jerk it back after a sudden slight sting of gentle teeth nipping one of her fingers, but the German shepherd still held her between her jaws.

“What the – fuck-”

But he didn’t clamp down. Instead he remained where he stood, tail up, ears splayed, eyes wide while looking up at her… and then he glanced away, and made eye contact again, and glanced away again. Still holding her hand clenched within his jaws, but gently, the dog dipped his head, huffed out from flared nostrils, slurped his tongue across where he had bitten still within his mouth, and then to Sue’s gradually diminishing surprise pulled her forward, and down, towards his rump. The dog twisted his body to reach, half-lifted a foreleg, looked over himself at her, and released her hand.

And Sue swallowed, that nervous stickiness back in her throat again, as her fingers brushed into the dank, slightly matted fur beneath the base of his tailhole, and slid across the puckered wrinkles of tacky skin right along the rim of his tailhole, deliberately guided to that point. Once again she looked over her shoulder despite knowing that nobody had followed them: heart in her throat and breath puffing, she looked back down to the feral, saw that glimmering desire in his golden eyes, looked up to his raised tail again… and then bunched two of her fingers together and pushed them down across those wrinkles, feeling the way the slightly sticky skin bunched together against itself and pulled with the movement, soft and supple and humid, and – a little bit gritty right along the center, where the ring of muscle tightened and squeezed her in.

Just as she began to push herself past her reservations – and the flexing center of the dog’s tailhole – the German shepherd lifted his head, wagged his tail with enough force that Sue felt the skin of his tailhole slip beneath her fingers, and then stepped out and away from her grasp, leaving those fingers with a faint greasy stickiness coating her pelt. He was far from done with his captured mare, though: instead of running off deeper into the woods, the feral simply turned all the way around, looked back over his shoulder at her again, then half-lifted a hindleg this time, tail hiked up and off to the side… and held there, plump balls hanging, swinging in the air, eager tailhole pulsing with the beat of his heart, flexing inward again, and again, and again.

For a moment the only sounds were his panting, Sue’s heart thumping in her chest, the tinny din of her music still playing through her earbuds now looped around her neck – she tapped her phone to pause that – and then the nearby murmuring of the creek. She swallowed, licked her lips, tried to avoid staring, couldn’t manage it.

“So you…” She met his eyes, then looked down again. Her two fingertips stuck together with a bit of sticky slime; she brought it to her snout, took a sniff, grimaced and jerked her head away. Yeah. Hell of a butthole. Then she wiped those fingers off on her thigh, hoping that the sweat would help to scrape them clean. “Want me… to…”

As though understanding her words, his tail wagged harder, sack swinging, full sheath jiggling plump and wet just ahead – and showing to her the revealed tapered pink of his tip, glistening with eager arousal. Standing on one leg, or I suppose three, he swayed his hind end so that his sheath and balls jiggled again, then gave a little buck upwards, pushing his rump out towards her.

And I guess that’s as much an invitation as I can get, huh?

Sue took another step forward, then another, and then, still in slight disbelief, dropped down first to one knee and then the other as well. She brought her hand up along the feral’s haunch, looped her thumb underneath his tail, briefly stirred within the simmering heat wafting up from his revealed rump, then slowly leaned in…

…and then jerked and turned her head away, nose wrinkling, lip curling with the fresh, rich acridity of the scent wafting off of him. She paused to blink, eyes watering, and licked her lips still sticky with sweat, then adjusted her grip on his tail as though trying find the best point of entry for a rather juicy cheeseburger.

The longer she waited, though, the more she felt her resolve faltering, that initial spike of flaring interest and arousal sputtering away. There’s… bits, she realized, brow furrowing as she came close again. The intense, wet heat wafting off of him, musk and slick stickiness, hit her like a semisolid wall. Boy definitely uses this thing for its intended use, but… but I…

The mare swallowed again – she could taste him – then closed her eyes, wrenched them shut, licked her lips again, moved forward… jerked when she felt the first touch of puckered, wrinkled skin, slimy with natural slickness, a little bit flaky and crusty with those extra bonuses, and then pressed herself in again.

I’ve already done worse, she resolved, and moved her lower lip in as well to finally press herself against him in that kiss that he was so clearly wanting. Immediately the feral rumbled and lifted his tail, pushing back against her; Sue held her breath, remained there for a moment longer, and then slipped her tongue out between pursed lips.

Sour was the first thing to touch her thoughts, sour and bitter and acrid just like how he smelled, and… rich, and bright, and full, and then she was scooping her tongue all the way across his puckered tailhole, both feeling and letting those caught dried bits flake off into her mouth, rehydrate into a semi-squishy mass, then cling to her teeth, her gums, the roof of her mouth.

Sue swallowed and breathed out through her nose, hot and tense, then sucked in another tainted breath without removing her snout from underneath his raised tail. She could feel him smearing across her lips and staining her pelt, coating her throat, clinging to her tongue; Sue swallowed again, then had to do so another time to clear the stickiness, and felt all of that lump down into her belly. She pursed her lips forward again, sealed herself around him, sucked from within his twitching, trembling tailhole, the mare half-hard in her own shorts and very aware that much more would force her to drop on out of one of the legs, as always.

Lost amid her work, nose scrunched up beneath the base of the dog’s tail as she continued to slurp and suck and poke her tongue just past the rim of muscle, she turned her body, reached underneath him… draped his hanging balls into her palm, massaged the supple sack of skin beneath her thumb, continued forward until she felt the wet weight of his sheath nestle between her fingers. Then she rubbed there as well, drawing back and forth, feeling the way the succulent, elastic skin encasing his length slid back and then shifted forward again, scooping across the coating of natural slickness around him.

Different from equine sheath, she thought distantly, eyes half-closed, mouth half-slack against his rear as she breathed in his heat. Wetter for sure. Skin’s thinner, but maybe stretchier. Supple… soft, and… God, this is a feral fuckin’ dog, isn’t it?

A little bit dizzy, head swimming, Sue managed to pull herself away and once more cleared her throat – or at least tried to. A thick rope of discolored drool hung between her lower lip and the dog’s rump, pucker parted partially open from where she had wormed her tongue inside of him; sticky pinkish-tan skin pulled back to show rich, glistening succulent red meat inside, flexing and twitching with the natural movements of his muscles, while she herself couldn’t help but throb inside of her shorts.

And a bit outside of them, she thought, looking down to see the blunted head of her own shaft poking out from one leg… and steadily growing and flaring out the more she thought about it. Each breath Sue took, every time she swallowed, whenever she curled her upper lip towards her nose just a little bit – all reeked and tasted of fresh, ripe feral dog rump.

And I ain’t really hating it…

When she looked up again she noticed that the shepherd had turned back to watch her, hiked tail wagging, golden eyes bright, something that read to her as an eager grin decorating his muzzle. Sue grinned right back at him, then reached up to wipe her mouth off and glanced at the sticky strand laced across her wrist.

This damn dog wanted something else from here. That much was clear, and Sue had some idea of what it might be: she rolled back onto her haunches and then sat down from there, spreading her legs apart, enjoying the extra tension of her shorts leg squeezing around her growing shaft, pushing back along her medial ring, stroking each time she throbbed or shifted. Still wagging, the shepherd lapped his chops, winked his tailhole – it was so hard not to lean back in for another deep kiss, maybe with her forefinger and thumb looped around his balls to tug them down while she sucked from inside – and then turned himself around again, tail up, head low, eyes on her.

Sue tilted her head the other way, God I wish I knew more about dog body language, and was just about to reach in to pat his head when he suddenly ducked it down again… and planted it right where she expected and, honestly, wanted. This time the mare rolled her head back on her shoulders, closed her eyes, let her mouth drop open, and freely enjoyed the sensation of feral dog nose scooping up between her legs, eager breaths puffing through the sweat-soaked fabric; with her hooves braced against the ground and her hands behind her, she lifted up into the feral’s nuzzling, dragging herself back and forth around his nose and maw, pushing herself against his muzzle, welcoming the dribbles of hungry saliva, the eager sniffing, the animalistic desire behind his movements.

At least she did so until she became aware of a low growl vibrating in his throat, and his nuzzles turned to nips specifically up near her belly, right at the waistband of her shorts. Startled, Sue’s eyes flashed open and she stared down at him, fear zapping through her for a moment – but then his eyes met hers and he lifted his head, tail swaying, ears splayed.

That gave the mare a moment of clarity, and in that moment she looked down across herself: she looked over her now fully hard shaft, straining nearly to her knee from within her pants leg, with her sweaty balls staining through the fabric in the middle; she took in a breath and swallowed, and tasted the distinct pungency of what she would now always place in her mind as feral dog ass; she looked down at the animal between her legs, at his knowing eyes, his convincing smile, his wagging tail…

Ah, what the hell, she thought, and awkwardly wiggled to tug her pants down her legs. She paused to smile at a flash of all three of my legs.

_ _

I’ve already gone this far. Might as well finish it up…

And the excitement and awe in the feral’s eyes reflected that of many of her two-legged partners when she finally swung herself free from her shorts, fully hard shaft leaping up towards her chest, flaring out a little bit with an irresistible throb, and then relaxing again. Sue lifted herself up, let her shorts slide down her other leg, and then resumed her initial kneeling position, this time with the dog’s muzzle once again scooping beneath her balls. He lifted them up from underneath, the heat dragging them down further, allowing the hefty orbs to part around and drape over his snout – and then she flumped her equine shaft across his head, his neck, his shoulder, and his attention immediately shifted.

The shepherd drew back, nuzzled up underneath her shaft, sniffed a bit… sniffed some more… then gingerly lapped at a spot near the lips of her sweat-grimy sheath, enough to make her suck in a breath through her teeth and shiver. Then he did so again just beyond the edge of her ring, then again further up, and again, and then finally found the blunted end of her head and drew the flat of his tongue across the surface there, right where the thick bead of pre had leaked out.

And he continued there, bouncing her up along his licks, catching her as she sagged back down after the throbbing. Sue’s eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open again, and then she was holding his head against hers, her hips grinding gently forward and back in rhythm with his attention, the silky, luxurious sensation of feral dog tongue slurping across her, swirling around to the rear rim of her head, coming in to dig into the little divot in the front again, drawing out squirt after squirt of eager pre.

Jesus fuckin’ Christ, the mare thought, where in the fuck does a feral dog learn how to suck dick like this? He’s not just after the sweat, he’s…

As though feeling her thoughts those golden eyes flicked up to her again and the dog drew back a touch, jaw parting open. Sue thought he was about to yawn, seeing the way the back of his tongue arched, but then instead he dove forward again – and completely wrapped the last half-foot or so of her full length within sweet, succulent, indulgent wet heat, cheeks pulling in against her, tongue lifting up beneath her rim, throat pulsing, straining, drinking down the sweat and pre.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmured, one hand going to her head. Her jaw clenched all on its own and Sue thrust forward, bottoming out against the back of the feral’s throat; she throbbed, flared again there, and then drew back, scooping along his tongue, only for him to dive down and repeat the motion again. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…”

He’s better than my last boyfriend. What in the world is going on? How could I have-

And just as quickly as he had gone down on her did the feral pull back again, lips briefly pulling behind her rim. Panting openly, he lapped at his chops, swallowed, nosed up beneath her shaft again, and then dove down once more, this time to slurp her sack free of all its gathered sweat; Sue lifted up for him, thumb hooked around the root of her balls from behind to pull them forward for him, other hand rubbing at the base of her shaft, following the pleasure.

Only one of her partners in the past had been able to fit both into their mouth, but this feral managed it without much difficulty. Sue shivered and gritted her teeth against the sensation of plush tongue and lips drawing around her, teeth sliding across sensitive skin, and the feral pulled gently – then allowed her to pop free from his grasp, one at time, and stood there wagging up at her. Panting, mind blown, the mare began to lean in to pet him on the head, and once more jerked her hand back as he turned around to display his hind end still dampened by saliva.

By her saliva. She swallowed, curled her lip up to her nose… smelled and tasted him there again, and continued reaching forward. Her fingers slid through soft fur, her thumb brushed over wrinkled, puckered skin, pressed down over a trembling muscle… pushed inside, sinking up into velvety wet warmth, inner walls reflexively clenching around her, drawing her deeper, tightening on her knuckle. The dog tilted his head back and lifted his rump further, sliding himself back until he bumped against her hand, Sue’s thumb buried to the knuckle inside of him.

Startled, she looked up at him. He wagged his tail again. Sue blinked.

“There’s no way.”

The feral clenched on her thumb, slid forward, sank back, clenched again, balls bumping against her wrist, and then did the same again a little faster, a little more urgently. His back arched as he rode her thumb, his head coming back, his ears perking up; his jaw fell open and his tongue lolled out, and the more he got into the rhythm, the further off the ground one of his hindlegs lifted, footpaw kicking…

Until Sue finally slid her thumb free, gingerly sniffed at it, grimaced, swallowed, and then shoved it into her mouth. Initial regret swept over into indulgent delight, the chunky bits of slime squishing along her tongue, the high, heady taste washing across her breath, the acrid pungency stinging the back of her throat; she swallowed, sighed out through flared nostrils, pursed her lips around her thumb, sucked a little bit harder, and with her other hand swung her shaft up to then thump it down along the dog’s haunch. He huffed softly and looked back at her, tail wagging.

“…Okay,” she murmured, and swung her thumb free. Then the mare opened her palm, let loose a thick, sticky glob of saliva, and used that to smear across her cock with extra attention to the wide head. “Okay. Yeah. Whatever. I trust you. Usually my bottoms have at least some practice to them before they try to take a fuckin’ horse dick, but looking at you, I’ll bet you’d have… taken a knot or two before, and…”

And she pressed the blunted head up against that succulent pucker of his tailhole, nudged forward, felt the muscles flex and churn, drew back, nudged forward again… and to her surprise and delight the pursed rim parted easily open around her, wrinkles pulling back, skin stretching, squeezing, sucking along the shape of her head. There was that intense wet heat again, slurping around her, pushing deeper – and the dog’s clenching drew her a half-inch forward so that the rim of her head sucked on in, immediately sleeving itself within the overlapping walls of his lower bowels.

The dog tossed his head back again and grunted, muscles flexing, tailhole clenching. There was a brief moment where he pushed back from inside and pulled forward, but then reversed these movements, sinking back further, drawing her deeper inside slick, luscious wet warmth. Sue almost couldn’t believe it, the way he was willfully pressing back onto her, hindlegs splaying out, stepping back to work further; she felt the walls of muscle and flesh straining, flexing, shifting out of the way for her girth, sucking around her like his muzzle and incomparable tongue, with him all the while enjoying it.

Holy God, she thought, oh man, oh fuck… and she couldn’t help but grit her teeth and squeeze her eyes shut, the tightness, the heat, the sensation nearly too much for her to bear. That one otter from the party had had the sweetest rump she had ever tried, but this, now… feral ass puts that poor boy’s to shame. I’m – not gonna last long like this…

Desperate for balance, Sue reached forward, faltered, pressed a hand down into the earth alongside the dog’s body… gently grasped his planted leg with the other, thrust forward a little bit. Immediately he rumbled out with delight, his own cock hard in his sheath slapping up against his belly as the mare sank deeper inside of him, slimy interior meat spreading around her. She held herself there, twitched, throbbed, felt the beat of his heart, the rhythm of his own throbbing, the faint swinging of that one leg kicking with pleasure, and then began to draw back-

-and heard the thick, wet squelch of the contours of her shaft sucking free from inside his tailhole, saliva now streaked with internal juices and liquid musk. A deep breath, a full-body tremble, and then Sue pressed herself in again, pushing further, watching the dog’s muzzle and posture for any sign of discomfort, but still none came. Still he rumbled deep within his chest, and kept his head back, and wagged his tail where it was held against her belly, and twitched and throbbed and squirted those little jets of pre across the ground underneath him.

Jesus fuck, Sue thought, slipping into a steadier rhythm. This dog knows what he wants, and he… has clearly gotten it before, he’s… taking me more easily than that otter…

Further she pushed, supple skin stretching back beneath the tension of his tailhole, firm flesh straining, tensing, simmering within the depths of his body. The mare straightened up a bit, ran her fingers through short, soft shepherd fur, wrapped a hand around his tail to yank his hind end up a bit, then thrust forward again; the slight squish of her medial ring nudged up against the outer rim of his tailhole, folded back against the pressure… and then finally slipped in, and at that moment Sue bucked forward again, teeth gritted, nostrils flared, and just trembled while halfway buried inside of him, fully hard cock twitching, throbbing, pressing out at his insides.

Does he – and the dog adjusted his stance so he could continue in her paused rhythm, drawing himself forward, sinking back again – not have any internal organs?

Even holding there, one hand on his rump, the other on her own waist, even holding still and trying to catch his breath, Sue still felt herself yanked closer and closer to her inevitable peak just from the sensation of feral canine guts squishing and slurping around her. The natural rhythms of his body continued pulsing, and he squeezed, and clenched, and throbbed, and then pushed from inside, velvet walls snaking together to sleeve back around her, then slurp forward from behind the rim of her head.

The mare shifted a bit further, now leaning back, bracing her hands on the ground behind herself, hips coming up so that she could then pick that rhythm back up, but instead it was the shepherd who led the movement from there. He tugged himself forward and then sank back, again and again, each time pushing further; Sue gasped and moaned with the sensation, loosely following his lead, lifting up, tensing inside of him, falling back down again, hefty equine balls dragging across the ground, soon with his sack resting across hers as well as he managed to work himself down that far.

Tilting her head to the side she could see that he had indeed worked himself up nearly to his peak as well, his knot swelling out within his sheath, the ground beneath him streaked in visible spurts of his arousal. Rich red flesh swung and bobbed with his thrusts, and feeling both of them come close Sue slid forward again, gripped his already-raised leg in a hand to hoist it out of the way, reached around with her other to slip his sheath back and yank behind his knot –

-and it was the sudden extra squeeze and tension of the feral hitting his finish that brought her close to her own. He threw his head back and nearly howled with delight, the hot, wet flesh of his shaft swelling within her fingers, slick surface pulsing out, leaping, spurting his load out across the grassy ground.

Each time he squirted another rope, full knot flaring out within her grip, every other muscle in his body tightened as well, wrapped sweetly around her now fully buried length, pulling her closer, nestling her within succulent, delicious warmth. The mare shivered, swallowed, gave him another tug, felt the resultant clench, then pulled back, pressed forward, pulled back again – and couldn’t help but buck over him, one arm wrapping around the feral’s body to squeeze him against her, her chest heaving with powerful breaths as her pleasure blasted out inside of him.

The first intense throb twitched against his tailhole, and then the second shivered out inside, and with the third she felt the thick, sticky heat of her own load squirt back and fill his guts sleeved around her, and then the fourth sprayed out across the base of her sheath a bit. Panting, groaning, Sue straightened up, drew herself backwards with her flared head scraping free all of that leaked seed, and then tugged out at the feral’s tailhole: his rim stretched around the wider girth, skin pulling, muscle straining, drawing out until by all rights she should have left his body – and then suddenly she popped free, his tailhole spluttering and squirting out her load with a thick blossom of rich, red inner flesh flaring out as well, straining to empty out the mare’s shaft and everything she had dumped inside of him, just before it flexed inwards again.

Still Sue hadn’t fully finished, though, and with one hand still gripping the shepherd’s haunches she thrust herself forward, slick sticky shaft smearing across him. Another rope arced out and painted his luscious fur, then another more dribbled than spurted, rolling across his leg, hanging down towards the ground, plopping into a steadily growing puddle.

Now his tailhole pressed against the root of her sheath right where it met her sack, and as the mare idly, lazily grinded against him, she could feel the passive gape that she had forced into him: like a pair of loose, hungry lips, his rear weakly sucked against her, the thick, wet heat from inside dribbling out, trickling down between her balls, then suddenly flexing, clenching with a tickle to the muscles, only to part right back open again with a meaty squelch.

I just… Still panting, Sue pressed a hand up across her still-flared shaft in the classic move to smear off her load. On instinct this time she brought that hand to her nose, took a sniff… smelled that rich, sharp odor of feral canine rear which had already begun to lose some of its bite. I just fucked a dog. Just… a straight-up feral dog. She swallowed and made eye contact with him again, his tail wagging against the base of her cock. Even if he is a bigger fuckin’ bottom than any twink-ass guy I’ve been with. Power bottom feral? Who in the-?

The mare blinked, surprised by a vibration on her wrist. She leaned to the side, the dog looking as well, then turned her arm, remembered that she had come out here for her usual evening jog – though by now it was almost fully dark outside – and tapped her fitness tracker with a finger that was only slightly cum-stained. Across the screen, little colored fireworks played, followed by: Good Cardio!

She rolled her eyes, huffed out, and then slumped back onto her haunches, thick shaft swinging down off the dog’s body. Seeing his opportunity the feral turned around, hindlegs trembling only slightly, and once against scooped his snout up underneath her flare, sniffing at his own mess for a moment before dutifully getting to work in cleaning her up, making no distinction between the dribbling white, the streaks of off-colored mucus, the little caught bits and chunks and whatever else. Sue grimaced with the sight and sensation but let him do it. It did feel nice, especially once she came down from her peak and her head unflared, and the thick, dense flesh of her shaft began to creep slowly back, coaxing the dog closer and closer until he licked and slurped within the swampy folds of her sheath once again… and then, satisfied, he sat back, wagged his tail, and hiked a leg to begin at himself, though repeatedly lifted his head to look at her.

At first Sue just let him, but then frowned and peeked closer when he kept on doing it. She glanced back over her shoulder in case he was looking at something back there, then tilted her head, leaned closer… and then realized what it was he wanted, his still-hard shaft twitching in a steady rhythm, emptying out little squirts of remnant cum and pre across his footpaw. Golden eyes on her, he leaned in, sniffed at his shaft, let it pulse against his nose, then slipped his tongue out, folded it along the base, dragged towards the tapered tip…

“Fine, fine,” Sue grumbled, and moved to bring herself closer. The shepherd wagged and sat back, putting himself in easy access for her. “I’ll do it for you, since you asked so nicely.”

Maybe this could count as an extra exercise session… As she scooted closer, the mare made sure to turn her tracker off for this one. Or maybe I could work this into my routine…

_ _

He could sure teach me a thing or two about proper stretching.