FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Maverick stood under the showerhead, letting the almost painfully hot water gush over him, soothing his exhausted muscles. The day's practise had been especially rough; with a big game scheduled for the following week, the coach had pushed them extra hard. Maverick might have said "too hard", except that would simply have earned him another set of push-ups. Everything was sore. The Clydesdale's bulky shoulders had teamed up against him -- united by pain -- and were reading complaints off of a very long list. His broad back and muscular thighs interjected occasionally. Even his hooves had a few things to say. Trying to suppress a pained groan, he turned from side to side, letting the heat of the water reach every aching part of him. Hockey was a demanding mistress, and apparently her command today was simply "agony". At least he had the weekend to recover.

The eighteen-year-old stallion closed his eyes, resting one hand against the wall and focusing on the feel of the water running over his body. The quiet rush partly drowned out the hubbub of the locker room. He'd really earned it today. He dipped his head a bit to let the water strike the top of his mane. He liked the sensation of it filtering along the hair, down the middle of his back, and streaming off his tail. He flicked his tail, feeling the waterlogged hairs swing heavily and send water flying to either side. Swish, swish. Ah yes, that was starting to feel better. Swish, swish, swish...

He put both hands against the wall and forced his body to stretch, groaning again as muscles strained. He imagined getting home and settling into his comfortable couch to relax further. He really wanted a pizza, but if he caved to that desire now, he'd end up being a slob all weekend and undoing all the hard work he'd put in for the game. No; there were some chicken breasts in the fridge, and he could whip up a béchamel for them, perhaps...

A sharp pain exploded in his buttock just as the whip-crack sound of a flicked wet towel registered. He whinnied hard, pushing off the wall and whirling about angrily. The adrenaline of the afternoon's exertions was still thick in his veins, and he glared at the zebra stallion standing before him, towel in hand, doing a terrible impression of innocence.

"Fuck you!" the Clydesdale yelled, one hand rubbing the point of impact, the other half-formed into a fist. "That hurt, dick!"

The other equine slapped the towel around his neck and shrugged, his hands holding onto the ends of the cloth. "I'm a simple zebra, Maverick. I see an exposed ass in the shower, I flick it."

"Well go fucking flick someone else's, shithead! I'm sore enough as it is." He whinnied with annoyance and stepped back under the water. The idiot had undone his whole relaxation exercise now. He tried closing his eyes and zoning out again, but the moment was past. Sighing, he stepped out of the water and jerked the towel from around his friend's neck. "Someone that missed as many strikes as you did today should be a bit less chill, don't you think, Dylan?" he sneered, beginning to dry his arms and chest. His pecs flexed and bunched as he moved.

Dylan chewed on a non-existent cud and shook his head, unbothered. He ran his fingers through his stiff mane, still wet from his own shower. Drops of water flew in all directions. "Nah. That's my system, see. If I get all freaked out about it, I'll just end up playing like I got hobbles on my legs next week. I go the other direction: super relaxed, no stress. Gets my head into the right space." He watched his friend dry off. Around them, their other teammates showered or got dressed.

Maverick finished with his upper body and gave his thick legs a wipe before attending to his crotch. The folds of his sheath loved to hang onto the water; he made sure to really dig into them. He put one hoof up on a bench to get better access to it; his large balls swung back and forth as he worked. "And attacking me helps with that?" he asked, rubbing vigorously.

"Nope." Dylan gave a wide grin. "That's just 'cos I wanted to." He pointed at his friend's sheath. "Think you missed a spot." He snickered when Maverick threw the towel back in his face and sniffed it with an exaggerated breath. "Oh my, Maverick, what delicious sheath musk you have." When the draft stallion didn't respond, he tossed the towel aside. "Aw, don't be mad, bro," he called, as Maverick walked over to his bag. The Clydesdale flipped his friend off with a free hand. "Did I interrupt a nice daydream? Who's the cute mare, Truncheon?"

The nickname irritated him. "Your mom," he snapped. It was a gut insult, and Maverick felt bad about as soon as he'd said it. Thankfully, it didn't land: the zebra took it in his stride, gasping and clapping his hands together in mock excitement.

"Oh, you found her? Can you let her know me and my dad are waiting for her? It's been fifteen years and all, but I'm sure she really had to search for those cigarettes." He snorted and grabbed another towel, wrapping it around his neck again.

The horse tried to change the subject. "Guess I'll settle for your dad then, bitch." The zebra laughed, as he'd hoped, and the draft stallion started packing his gear into his bag. A bull walked by, slapping Maverick on the back. The equine gave him a thumbs up.

Despite the casual insults and ribbing, the two equines were close. They'd been friends since they started school; Maverick's parents had passed when he was very young, and Dylan's mother had left him at a similarly young age. Combined with birthdays that were mere days apart -- with Dylan the elder -- they'd had a lot in common to bond over. Over the years, they'd become as close as two friends got. When Maverick had emancipated himself at sixteen and bought a small apartment in the city, they'd even made grand plans to rent together. However, Dylan's father had decided that two high school boys, alone without supervision, was a recipe for disaster.

Dylan dropped onto the long bench next to Maverick, legs outstretched. He'd dropped his cock a little. In the excessively masculine atmosphere of the locker room, everyone merely saw this as a mark of dominance. Yeah, I have a dick, and it's bigger than yours. "Mav," he said, looking across at his friend, "you've met my dad. Do you really think he's the one getting fucked in this scenario? He's like twice your size."

"Not where it counts!" Maverick finished packing and turned to his friend. He grabbed his sheath, making a lewd face, and grunting suggestively, thrusting towards the zebra's face. "Oooooh yeah...I'm your daddy's daddy, son." Dylan snorted and pushed him away, looking to one side. "Anyway", the horse said, releasing his crotch, "I bet there are really big guys who like being fucked. You don't know."

The zebra stood and began pulling on a t-shirt and shorts. "Oh, and you do?" he asked. "Something you wanna tell me, Mav?"

The Clydesdale looked at him and took an exaggerated breath. "Yeah, Dylan. There is. I wasn't sure how to tell you but...well...you're an ass."

The zebra rolled his eyes. "Zebras aren't donkeys, man," he said. "Keep up. Trust me. I'm your elder." The two equines said farewell to their teammates and headed out, exchanging casual insults as they went. Eventually, Dylan punched his friend gently on the arm. "So, listen. I need to stay chill all weekend. It's all part of the headspace. Come over tomorrow and we can hang out and play games, 'kay? I told my dad already, so he won't be around." He waggled his eyebrows. "Bring something tasty, alright? Make it ten am."

Maverick chuckled. "Alright, sounds good. Dumbass."

"Cheers, fuckhead. Seeya tomorrow."

---

At a quarter to ten the next morning, Maverick pulled into his friend's driveway. Dylan lived out in the suburbs, a fair distance from Maverick's city apartment. It was always odd seeing the city transform from high-rises and apartment blocks to wide, green boulevards. There was too much space out here for Maverick, though; he preferred the noise and busyness of the inner city. The suburbs were for retirement. On the plus side, the almost complete lack of traffic had let him arrive early.

He slammed the car door shut and hiked his rucksack over his shoulder. He'd brought a few things to share with his friend: a few snacks, a new game to try out, and -- as intimated the day before -- a bottle of booze. Only a regular beer, but its golden colour might as well be from real gold for what it represented. Getting drunk was the pinnacle of high school entertainment. Maverick had bluffed it out of a tired store clerk earlier in the week and had been holding on to it until today. Half a beer each wouldn't get them close to drunk, but they could casually brag next week about how they'd spent the weekend drinking. Major points with the team.

The tall stallion took the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell. As the sound tinkled inside, he squinted up at the cloudless blue sky. The day was looking to be a hot one. Hmmm...he sniffed around curiously, then tucked his nose under his arm and sniffed again, frowning. Already? The Clydesdale's bulky body was overeager when it came to sweating; the deodorant he'd applied this morning was only barely keeping up. Hopefully, being indoors would keep it controlled. Or he could borrow some from Dylan later. Or take a shower.

Maverick tapped one hoof on the ground as his mind drifted, then pressed the doorbell again. The happy little tune played out once more, but nobody appeared to open for him. With an exasperated snort, he shifted his bag to the other shoulder and fished out his phone. He tapped Dylan's name and tucked the device between his shoulder and ear, picking at his nails as it rang.

Hello, you've reached Dylan. I'm not ava--

Maverick growled and ended the call. Seriously? Where the fuck was the idiot? Had he forgotten and slept in? The horse wasn't that early.

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and took a few steps back to look up at Dylan's window. "Dylan! Hey! Dylaaan!" When his friend failed to appear, he swore again. He got down onto all fours to peer under the garage door. His friend's battered Uno was not inside. The shithead wasn't even at home.

Irritation flared up inside him. "Keevey, I will kill you," he growled, invoking the zebra's surname. Like hell he was driving back to his place after coming all the way out here. He tried to think of options. Perhaps the back door was open. He could sit in the cool interior and eat Dylan's food until he deigned to show up. Which he'd better do fucking soon.

The small gate that kept the side of the house closed off for pets was ajar; the zebras did not own any. Maverick wandered across and pushed it open, then walked along the leaf-dappled corridor beyond it. Dylan's father enjoyed gardening, and he'd planted a tall creeper along a trellis here, then coaxed it into growing overhead, forming a cool, green tunnel. It extended a little beyond the end of the house, too, so that as Maverick reached the end, it partially concealed him when he spotted Mr Keevey.

The older zebra was doing some garden work, by the look of things. He was on his knees, digging into a flower bed with a trowel; the pile of weeds and dead leaves next to him indicated he'd been at it a while. He was wearing a very faded pair of denim jeans and a dirt-streaked wife beater. The Walkman tucked into his waist, with a wire running up to his battered headphones, explained why nobody had answered the door.

Maverick had been over to Dylan's place many times and had met his friend's father on several occasions. They knew each other reasonably well. The zebra had been the sole breadwinner for himself and Dylan after his wife had left, and from what Dylan said, he'd worked insanely hard. He'd had two jobs for a long time, often keeping him busy late into evenings and on weekends, before finding work as a policeman, which he still did. Things hadn't always been easy for the two of them, but Patrick had never stinted on his fatherly duties. It was as if he felt obliged to not just make up for his missing partner, but exceed what she would have brought to the equation. Dylan utterly adored him.

Every time that Maverick had met him, Mr Keevey had been friendly. He always inquired after Maverick's school progress, and invited him to come over for dinner whenever he wished. He helped them out with projects, and had driven them to countless school events before they got cars of their own. If Maverick's parents were alive, he sometimes thought, he would have wanted them to be like Mr Keevey.

Patrick was facing away from the house, and wouldn't have noticed his son's friend even if he wasn't wearing headphones. As the zebra worked, he leaned forward now and then, raising and lowering his ass. His tail swished about, and he swayed a little now and then, in time to the unheard music. Maverick didn't want to disturb him: he seemed very content and focused on his hobby. But if Dylan wasn't answering his phone, he must be completely unavailable: the zebra always answered the phone. So...wait in the car until he did? That sucked. Who knew how long it would be on this sweltering day? And driving home again -- only to have to drive back here later -- was an even worse option.

As Maverick considered, the gardening zebra suddenly raised his body, groaning and stretching his arms upwards. He sighed, resting his butt on his hooves and his hands on his thighs, looking down at whatever he'd been doing and nodding in satisfaction. Then, with a glance at his watch, one of his hands moved inwards. It wasn't initially clear what he was doing, but as soon as Maverick saw the wrist start sliding up and down, he blushed. Shit. His friend's dad was feeling himself up, and here he was, watching him like some kind of perv. He looked back towards the front of the house. It was gonna be hot as an oven in his car. He couldn't just sit in there. Nope -- he had to do something else. Quickly.

Feeling like a voyeur, Maverick walked forward at a speed just short of a run and tapped the zebra awkwardly on his shoulder. The big equine started, the lewding hand jerking away from his crotch and pulling his headphones off as he whirled about with wide eyes. Maverick could have sworn he saw him do a double-take when he saw the draft.

"Maverick!"

"Sorry, Mr Keevey, I didn't mean to scare you..." Or interrupt your wank.

The zebra stallion slapped his hands onto his thighs with relief and took a deep breath. "Hey, buddy. No, it's fine. Just wasn't...didn't expect you." He wiped his hands across the denim and smiled up at the horse. "Heh. Good morning, Maverick." Then he harrumphed and got to his feet. They stared at one another. There was really no way to avoid seeing the bulge that extended down one leg of the zebra's jeans, and he gave a wry smile as he looked down at himself. "I, uh, thought I was alone..." he said, by way of explanation. He shifted his legs; it did nothing to reduce the visibility of his turgid penis.

Maverick grinned and gave a half-shrug. "I get it. Gotta do what it says, when it says, right? Guy problems." Even dads needed to jerk off, right? Especially single dads. He wondered why the zebra had never remarried, or even had a girlfriend. He was pretty good-looking.

The zebra chuckled, lowering his head and running a hand through the bristles of his mane, exactly as his son did. He looked at the Clydesdale with a small smile. "Yeah," he said, "it definitely wants very specific things". He tucked one hand into his pocket and looked down at the draft. Dylan had been quite correct in his assessment of their relative sizes. Maverick would likely grow into a much bigger stallion than the zebra, but that was going to take another few years and a lot of exercise. Currently, the draft stood a good half-foot under the zebra's height, and while his muscle was growing by the month, the older equine had a few decades' head start. The cop was big enough to handle anything he might come across in his job...or in the bedroom, clearly.

Maverick experienced an odd sense of dismay as he realised that his friend's father likely had him beat downstairs, if that outline in his pants hadn't been full size yet. The draft had always taken a quiet pride in being the biggest guy in school; it was kind of the thing, for drafts. No matter what else, they ruled the dick-roost. Dylan was nowhere close to him, for example. But clearly, that was no fault of his father's genes.

"So...you're here for Dylan?" Patrick asked. He blew some loose dirt from his hands. "He's not here right now, I'm afraid." He carefully unhooked his Walkman and wrapped the wires around it.

Maverick nodded and tugged his backpack forward a little on his shoulder in demonstration. "Yeah, he said we should hang out today. Do you know where he is? I called, but he didn't pick up."

"I asked him to do some chores for me. He's probably gonna be gone for a few hours still. Didn't he let you know?"

Maverick frowned. "No, the fu--the idiot didn't." He fished out his phone and dialled Dylan again.

Hello, this is--

Maverick slammed his thumb onto the end call button and gave a long, exasperated sigh. "I can't believe...sorry for bothering you, Mr Keevey," he started to say. The zebra waved his apology down.

"No, no, Maverick," the older stallion said amiably. "I should apologise, my son clearly has no manners." He tucked the Walkman into a pocket. "I know it's a really long drive for you, and I feel bad that you came all this way for nothing." He looked pointedly at Maverick's sweaty pits and waved up at the house. "I can see you're boiling. Won't you come in and have something to drink, at least? I'll message Dylan and tell him he's a bad friend."

Maverick had not been enjoying the thought of driving right back home in the rapidly-growing heat, and the offer of a refreshment was welcome. "Sure thing, Mr Keevey," he said.

"Come now. You're a full-grown horse. Call me Patrick," said Patrick.

"Okay...Patrick," the draft replied. It was strange calling him by his first name. Sure, technically he was an adult too, but only just. He shrugged his backpack higher onto his shoulder and followed the zebra into the house.

The interior was cool on the hot day. A ceiling fan spun about lazily overhead, and the aircon hummed. The television was on, local news playing out at low volume. Various bits of clothing lay about: with just the two males living there, their house was always a little dishevelled. At least all the times that Maverick had visited before. If the general disarray wasn't enough to let on that only males lived there, the smell would have done the trick. It was a milder sort of the same funk that Maverick smelled every day in the locker rooms. Sweat, testosterone and musk. The tiniest hint of horniness. Male scents.

Patrick picked at a shirt lying over the couch, considering. The decal on it proclaimed the dominance of Dylan's favourite local football team. "Yeeeah, sorry," he said, "it's a bit of a mess. I didn't have time to clean up."

"It's fine, Mr...um, Patrick."

"Mr Umpatrick?" The zebra chuckled when Maverick blushed. "So formal, Maverick. You're basically done with school, you know. You're just as much an adult as I am." He walked over to the fridge and opened it, removing a couple of brown bottles. He offered one to the draft stallion. "Here. Relax."

Maverick looked at the beer with surprise. "I...I'm not allowed..."

"Says who?"

Maverick felt like a deer in the headlights. "The...the rules do. Um, you do, sir." How could the police horse not know that?

Patrick snorted. "Don't call me 'sir', Maverick, I'm not your teacher. And as for the rules..." He rested the bottles on the countertop, leaning forward intently. "Let me tell you a secret, Maverick. You'll learn it quick enough in real life anyway. Some of the rules are stupid." He nodded at Maverick's indecisive expression. "You'll see. Out there, what you can and can't do, what's right, what's not -- a bunch of it is just there to make other people feel better." He waved around the lounge. "Seriously: if you sit here, and have one beer with me -- a cop -- and I make sure you don't drive home until you're completely sober...what's the harm?" He seemed to like that line, because he repeated it. "What's the harm, huh?" He raised his eyebrows rhetorically. "I mean, shit, in most of the world you're old enough to drink. I'm simply making this house part of that not-dumb bit of the world for a while."

He proffered the beer bottle again. "Think of it like this, Maverick," he said, waggling the bottle towards the horse. "Today, I'm not a cop. I'm just your friend's dad. And it's just one beer. And sometimes...sometimes you've got to take something that you want." His eyes were strangely distant for a moment, as if he was making an internal decision, and then he stepped around the counter, pressed the beer bottle into Maverick's hand, and pointed at the couch. "There. Sit. Drink. Enjoy it." He dug under a pile of magazines and extracted the TV remote, and then slumped down onto the couch himself. He looked up at the indecisive Clydesdale."Last chance..."

Maverick stood in silence for a moment. This was weird, right? It felt weird. He looked down at the beer in his hand. It was wonderfully cold. Weird or no, this was undeniably better than driving home again. And -- this way he could still drink his own beer later.

The math of two being more than one tipped the scales. He shrugged his rucksack to the floor and flopped down onto the couch next to the zebra. There was an alarming squeal from the old springs, but it held up under their combined weight. Maverick held the beer up to the light, imagining the excuses he'd use if a beat cop suddenly bashed down the door and pointed a gun at him. Mr Keevey said I could...no, he's not my dad...yes, the bottle in my bag belongs to me...

Well, fuck it.

Two bottle tops clinked onto to the table, and a few seconds later, two satisfied sighs rolled out of them. The beer was more bitter than the other two he'd had in his life so far. He wasn't sure he liked that about them yet, but he definitely liked the feeling he had after finishing a bottle. He took another mouthful and swirled it around thoughtfully. The zebra grinned across at him. "Good?" he asked. Maverick nodded. "First beer you've had, I'm sure," his host said, keenly.

"Uh...yes. Yep."

Patrick snorted. "Liar." The equines drank, and Maverick began to relax. Patrick was being a good host. This was as risk-free as things got. And it made for a pretty good revenge on his annoyingly absent friend. He sipped the drink. The bitterness wasn't so bad if you took the time to savour it, he realised. He'd been so nervous when he drank before -- so concerned about being caught -- that he hadn't really taken the time to taste it. He took a larger hoppy mouthful, watching two vapid talk show hosts discuss a new cooking fad. Saturday television really was the fucking worst.

"So, you figured out what you're gonna do next year yet?" his host asked, lifting a hoof and resting it on an ottoman with a satisfied grunt. One hand balanced his beer on his slight gut.

The draft shrugged. "Maybe. Not sure. Might try for a sports scholarship." Sometimes he worried a little about not having concrete plans for his future, but he was sure he'd figure it out. There was still time.

Patrick nodded. "Yeah, Dylan said the same thing. But I'm not sure he's good enough...not like you, you know." Maverick looked at him quizzically, and the older equine waved vaguely. "No, no, I mean -- well, come on, Maverick. I've seen you play. You've got real skill on the field. Dylan...I love him, but he's just not at the same level as you. I think he really just got into it because you were doing it, you know. Friends and all." He took another sip, then suddenly pointed a finger at the draft. "And don't you dare tell him I said that." He started taking another sip but interrupted himself yet again. "Or that I gave you a beer." He eyed his companion.

"Yes, Mr Keevey," Maverick said, wearing a smug grin.

"Don't call me...oh, fuck you, horse," the zebra said pleasantly as his guest laughed and took another long swig of his drink. Maverick was starting to feel a pleasant buzz. This was nice.

The equines drank, and chatted casually. The oppressive heat outside began to leak indoors; the room warmed up. Eventually, Patrick raised his muzzle and sniffed about, before lifting his arm and sniffing his armpit. "Shit." He put his now-empty bottle down. "I think I need to grab a shower quick."

Maverick sniffed himself again. "No, wait, it might be me..."

Patrick leaned across and took a deep sniff of the Clydesdale. "Nah." He sniffed again. "You smell just fine, Maverick. Very, how do the kids say, bro." He made exaggerated air quotes, smirking; Maverick had to laugh. "Bet all the ladies go mad for you, huh?" the zebra asked, one hand tucked into his jeans. "They love a handsome guy who smells manly. And with your body on top of all that...you must work out a lot, huh? Or is it all the hockey?" He poked the Clydesdale's chest. "Oh yeah, no way you'd get those pecs from hockey. The legs, sure. Looks like you just glued a couple tree trunks to your body, hey? Do the girls just clamber over you like a big sexy climbing frame?"

Maverick smiled at the compliments. He liked to talk himself up, but in fact, he'd not had as much luck with women as he hoped. Almost none, really. Females just didn't seem to be that interested in giving him what he wanted. But he'd never admit that; Clydesdales were supposed to define studliness. So, he nodded. "They sure do," he drawled, taking another sip of beer.

Patrick nodded. His eyes were bright. "Yeah...I bet. It's good being young, huh? You've still got it all: sex drive, abs and a dick that never quits." He slapped his own belly. "I lost one of those a while ago, sadly. Dylan's still got some, though. I think." He looked enquiringly at Maverick. "Does he?"

The horse was momentarily confused. "Uh...yeah, he does. Um, I mean, not as many as me...I think just a four-pack..." What an odd question from a father. Does my son have abs?

The zebra was nodding again. "Lucky boy. I'm sure he'll try to match you if he can. I always thought he--" He cut himself off, shook his head a bit, and stood up. "Whatever. Anyway, back in a bit."

"Sure thing," said Maverick, as his guest disappeared towards the bathroom. That was...strange. He looked at his beer bottle. He supposed he could put up with strange for alcohol, though. Taking another big mouthful, he picked up the remote and flipped through a few channels. There really was nothing good on. Oh well. He pulled the ottoman towards himself and put his hooves up, settling deeper into the aged leather of the couch. This was pretty alright by itself.

He scratched his balls absent-mindedly as some nameless sitcom played out on television. They'd accumulated some sweat in the warmth of his pants; it tickled as it ran down his thigh. His fingers dug around them, relieving the annoying sensation. He grunted in satisfaction, then sighed. His hand rested on his crotch as his mind wandered. The alcohol was making him feel a little randy. His dick was ever so slowly waking up, and he kneaded it lightly with one palm. He thought about the last girl he'd almost hooked up with. He'd been so blue-balled when she left. Why did girls never want to do what he liked...?

"Giving it what it wants?"

Maverick jumped, turning his head to see Patrick standing behind him. The zebra was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist; the definition of his body on show for all to see. Middle age had robbed him of any abs he might once have had, just as he'd said before, but he still had a powerful chest and thick arms. His stripes ended at his sides, leaving his entire front a warm cream colour. The draft blinked. "Huh?"

Patrick pointed at the hand now lying still on his crotch. "Like you said -- gotta give it what it wants?" He walked into the kitchen area, opening the fridge.

"Oh! Yeah. Heh." Maverick let his hand slide off, and Patrick snickered from across the room, reaching into the fridge.

"Sucks being a guy sometimes." The older equine pulled out another beer and peered over to see if Maverick's bottle looked empty. "Another?" he asked.

More beer? Why the fuck not. "Sure. Thanks." Maverick had never been properly drunk before. He was eager to try the experience. The zebra walked back to the couch, handed another bottle to Maverick, and dropped down next to him onto the couch. He gestured at the TV as he popped the bottle cap.

"Anything good on yet?"

"Nah." There was silence for a moment as they drank. Maverick nickered with satisfaction. Quite apart from the buzz, this felt...right. Hanging out with a buddy, drinking some beers. Getting drunk. Like an adult.

The show changed to a documentary about alligators. They finished their beers and chatted some more. A third set of drinks was provided at some point. Maverick's buzz intensified as the beers wore on. Things were really good now. He wasn't even pissed anymore that Dylan had forgotten to tell his dad that...something. Wait, what did he say yesterday...?

Patrick grunted next to him. "This show is shit." He glanced over at Maverick, looking at the level of liquid left in his bottle. "I've got a better idea. Pass the remote." Maverick tossed it across, still trying to remember what Dylan had said through the fuzz wandering through his mind, and the zebra pressed a couple buttons. A box popped up on the screen; a password input.

Maverick forgot all about the thing he was trying to remember, and his heart skipped a beat. No way.

Patrick looked at him with a leer. "Do...you wanna watch porn, Maverick?"

Maverick's head swirled. Yeah, he did. He really did. He was super horny now, and his dick twitched at the thought of porn. But...shit, this was kinda weird. Would it be even weirder if he said no? He wasn't a stranger to mutual masturbation; he and Dylan had done it a couple times, hunched over a screen, watching a particularly hot video that one or the other of them had found. But Patrick wasn't his best friend -- just his best friend's dad. It kinda seemed...

Too late. Patrick hadn't waited for his response. He tapped his password in, and the screen changed. Lewd, graphic thumbnails appeared: males and females of all species, in every imaginable configuration. Maverick stared, and felt himself drop a little more. His bleary reasons for not doing it melted away.

He'd seen porn before, of course. That's what the Internet was for -- that, and last-minute help with essays. He doubted there was anything that he'd see here which would surprise him. One of his personal favourites was girls who were really attentive to the cock first. Worshipping it. Fennecs seemed to be the best for that. Every time a fennec saw a horse dick, it was as if she'd never seen an equine before in her life. It made him feel really good. Masculine. Sexy.

"I don't let Dylan see this," Patrick was saying as he slowly paged through the options. "Not that I'm trying to keep him away from porn or anything. But this is..." He didn't finish the sentence. "I'm sure he watches it on his phone anyway. You kids have it way better than we did growing up. But I don't have time to figure out the online stuff. I prefer it old-school." He clicked on one of the icons. Black and White and Fucked All Over. It wasn't even wide screen. The preview was a zebra's lower torso and dick, half-buried inside a yowling lioness. She looked like she was having a good time. Maverick's free hand slipped down to his crotch and gripped it. Yeah, he'd seen porn before -- but not while well on the way to drunk. The pleasant sensation added a whole new dimension to the experience.

"I guess that's a yes for this one," Patrick drawled, and Maverick started, his hand jerking away from himself for the second time. His host chuckled. "Go for it, Maverick," the zebra said, putting a hand on his own bulge. The towel he had on was hiding even less than his jeans had earlier. "Kinda seems like we both have some unfinished business we'd like to work on."

"Yeah..." The Clydesdale had to swallow away the cotton wool that had filled his mouth before he spoke. His head was spinning ever so gently.

He wasn't afraid of another guy's dick. He saw them all the time in the locker room. He'd jerked off with Dylan before. He'd even jerked off in front of buddies the year before, after one late practise session. It had been...well, not hot. Why would it. But good. To show off. Be admired.

He remembered it really well. It was in the showers one day. One of the newer team members, a wolf, had suggested he was better endowed than any horse. After a bit of ribbing back and forth, Maverick had simply stood with his arms crossed, and dropped in front of the lupine. Not to be deterred, the wolf had moved the goalposts, claiming he meant "while hard". While the team jeered and taunted, they'd stroked themselves to their full lengths; the wolf's crimson member had been very impressive, but he'd been well under the Clydesdale's length. Maverick had decided to make a point, though, so he'd kept jerking until his flare ballooned, and he'd sprayed the wall with his load. The wolf hadn't made any more comments about his dick after that, and Maverick had earned the nickname "Truncheon".

Maverick fondled his growing truncheon now, watching the television. Under some or other pretext, a lioness had lured a male zebra to her apartment. They made painfully bad small talk and then stripped. The lioness started with a blowjob, doing her level best to fit the equine in her mouth, and only just succeeding. Maverick's hand rubbed and squeezed, sliding under the shaft to stroke his balls a little too. Shit, this felt so good. He imagined that mouth on his own dick. The warmth and attentiveness. He could feel himself dripping into his underwear. Even the double-thickness horse briefs he bought couldn't stand up to a properly horny stallion; he had to slide his hand inside and adjust himself when it got really tight. But he still didn't feel comfortable enough to just whip it out.

"Ever fucked a lion, Maverick?"

The horse's mind instantly went to a terrible blowjob he'd received in a laundry room from a drunk feline a few months before. She'd stopped trying halfway, and had left when he suggested they fuck properly. Closest he'd gotten, not that he'd admit it. "I get pussy all the time," he lied. He looked across at the zebra as the television made porn sounds. Patrick had lifted the side of his towel and was stroking his tremendous length as it lay, semi-flaccid, across the couch. His balls were tucked to one side. As Maverick had suspected earlier, the zebra had the horse handily beat on the size front. "All chicks dig horses," Maverick followed up, trying not to feel jealous that he wasn't automatically the biggest guy in the room. "Oh -- and zebras, I guess?" He didn't really know. Dylan was a virgin, he knew that. His friend spent half his time whining about how he couldn't get laid, so maybe zebras didn't benefit from the horse effect.

"Yeah, chicks dig zebras." Patrick looked back at the screen. "She really did. Couldn't keep her off me."

It took a few moments for Maverick's distracted mind to figure out what he was saying. He'd been looking at the lioness the whole time; now, he blinked and looked properly at the guy's face. It was younger, and had more makeup on under the porn lighting, and his mane had been dyed a punk shade, but--

"Holy fuck. You're a porn star!" he gasped.

"Was," the zebra corrected. "Haven't done it for...since I became a cop." His dick had hardened further now, running massively between its owner's legs and sticking off the end of the couch. "It was just after Carol left. Money was tight, Dylan was starting school soon, and...well." He gestured at his cock. "People always joked I should do porn. So, I did."

Maverick just stared at him in amazement, and then raised a fist. "Bro. Bro." Patrick snorted, but bumped his guest's hand. "No fucking way," Maverick said. "That's amazing." He turned back to the television, where the lioness was now on her back as young Patrick fucked her. The Clydesdale pulled his pants down and grabbed his dick properly. Somehow, knowing it was Patrick on-screen had helped him relax about the whole situation. It wasn't just two semi-friends awkwardly watching porn together: it was one guy showing off to a friend about what a stud he was. Maverick could entirely relate. "Was she a hot fuck?" he asked, eyes glued to the lioness. Young Patrick's dick slid in and out of her as she moaned and clawed at the table top; it was shining like obsidian under the lights, coated with her wetness. He was so fucking big. Maverick's dick was close, though. She'd never know the difference.

"I don't actually remember," Patrick said, after a moment's thought. "After a while, they all sort of melted together if you can believe it..." He was looking across at the Clydesdale, not even watching the television anymore. His hand was rubbing a ball now, the leathery skin stretching and compressing under his fingers.

"'After a while' -- shit, man, that's fucking incredible," Maverick laughed, shaking his head. "How many chicks did you do?" He grunted as he watched the on-screen action, and his dick throbbed as his hands caressed it. "Did you make a lot of cash?"

The zebra's voice, when he replied, was oddly taut. "I probably did, um, twenty films. The cash wasn't as good as you'd think, at first. Lots of guys wanna do porn. Obviously. Lots of horses with big dicks. Heh...they were so pissed when a zebra beat them." There was an especially long pause. "You can make more doing different sorts of stuff, though..."

The porn scene changed. Another horse entered the room; a Clydesdale, like Maverick. Built like a mountain, he was a vision of how Maverick might look in five years. It seemed like he was supposed to be the lioness' husband or boyfriend or something. The zebra had pulled out of the feline, and they were arguing; young Patrick's bobbing penis was smearing the front of the draft stallion's suit with fluids. Maverick leered across at Patrick. "Uh oh, you're in trouble now. Guess you'll just both have to fuck that chick togeth--"

His words trailed off. The lioness had vanished offscreen, leaving the two equines alone. The draft stallion was stripping now, revealing a perfect equine porn body. His dick had dropped, and swayed as he shifted about. He'd placed one hand on young Patrick's head and was pushing the zebra to his knees. There didn't seem to be much resistance.

Then, lifting the draft's weighty cock with one hand, young Patrick opened his mouth and began to suck on it.

Maverick was thunderstruck. He gaped at the television, his hands frozen in shock on his penis. Television Patrick licked and suckled on the draft's member with every indication of deep enjoyment.

Maverick had not been expecting this.

"Made much more from the gay stuff," his host said softly. He was watching Maverick's face intently. "Not nearly as many guys that liked going both ways. Gay guys can always tell when someone's not really into it. They don't like it." He tipped his head at the screen, indicating the horse that his younger self was fellating. "He looks a bit like you, doesn't he, Maverick?"

Maverick's head was whirling. Arousal, alcohol and confusion were fighting for centre stage. He wasn't into guys. This wasn't his thing. Like, sure, if other guys were, then whatever, more power to them. He didn't care. He liked pussy. But, it was so weird seeing his father's friend fucking a chick, and then sucking a guy's dick right after. Not weird weird, just...fuck, he didn't know. "Yeah, um, yeah, a bit..." he said. His tongue was a little thick. The beers were really kicking in.

All he knew was, his dick wasn't getting soft.

"You're hotter, though," Patrick said softly. He slid a hand onto Maverick's leg. The draft looked down at the hand with wide eyes. What the fuuck...?

Patrick kept going. "You're a fucking stud, Maverick. C'mon, you know it. You've been doing hockey with Dylan for how long now? He doesn't really put on muscle, but you do. Just look at you, hot stuff." His hand stroked along Maverick's thigh. "You get bigger every time I see you. You've got arms as thick as Dylan's legs. Huge, juicy pecs...and a dick to die for." He was staring at Maverick's crotch now with undisguised lust. "It's so beautiful," he whispered. "I don't think I've ever seen a more perfect cock, Maverick. Horse cock is the best cock."

He lifted his head. His expression had changed; the cop didn't look calm and collected anymore, as he had all morning. He looked needy. Very needy. "Please...please can I blow you, stud?" he asked. He licked his lips. "I want to pleasure you, Maverick. I want to worship your cock, your body, every fucking inch of you. Nobody gives head like a guy, Maverick, I promise. Chicks can't give a dick what it needs. I'll show you...if you want."

Patrick stopped speaking. He was still gripping Maverick's thigh. On the television, his younger self moaned loudly. He waited for an answer, but Maverick was speechless.

Nothing in the horse's life so far had prepared him for how to respond to an offer like that. He was the one that had to chase after women for sex, for some reason. Nobody had ever just come up to him and...begged for it. Almost all of him was telling him to say no, and leave, and never visit Dylan again. But...he liked the compliments. He was proud of his body, and Patrick had said all the right things about it. And the fact that a guy with a bigger dick than his thought that his dick was hot shit, made him pretty happy. And...

And he still wasn't getting soft.

He thought back to the interrupted blowjob in the laundry; he'd had to beg for that much. Chicks never seemed to want to give him what he wanted, and he didn't know why. But here was someone begging, pleading to give him head. So what if it was a guy? He was kinda drunk, and really horny, and a mouth was a mouth. So maybe they could both get what they wanted. He could call it a once-off later. Yeah. Drunken fun. Never talk about it again. Everyone wins.

He put his hand on Patrick's and lifted it off his thigh. The zebra's face fell. Before the other equine could say anything, though, Maverick spoke up. "Tell me...what you want to do." He spread his legs, making his dick slide down his inner thigh and stick off the end of the couch. Twenty long inches. He grabbed one of his pecs in one hand, through his shirt, and held onto his medial ring with the other, stroking it. The awkward feeling was fading, replaced by growing anticipation of a potential blowjob. "Say more about how hot I am," he growled.

Various expressions whisked across Patrick's face, but it was the unmistakable stiffening of his cock that said the most. "Yes, sir," he said. He licked his lips again, looking the draft over. "I...can tell you how it started?" Maverick nodded, and Patrick continued. "It was only this year. I don't know what you did, Maverick, but you started getting so big. You were just a kid before. I never really paid attention. But -- well, do you remember when you came over in April?"

Maverick did remember. He'd been helping Dylan build an apiary. The crazy zebra wanted to try bee-keeping for some reason. Maverick had brought over his power tools since his friend didn't own any, and they'd spent an entire day sawing, drilling and glueing until they had something that looked almost, but not entirely, completely unsuitable for bees. It had never seen use.

"I opened the door to let you in that morning," Patrick was saying, "and you were standing there with just a tank top on, and cargo shorts, holding your tools..." The zebra shook his head. "I did a scene just like that once. It was like I was back there, for a moment. And after..." His eyes smouldered under his brow as he stared at the stallion's cock. "I could never see you the same way again, Maverick. All I could see were your arms. Your legs. Your chest. And your bulge. You were so much hotter than anyone I ever fucked in porn." He reached out tentatively with one hand and placed it on the Clydesdale cock. A shiver ran through him, as if a current had been connected to his body. "You weren't Dylan's friend anymore, after that. You were a muscle stud, a horse master sent to taunt me. To make me hard and horny and make me need you so fucking badly, sir."

He stood up suddenly and loosened his towel. It fell, completely revealing his extra-large cock and hefty balls. No wonder he'd done well in porn. By the look of his nuts, Patrick wouldn't be letting down the species when it came to cumshot size. But that was hidden away when he went down onto his knees and cupped his hands under the end of the draft's hardening penis. He whimpered as he lifted it. "Yessss...oh fuck, you're perfect, Maverick, do you know that? Everything about you is...magnificent." He looked up, along the curve of his guest's chest to his face. "Your arms are incredible. Can you flex for me?" Maverick slowly flexed one arm for him; the bicep pulled his t-shirt taut and elicited a guttural noise from the zebra. "Stud power," Patrick said huskily. His thumbs were stroking ever so gently along the sides of Maverick's flare as his palms supported it; the Clydesdale was amazed at how good it felt. He'd had no idea he was so sensitive there. "Take your shirt off for me, please?" the zebra begged.

Maverick obliged, sliding the fabric up and over his head. Patrick gave a soft, choked cry when he saw what lay under it. "Look at your nipples," he managed to say. Maverick took one of the fat, fleshy points in his fingers and squeezed it for him; it looked as if the zebra might faint. "You're so big, Maverick," he whimpered, "so fucking big and strong and hot and..." He stopped speaking, his mouth trying to say things, but failing. He gave up, giving a frustrated whine and dropping his head down. Seconds later, Maverick felt his cockhead engulfed in heat and damp. He gasped, then groaned deeply as the warmth spread rapidly along his skin. The zebra had swallowed him in one smooth, hungry motion, right up to the medial.

Maverick let his head fall back against the couch. "Fuuuuuuck me, man...oh shit, holy shit that's good..." Good didn't begin to cover it, really. It was otherworldly. The awkward, aborted lickjob he'd gotten before wasn't even on the same dimension as what he was feeling now. The zebra's muzzle might as well have been hand-crafted for his cock. His thickness pressed against it on all sides, while the zebra's long tongue supported it from below and squirmed against it, sexily. Maverick sensed a little suction as Patrick swallowed his pre-cum, and a little pressure as the deft tongue moved about, but mostly he just felt wonderful, enveloping softness. It was the best feeling he'd ever had.

On the television, young Patrick was mirroring his aged counterpart. The young equine was giving the draft's cock the full porn treatment: lots of visible licking, and sucking on the tip, and slapping it against his face. The one kneeling in front of Maverick, by contrast, had his eyes closed and was just sliding back and forth, moving the cock in and out of his mouth by no more than an inch at a time. Every few seconds, Maverick would feel his lips cross his medial in one direction, and then the other. In one respect, though, the two versions of Patrick were identical: they moaned. Loudly, and with gusto. Patrick couldn't form words with his muzzle stuffed full of cock, but he tried his level best. Up and down it went, on and on, like a sexual sine wave. He'd rotate his mouth a bit, to slather spit along another side of his guest's member, and push forward: the moan would rise, and grow, cresting in a sound that Maverick actually thought was him orgasming at first. Then the zebra would pull back a bit, suckling on the flesh like a popsicle and his moans would turn guttural; a dirty undercurrent to the greedy, non-stop slurping.

It made Maverick rock-hard.

Nobody had ever been into him this much before. Not even close. It was the ego boost he'd always dreamed of getting from a girl -- but better. When Patrick had called him 'sir'...shit, he'd liked that. He was the master. Fucking right. In control. Being serviced, being pleasured, being worshipped because he was a handsome muscle stallion stud with a big dick. Fuck yeah. This was how it should be.

He looked down at the zebra between his legs. "You like that, Mr Keevey?" He changed the name at the last minute. It seemed right. He wanted to make sure that the zebra was fully aware of the nearly twenty years between them. Fully aware that he was servicing a stallion who was technically younger than his own son. "Is it your dream to suck eighteen-year-old stud cock, Mr Keevey? Does it taste better than all those porn dicks you slutted over?"

The zebra had frozen when he began speaking, and then slowly pulled back, allowing Maverick's thick, spit-lubricated penis to slide out and flop down heavily against the couch. He looked up at the horse, quivering visibly. His eyes were wide and dilated, and spit ran from a corner of his mouth. He licked it up nervously. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice full of lust. "I dreamed about your cock, sir. Of all of you. It tastes better than anything. You are incredible, sir."

Maverick stood up, making the zebra lean backwards. He undid his pants and pushed them down with his underwear, kicking them both off to the side with one hoof. He raised both arms, flexing them, and tightened his abs for show. "How incredible?" he asked. He'd been able to smell the answer for a while; Patrick was squirting pre-cum like his porn star dick was a hose. But he wanted to hear it too, and the zebra did not disappoint.

He lowered his head to Maverick's left hoof first, and kissed it. "When the gods crafted the world, one amongst them remained here, and it is you." He moved to the other hoof and kissed it in the same manner. "You have been sent to show us what a male should be, in every way." His hands slid around Maverick's calves and gripped, while he nosed along the hair of his inner legs. "The scent of you is my perfume," he murmured. Up his hands slid, behind the knees and then the thighs. The well-flared end of Maverick's hanging cock grazed his mane. He lovingly kissed the insides of each of Maverick's wide thighs in turn; not perfunctory kisses, but deep, wet ones, as if the muscles were his lovers. "Your power makes me shake with desire. I need you, sir." He reached Maverick's cock again, and took the end into his mouth, swirling and licking it in an echo of what the television Patrick was doing. His hands slid up yet further, over the tight, hairy ass -- squeezing the cheeks as they went -- and swept around to the front, following the grooves of the horse's Apollo's belt. Then, they dropped to Maverick's balls; each palm held one and gently caressed it as his mouth worshipped the Clydesdale's prick. Sucking deep and slow along its length. Moaning like the world's biggest cock-slut.

Maverick's strong-man pose faltered, and his arms dropped back down. He'd never have believed that balls could be involved in making him feel good, but the thrum of pleasure rolling out from them now did not lie. The blowjob and the ball play was an unexpectedly powerful combination -- powerful enough that he felt his orgasm surge unexpectedly. Suddenly, he wasn't the cock-sure young stallion anymore; he was just a virgin horse, about to lose that moniker, and he didn't know what to do. He grabbed the zebra's shoulder. "Wait...uhhnnn...Patrick...I'm gonna...gonna cum..." He didn't get quite the reaction he'd expected.

Patrick dropped his balls. His hands slid up Maverick's body, over his abs, to his chest, and gripped the draft's nipples -- hard. Maverick felt like he'd been electrocuted in the middle of an orgasm. It hurt, but he didn't want it to end, and he cried out in confusion and pleasure. At the same time, the zebra pushed forward, and Maverick felt that same warmth of earlier envelop his dick -- but it kept going, and going, and going. His swelling flare and thick shaft slid down, down into zebra throat, and Maverick felt it gripping him all the way. He couldn't help it: instinct kicked in. He grabbed the zebra by his ears and held his head utterly still. A loud whinny burst from him as his powerful hips forced his entire length into the zebra, although only a couple inches had been outside by then. Patrick's throat rumbled, the only manifestation of what seemed to be a deep groan of utter satisfaction.

Maverick pulled out as roughly as he'd thrust in; each time, even the warm summer air was cool against his wet cock after the magnificent heat of the zebra's body. He'd groan, and thrust back in. His mind was fogged over with lust and the urgent, irresistible need to mate. He didn't care that it was a guy's throat and not a pussy. He didn't care that he might injure Patrick. His world had contracted to an incandescent pin-prick of sexual need, centred on his cock. Faster and faster the horse fucked, as Patrick tweaked his nipples and moaned like the porn star he was. Faster and faster and faster...

The pin-prick exploded.

Maverick's balls barrelled up into his body. His hands tightened so hard, his nails dug into the zebra's flesh. His powerful arms contracted, slamming the zebra's face into his crotch with his full might and holding him there. The zebra reacted by crying out loudly -- even muffled by cock, the draft could feel it -- and giving his master's nipples a final, hard twist. Maverick's mind went white, and he trumpeted, loudly and powerfully. Deep inside the older equine's gullet, his teenage flare grew to full size; had he been cognizant enough to look down, he would have seen the bulge in Patrick's throat.

Hot cum erupted from his cock and poured into the zebra. The orgasm was a volcano, an earthquake, a tsunami. The young horse was swept away on his maiden voyage to a brief but ecstatic land, and when he returned to sense, he had collapsed onto the couch, arms outstretched, legs akimbo. He was breathing heavily, his hair was damp with a patina of sweat, and his cock lay thick and wet and lazy against his inner thigh, a dribble of cum still oozing from it.

Patrick was sitting on the floor in front of him, lapping at the cum oozing from the tip of the teenager's urethra. The cop's own thick cock was still as hard as ever; there was no sign of an orgasm from him. He smiled up at the stallion when Maverick lifted his head groggily. "Welcome back, stud. Thanks for that. You're a really hot suck."

Maverick didn't know what to say. He gave a half-smile. "Yeah...sure...heh. Wow." He brushed his mane back from his eyes with both hands, resting the palms on his brow. "Wow." Tingles, aftershocks of the intense climax, trilled over his hair. He let his head fall back again and blew a breath out slowly. "That was fucking amazing..."

Patrick chuckled. "Only a stallion knows how to treat a stallion, stud. But we're not done." He rose to his feet. "I refuse to believe a horny young stud like you is finished after just one shot, Maverick. And I still need you -- hnng, so badly." He turned abruptly, lifting his tail and showing off a black pucker that winked and shone with something lustrous. "I need you to fuck me, sir," he pleaded. "Please, sir. Fuck me hard, Maverick, fuck me rough, fuck me until I scream and cum with your muscle cock inside me!" He looked back at Maverick lustily. "Ass is better than any pussy you've ever had, sir. I promise. I'm hot, and tight, and deep, and I can take a beating. Ravage me, Maverick. Please?" The last word had an anguished hook to it. "Please, horse lord. I want to feel your arms crushing me as you fuck my ass like you fucked my throat -- but harder. As hard as you can, as long as you can, until you fill me again, and then start..." His eyes blinked rapidly, and he held back a tiny whine. "Start all over again..." he finished saying, huskily.

Patrick stared at the hole being presented to him, listening to the zebra's plea. He couldn't get enough of being worshipped. He would have said it was better than sex -- except he'd just discovered that nothing was better than sex. But it was up there, for sure. And what Patrick was offering didn't need as hard a sell as the zebra thought.

The reason that Maverick hadn't had much luck with the ladies was that, whenever they offered him the sweetness between their legs, he wanted to try the tightness underneath it instead. He didn't know why. He hadn't even had pussy before, but the thought of doing anal excited him so much more. Perhaps it was all the porn he'd seen where the females got so excited about it, or the semi-illicitness of it all. Sure, he knew that was probably faked, but his dick didn't. It really wanted to know what all the fuss was about. And here, now, was someone offering it to him on a platter. He gave the zebra doughnut a greedy look. Fuck, it looked so tight. And it was so shiny; slick with lube. Patrick must have gotten it ready when he went to shower...

Maverick blinked.

The draft stood back up all of a sudden. His cock swung about in front of him, mirroring how his head felt. "Hey. Hey." He assembled the words slowly. "You planned this," he said, as understanding bloomed. "You wanted this. You...the beers...the invite..." The memory that had escaped him earlier knocked on the door, and let itself in. He jerked upright. "You knew I was coming today. Dylan told me! And you...you sent him away anyway! To...to get me alone! To fucking...to fuck your son's friend!?" He took a step back, confused, and fell down heavily onto the couch. It was tricky to focus; thoughts whisked away when he tried to pin them down. Emotions were easy, though. He was...angry. And horny. Shit, still so fucking horny.

Patrick had turned back to face Maverick and begun waving his hands halfway through his tirade, trying to explain. "No! No, Maverick, no." There was an anguished tone to his words. "That's...not how it was. Please, I promise, please believe me." He wrung his hands, looking at the horse with chagrin, and dropped his head. "I...I did send Dylan away, alright? I'm sorry. I...lied." He reached under the couch cushion and slowly removed a phone. Dylan's phone. "But, it's not like that!" he said firmly, as Maverick gave a disgusted snort. "I...I like you, Maverick, alright? Not like like, not...at first. Just...I thought you'd be fun to hang out with. As a friend. But you were a kid, and my son's friend, and...I mean, it would have been weird. I know, I get that."

He took a second to collect his thoughts, then made a helpless motion with his shoulders. He gestured at Maverick's naked form. "But, you became a man this year. I mean, did you ever. Look at yourself, stud." His eyes lingered again on Maverick's body, and then he shook his head emphatically. "No. No. I didn't send Dylan away just to fuck his friend." He got down onto his knees again, holding eye contact with the Clydesdale. "I didn't think it would go this far. I just wanted to jerk off with you, to see your dick and smell you. But when I saw you...your muscles, your strength...smelled you...t-tasted you..." He screwed his eyes shut; his tongue was out a little, quivering. A long moan came from him. "Everything changed." When he opened his eyes again, the zebra was gone, and only a needy, unfilled slut remained. "Sir," he said, "I'm not sorry about what I did. I can't apologise. I understand if -- if that's not enough. But the fact is, I sent Dylan away so that I could have you all to myself. Just me, and an equine god, worthy of unending worship." His voice grew a shade huskier. "And endless fucking."

Patrick fell silent. Maverick huffed, but said nothing else. He was still upset, but somehow Patrick's words bypassed his brain and activated his cock directly. The cock of an equine god. That made him feel fucking awesome. Patrick had said he'd just wanted to hang out with him -- and they had. Maverick couldn't deny he'd had a good time drinking and chatting with him. Or that he'd loved the blowjob. Or that he really, really wanted to have sex again. Lots of sex. Endless fucking, like he'd said. And he was offering...

On the television, the scene changed; Maverick looked up to see young Patrick shoved up against a wall, with half of a draft horse's penis buried inside his rear. He pointed at the screen. "You want that?"

Patrick expelled a breath he'd been holding in, nervously. He nodded quickly. "Yes! Yes, sir. But...harder. And on my back." He gripped his penis. "I want to watch you, stud. Watch your perfect body ravage me, fill me, use me. Over and over, until you're satisfied." He moaned and bit his lip. "I want to feel your power, your body, your cock. Oh fuck, sir, your cock is...everything." His breathing was accelerating as he spoke. "I need it, deep inside...I wanna feel you...please, please..."

Patrick was right about Maverick's sex drive; he could already feel himself hardening again at the zebra's words. He couldn't believe how much the adulation turned him on. Did he really care? Fuck...he didn't think so. Not about the deception, or that it was his best friend's dad offering himself as his fuck toy, or anything. He'd tasted sex, and worship, in a heady combination, and he wanted more. He deserved more. He was such a stud that a fucking porn star had tried to seduce him. The greatest ego boost of his life.

All he wanted...was more.

The horse stood back up and stepped closer to the zebra. He slapped his host's face with his still-drooling, re-hardening cock. "Alright, you dirty zebra slut," he said heavily. "I'll fuck you. I'll fuck you harder than any porn dick ever did."

Patrick almost fell over in his rush to get to his feet, and Maverick followed him. The zebra didn't go to his own bedroom -- he pushed Dylan's door open instead. "Stronger bed," he explained breathlessly, and then stopped dead, pressing a hand to Maverick's chest. "Wait, sorry..." he said. He was shaking. "Not yet, sir...I must treat you properly..."

Maverick stood still, and Patrick got to work. The zebra began by tucking his nose into the draft's armpit. Between the heat and their exertions, it was soaking. He breathed in deeply, with long, shuddering sounds between each breath. His hands moved around the stallion's chest, feeling up his muscles and pressing hard against them. "Flawless..." was all he could find the breath to say. When he'd had his fill of horse musk, he slid his nose out of the armpit and along the arm; his tongue flicked out, licking the top of the bicep as his hands gripped the underside, massaging it. Maverick flexed the muscle for him, and the zebra trembled. One hand dropped to the Clydesdale's hard penis and stroked it. "How can you be so perfect, sir?" he asked. He returned to Maverick's chest, gripping a pec with one hand, and nuzzling the other. His lips stroked across the nipple, and the draft felt the same electric feeling as before.

The smouldering lust within the Clydesdale roared to flame once again, and whatever final trepidations he was harbouring were burned away. He felt transformed. There was something new inside him; a different creature. A raw beast, made of dominance and sexual need. He put a hand to Patrick's muzzle, and pushed him gently away, meeting his eyes. He looked at the zebra, marvelling at him as if seeing him for the first time. His face was flushed, and the crimson bled through his hair a little, making him seem to glow. His brushy mane stood proud, the bristles dancing when he shifted. He had light grey eyes, filled by his enlarged pupils as he stared lustfully at the draft stallion. He was...beautiful. Yeah, he was a guy, but that didn't matter. Nothing like that mattered, Maverick realised. Guys, girls...so irrelevant. There was only lust, and worship, and fucking. The language of the beast.

His lips met Patrick's, and he felt the soft gasp from the other equine before he leant into him. The kiss was the first tender moment they'd had that day; it was heady. Maverick's head swirled, but not from the alcohol. Something else was forming here, something he did not recognise -- but something he now desired very, very much. Their tongues entwined, and Patrick's hand grabbed Maverick's crotch, squeezing it. The draft reciprocated, and they felt one another up as they kissed.

Maverick ended the kiss with a soft bite of the zebra's lip, and a final hard squeeze of his big dick. "You're really hung," he said. "You should do porn." They giggled.

"My dick means nothing next to you, stud," the zebra replied bashfully. It sounded strange coming from such an imposing creature, but a little adorable for that. Maverick huffed and pushed the zebra backwards until he toppled onto the bed, looking down at him. The zebra gripped his legs behind the knees and spread them wide without even being asked. Then, there it was again, presented for his stud's pleasure: the greasy black tailhole, as eager to be filled with stallion cum as its owner. The zebra's balls hung so low across his taint, they almost blocked the anus from view; Maverick had to lift them to see it, and he rolled the orbs gently in his palm as he watched the black doughnut pulse and flex. The tall Clydesdale nickered. His secret fantasy. It was time.

He grabbed the zebra's fetlocks as he rested his knees on the bed, and shuffled forward. His cock slapped against his new lover's testicles, and Patrick reached down to pull them up and tuck them out of the way. Just as Maverick's flare nestled into position, the zebra pressed a hand against his side. "Maverick?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't hold back. At all." He reached back with his arms and gripped the thick metal rods of the headboard. "I want to feel it all. All your strength, all your power, pumping into me through your dick. Don't stop until you're finished, stud." His chest was heaving, and his long cock drooped across it like a mamba. "Don't stop until you've made me yours."

The Clydesdale looked down at the zebra and grinned. His heart was pounding with excitement and desire. "Yes, Mr Keevey."

And with one forceful motion, he lifted the zebra's rear and thrust his cock into him like a runaway train.

Nobody would have called it elegant, or even competent. Maverick had the muscles and the dick, but he didn't have the experience. As soon as he slid inside the hot, tight passage provided for him, half his brain shut down, and the other half reverted to an animalistic state. It didn't matter that Patrick had asked him not to hold back; he wouldn't have been able to in any case. He made gasping sounds mixed with deep equine grunts that could not have been equated with words. Stallion mating was older than speech, and far more primal. His fingers wrapped tightly around the zebra's fetlocks for purchase as his body lost itself in the act of mating. His thrusts lacked any grace; every third or fourth one spilled his flare from Patrick's hole, and he whinnied in frustration as he fumbled it back in. When it sunk home again, he'd give a rasping roar, and hilt once more, deep inside. The bed rocked back and forth with the fury of his fucking. If not for cumming down the zebra's throat minutes before, his overstimulated body would likely have exploded already.

Patrick matched his lover's intensity with verbal excess. "Fuck me, Maverick! Fuck me harder, master! Harder! Ahhhh, shiiit, your flare is so big, sir, oh fuck, it hurts, don't stop, fuck me forever, I love your dick, oh shit it feels so good I fucking love your fucking cock, sir, harder, harder you little shit, breed me, you fucker, you fucking muscle god..."

He screamed, and moaned, and begged for mercy that never came. The sounds echoed from the open rafters, as the bed squeaked and Maverick growled. The stallions mated, dick in ass, joined by desire. Maverick found something approximating a rhythm; Patrick cried out to the heavens in wordless worship on every hilt. The Clydesdale's flare was massive, and the zebra felt as if he was being torn open by it, and he never wanted it to stop. He could see the draft's body shining with sweat, every perfect young muscle going taut with gathered power, then unleashing it upon him in turn. The horse's handsome face was tilted up, eyes closed, lost in ecstasy; his arms were spread, holding the zebra's legs wide, while below, his flat, handsome abs contrasted with the pillar of flesh below them as it rammed in and out, in and out, slick with lube and pre-cum. He could see the outline of Maverick's penis inside him, the member far too large to leave no mark. He could especially see the flare, a bulge that slid under his skin, huge and full of promise, spreading his wonderfully abused hole wide. Patrick's hands twisted against the metal of the bed, only barely keeping him still as his lover's overpowering strength fought to smash his body into pieces with his cock.

Maverick had become a beast, a feral ravager crafted of dick and muscle and strength. He did not need speech to deliver what his prey demanded. Part of him could hear the zebra's near-incoherent ramblings and gloried in them. He pulled the big equine closer, desperate to fit more of his engorged length inside him. He had nothing to compare with, but Patrick's asshole was everything the zebra had promised. The heat of his tight flesh on the Clydesdale's sensitive prick was almost searing, with only the slickness of the lube -- now well-mixed with his own generous pre-cum -- to offset it. Maverick's gigantic flare was doing its best to stretch the zebra wide open, but either his lover was a natural bottom, or years of doing porn had taught him a few tricks. The muscles moulded to the intruder like putty, gripping and releasing in waves. The horse thrust harder, only to meet stronger resistance, which only stimulated him further.

"Ohhhhh sir, oh fuuuuck, ohhhh..."

Maverick didn't need any sexual experience to know what it sounded like when a guy was close to orgasm. He huffed and snorted and pounded harder; his own climax was not far either. The beast inside was ready to breed this male's hole, to empty his virile nuts into willing ass until it overflowed with the glorious, musky gift of his horse seed.

"Yes...yes...yes...harder...fuck me...fuck me, Dylan...fuck me, Dylan...yes, son, fuck me, breed me, uuuhhhHHHH...!"

Maverick hardly had time to utter a stunned "Wha--" in response to the zebra's last words, before the powerful contraction of the anus around his dick pushed him over the edge. The muscles of his arms -- tensed for ages to spread the zebra's legs -- quivered, and then collapsed under the sensory onslaught. His arms fell to his sides, even as his hips continued to fuck his cock into the older equine. The zebra's legs, liberated, kicked out into the air in time to the pulsing of his own dick. Maverick's penis flared deep inside, preparing to fill the hungry depths of his lover with his second load of the day. The beast inside him howled, and Maverick trumpeted, and the zebra stallion was bred by his muscle stud.

The zebra's own cock had not been touched once during the session, but had simply slipped about on its owner's belly, smeared with pre-cum, hard as stone. The spongy flare expanded now a final time, and then, like a grenade, it seemed to go off. The zebra's ear-splitting orgiastic whinny was inadvertently cut short by the tremendous blast of semen that was aimed directly at his own mouth. He coughed and spluttered, spitting out cum, only to have the next huge squirt replace it. His face and mane were soaked in moments; the wall behind him was no luckier. Dylan's bedding greedily sucked down as much of the thick liquid as it could, and the rest covered the zebra. His dark stripes vanished under the sea of cum, and a white stallion was born.

It felt like it would go on forever, but it faded, as it always did. Mundane sounds returned: the dripping of cum onto the floor, the heavy breathing of two large males, the noises of porn fucking still happening on the television. The two equines took some time to recover from their climaxes. When Patrick blinked his eyes into focus again, he saw only Maverick's face, bent over his body, looking down at him. The draft cock was still buried inside the zebra.

"What the fuck did you call me?" the Clydesdale asked, panting. His eyes were huge.

The zebra looked horrified. He opened his mouth to speak, but before either of them could say another word, a third voice piped up.

"...Dad?"

Two equine faces snapped about. In the doorway stood Dylan, looking shocked. He held a plastic bag in one hand, loosely. The other was half-raised to his mouth. The young zebra's t-shirt was soaked with sweat from the outdoor heat, but it was the clear wet mark on his jeans that drew the eye. That was definitely not sweat. The three of them stared at one another in silence.

Inside Maverick, the beast smiled, and whispered ideas.

The Clydesdale pulled out from Patrick, making the zebra moan. His thick cock made a slurping sound as the endless inches slid out and slapped wetly against his thigh. He turned towards his best friend, taking his time. He made sure the zebra could see his full length, streaked with cum from fucking his father. Dylan's eyes were like saucers and were flickering between his best friend's cock, his face, and the yawning hole he'd left under his father's tail, now leaking with Clydesdale cum.

Maverick walked closer to him. The room was not big; it only took a few steps. He looked curiously at Dylan's face as the young zebra looked at him in shocked silence, then down at his pants. This close, he could see that the wet spot was on the edge of a bulge that snaked down his jeans in the same way that his father's had done earlier. Maverick grinned and reached a hand behind Dylan to push the bedroom door closed.

"Hey there, buddy..."