A Park Story
#4 of Spa Parlor Series
Cal decides to have some fun on a lazy day and bumps into one of his boys at the park...
For a late summer yet nearly autumn day, you could see the bright and inviting sun and sky outside the window, begging to be enjoyed. The apartment was void of others, you'd done all your chores, and monkeying around online had lost its charm. There are only so many banana jokes you can make in the space of an hour.
You needed to break the monotony of the day, you thought. Maybe a walk would help. Who knows? You took pictures for a living after all, and the changing of the seasons was a dynamic time, a time when people's lives were shifting. Maybe you would get lucky and get a good picture or two of the local area.
With your decision made, your trusty tail coiled around that one fanny pack that didn't make you look like an uncool 90s Dad. You wouldn't want to look like that kind of monkey, no sir. You stuffed your 'at home' camera into the fanny pack, donned your favorite, blue-colored sport shorts, grabbed some sandals and scurried out of the fire escape, using feet and hands to climb nimbly down the sun-baked bars with ease.
Excited as you were for the lovely sunny day, the reward of a gentle breeze and an open sky that warmed your fur all over, the smile that spread on your face almost hurt your cheeks.
Almost.
~o
However...
It wasn't until you arrived at the park that you began to panic. Your keys, wallet and phone were lounging on the kitchen counter, and you really didn't want to bother going back, and then drag yourself all the way back out here again.
A sigh.
It was decided. "Fuck it," was the order of the day and you picked up the pace and started to jog around, passing by familiar and unfamiliar faces.
By the time you made it to the center of the park--an area full of winding, twisting paths with benches dappling every corner and tall trees with thick foliage leading the way--you'd worked up a sweat. The orange fur of your arms looked darker because of it, clung closer due to it. It looked almost like that one dark orange that caught your attention that one time at the grocery store...
A quick respite was in order.
Thankfully the fanny pack had a few stray dollar bills and so armed with a cool bottle of water, you climbed and settled on the nearest tree, camera at the ready for some nature and people watching under the shade.
~o
A series of mundane pictures later and a nap sounded good.
The warmth of the sun on your fur...
The shade from the trees...
The smell of grass and wood...
It all beckoned nicely and sweetly for sleep.
As always however, when the drift was at its strongest, something pulled you away from the sweet caresses of sleep--you saw him.
Clad in denim pants and a gingham print shirt, the palomino was a sight to behold. Always tucked and stuffed away in clothing, in meetings, with others...
Never free, never exposed, always calm...
At least, he was this way in public. Never in private. Never with you.
Your camera at the ready, you aimed, you fired.
His expressions captured: of thought, of annoyance, of kindness and beauty, the true game was afoot...
Down to the ground again, movements deliberate but quick, you made sure to be seen, yet too far to be caught, the sight of your tail the last thing your palomino saw as you hid inside the bushes...
All according to plan.
~o
You heard it then, that hoof-tipped step changing from stone to grass and mud, greenery parting for this thick god of dusty fur and muscle, you throbbed at the idea of him, as he came closer.
"I do believe...I've seen a rather naughty animal escape his enclosure," that husky voice murmured, always traveling into the recesses of your mind, to claw and tear at it with the overpowering idea of manhood, of control, of dominance.
You throbbed harder.
"And we all know what happens to..." that voice cut itself short in shock, a thrill jumping down your spine, those wide, blue-green eyes showing you exactly what effect you caused.
You had knelt on the grassy ground, towered and covered by your majestic stallion, as naked as how you started your day, shorts and accessories all discarded to the side. You beckoned. With your smile and your hands.
Come closer.
Mesmerized, the silent horse continued until he was close, so close that your nose bumped against the bulge of his denim pants and you could breathe him in.
No Games.
No Shenanigans.
Just You, and Your Horse.
~o
That belt went first.
Then the zipper
Finally, the button holding it all together.
That familiar, sweaty musk hit your nostrils immediately. Breathe in once. Open your mouth wide and suck in all of that musk that he exudes right down your tongue and throat.
The dark green jock hiding the sheath inside was also familiar. The slim but sturdy piece of fabric had been a gift. Your gift. The first material gift. From you, to him.
Those big, academic hands gripped the sides of your head and pulled you closer, pressed you against the tip of that hidden sheath and you took another whiff, a deep, 'printed into my memory' whiff.
A chuckle from above.
Followed by a snort.
Both knew that all this teasing was just a game. You wanted it. Needed it. But it just wouldn't be you if you didn't play a little...
But, there was something you wanted even more...
You tugged that jock down and freed that black, wrinkly sheath. Folds tucked and crossing this way and that, twitching and throbbing with the lust you caused the adonis above. A sudden, full swipe of your tongue over that equine tip caused those hands to grip your head tighter, those nostrils to sputter and snort up over you...
"Take what you want already," the stud grunted, tired of your game, tired of waiting. It was time, maybe.
You closed your waiting mouth around it, slurped loudly, lewdly against it, felt the tip start to give of its nectar as you made out with the salty, sweaty dick.
More of the length began to appear, thick and spongy, pink and black, throbbing with every inch revealed.
Only to disappear down your waiting throat, mouth split wide as every thick inch of horse cock was swallowed. Gag reflex be damned.
Those strong hooves dug into the ground, hands firm yet fingers sweet against the sides of your face. You could hear the shudder of His body, the stuttering of his breath, the grunts of his pleasure. That heavy, rigid cock, always falling like a torrent of power, nestled comfortably in your warm, wet mouth and throat, lips stretched wide and tongue dancing on the feel of it.
Your nose was begging to be pressed against the thick bush of wheat colored pubes. The push past the medial ring yelled at your pride. Your cock demanded release, and so you...
"Hey Cal, Ean wants to know what you want on your..."
The bubble popped - your fantasy, gone - and yet the interruption did not stop you. You moaned loudly, like you wanted the world to hear, driving that thick, silicone horse right up your ass with your nimble feet, while your cock released all of its pent up cum all over your sheets and fur.
All the while you stared at the timber wolf at the door, his eyes narrowed and feral, his nostrils twitching and flaring at the sight of a hunt.
His tongue licked at his chops, towel forgotten, the wisp of shampoo on his fur.
He stalked closer, your eyes still fastened to that stocky tower of fur, another sheath hiding another prize.
Your cock had finished shooting, yet it was not spent.
A new body now above you, still new yet familiar.
A Growl.
A Moan.
The emptiness of that fake horse leaving your hole.
You should fantasize in your room more often...
Especially when the boys are home...