FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cover art made for Dio by Backslash91. French translation help by anonlupus. A commission for Dio.

Chapter 1

Private Thasselton was not - by his own admission - what he would think of as a 'rugged' sort of horse. He was a Turkoman stallion, an heir to a rather substantial textile fortune back in England, and had been a bit of a layabout, spending most of his energy exploiting his favorable popularity with the ladies. They did so love his gleaming golden coat and rakish smile. By no means did he belong here trudging across some God-forsaken field in Portugal to reinforce the continental defenses against Napoleon. And he certainly did not belong here as a lowly enlisted man.

He had his stick-in-the-mud of a father to thank for that. Murphy Thasselton Sr. was capricious and had never taken well to his son's habits. Thus, Murphy Thasselton Jr. was off to war against Napoleon, with the fate of his inheritance riding upon an illustrious and honorable military career. The old stallion hadn't even seen fit to purchase his son a commission - even though he could have easily afforded it. Hence Private Thasselton, not Leftenant Thasselton. Never in history had any father visited upon any son such an atrocity.

There, just ahead, was the army encampment. A dismal affair. Rows upon rows of slipshod tents surrounding a dilapidated farming town. Columns of infantry and cavalry parading pointlessly about in a muddy field nearby. And a pall of sooty gray smoke hanging over everything in the humid late morning air.

At least he wouldn't be one of the poor sods out there soiling his trousers by marching through the mud whilst some raspy serjeant screamed bloody murder at everyone for not keeping in perfect step. He'd had quite enough of that during his training in England. Though at least it wasn't currently raining here in Portugal. In his training days, it had seemed that whatever petty gods controlled the weather in England must have had a perverse delight in casting rain down upon parade formations.

But that wouldn't be his lot here. Upon disembarking in Lisbon, he'd been immediately set aside and tasked with an especial duty assignment. Whilst the rest of his shipload was off to join their fellows in an encampment just north of Alhandra, he'd been sent off all on his own - without knowing a word of the local language - to instead join the Fourth Battalion at this encampment near the river Tagus, where he was to - apparently - serve as a personal attendant not to an officer but to a serjeant. It was quite strange, and it had his father's fingerprints all over it. Thasselton Sr. still had friends in the army. Friends who would now control every aspect of Thasselton Jr's daily life. Just what dear old Daddy had always wanted.

Private Thasselton slowed as he approached the border of the army encampment. The orders tucked into his coat pocket had only said to report here to Leftenant Mackee and then serve as personal assistant to Serjeant Chestnut. They said nothing whatsoever about where in the encampment he might find either of those men. While he was on the road, he'd been envisioning something quite a bit smaller than this sprawling mess of tents and blanket-tents that engulfed the small town by the river. Finding Leftenant Mackee here would be no simple feat!

"Oi there!" A gruff beaver with long, bushy whiskers and rifle in hand stepped into the rutted road in front of him. "And oo're you, then?" He was a fellow redcoat, though. Just a sentry.

How rude, though! Did the sentries here greet officers that way? Thasselton very much doubted it. If only he'd had enough funds at the time to endow _himself_with a commission... Maybe then dear old Dad's tricks wouldn't sting so much. But rude or not, the sentry would have to be answered. It wouldn't do to be shot as a spy. "Private Murphy Thasselton, of the Fifteenth," he said, not bothering to stand at attention. "Here on especial orders."

He began to retrieve the orders from his coat pocket, but then stopped as the beaver went back to sitting on an empty apple crate and waved him on. "Go on then," the sentry said, his attention already drifting elsewhere.

So ... he wasn't going to check the orders personally? This certainly wasn't how Thasselton had been taught in training. He slipped the papers back into his pocket, looked down the road deeper into the encampment, then back at the beaver sentry. The beaver's uniform marked him as a corporal, and since no introduction had been made, that would have to do.

"Er... Corporal?" Thasselton said.

The beaver looked back at him. "Eh?" The way his front teeth jutted out was mildly unnerving, not to mention his surly tone, but someone would need to be of assistance...

"If I could... I don't suppose you might be able to point the way to a Leftenant Mackee? Of the Three Hundred Thirty--"

"Mess Tent," the beaver grunted.

"And, er... That would be ... where, exactly?"

"Straight in. Bleedin' yuge tent on the lef. Follow yer nose."

"Right..." Thasselton looked into the daunting morass of the encampment again, took one step, then hesitated. "And I don't suppose you might be familiar with a Serjeant--"

"Do I look like yer mammy, ya soddin' ninny?"

"Er..." Rude indeed! Even in army training, Thasselton had never been spoken to this way! Quite taken aback, the took one step away and held his fingers to his lips.

"Then stop lookin' for a teat to suckle and move along!"

Having no inclination to raise any more of the gruff beaver's ire, Thasselton did as instructed, heading deeper into the encampment.

He would hopefully_now have enough information to locate Leftenant Mackee. Then he'd be off to find Serjeant Chestnut, and he could finally begin getting this assignment over with. Traipsing through the Portugese countryside had been refreshing in some ways, but with no extra money, no extra time, and no knowledge of the language, the most he'd gotten besides a view of the hedgerows and a breath of the country air had been a few coy glances from passing farmgirls. Even his overnight stops had been quite devoid of any pleasurable company. The sooner he could get through this campaign and back to England, the better. Hopefully the opportunity to win a medal or two would present itself and serve as satisfactory proof of his military prestige to satisfy his father. And then Thasselton could quite happily go the rest of his life without ever wearing - or even _seeing - an army uniform ever again.

As he passed through the encampment, Thasselton continuously had to dodge this way and that to avoid being trampled by all manner of traffic. Carts of supplies pulled by tired-looking horses, long two-by-two lines of cavalry riding straight through, and even just fellow infantrymen who seemed to have a much better idea of where they were going and to be in much more of a hurry to get there. He could, if he chose, rationalize it as making way for those of superior rank - basically everyone here was superior in rank to him - but that wasn't truly the case, now was it? The truth was that he did not_belong here. He knew it, and from a single glance, everyone else here seemed to know it as well. Even though his social standing back in England should have had any of these bastards bowing and scraping to be of his service, out _here, in their world, he was nothing to them. An insect, to be crushed if he didn't scurry away from underfoot fast enough.

He ran his fingers through his lustrous mane, hoping that this rough living wouldn't leave it in tangles, and he trod ever onward, darting out of the way of his betters like some street urchin attempting to navigate a bustling crowd. It was demeaning, that's what it was, and he couldn't possibly find himself home in England soon enough. He'd take the rifle slung over his back and go kill Napoleon himself if that would earn him passage home.

The Mess Tent - as the beaver Corporal had insinuated - was quite impossible to miss. A fairly long line of downtrodden-looking soldiers filed in the front, past a surly-looking donkey woman and her slapped-together desk.

Thasselton, naturally, endeavored to walk straight past. Obviously, he had nothing to do with whatever was going on here. He was only supposed to report to Leftenant Mackee.

The jinny wasn't having it, though. She produced a broken broomhandle with a wicked splintery tip from God knows where and held it across the entrance, barring his path. "And just where do you think you're going, pretty boy?"

'Pretty boy'? Honestly, was there no civility to be found in this encampment? He backed off half a step. "I'm only trying to report to--"

"Aye, I bet_you are!" She spat - spat! - on the ground in front of his hooves. "Back of the line with everyone else! And you'd better have your ration card with you! If I don't stamp that card, you don't eat, and that's a fact I tell you! I run a tight ship here, and you'd better learn that with a quickness. Nobody's getting double rations from _my kitchen!"

"I'm only looking for Leftenant Mackee so I can--!"

"Oh, you're a thick one, are you?" She rolled her eyes. "Pretty ones always are. Back. Of. The. Line! NOW!"

"But if I could only--"

"Who's your commander, pretty boy? I'll have you scraping pots for a week if you don't--"

"Esmerelda," a quiet, civilized voice said from inside the tent.

She stopped immediately, in mid-bray. "Sir?"

"The boy's with me. Let him in."

The jinny _scowled_at Thasselton, but she relented and raised her broomstick out of the way. Thasselton took great pleasure in slipping past her and into the Mess Tent.

"It doesn't do to anger Esmerelda," that same voice said. But for the moment, Thasselton ignored it. He blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the dimmer light - and the smoke, the smells, and the clamor he found inside.

It was actually not that different than the mess halls he'd seen in training, just in a massive, drafty, billowing tent instead of in a proper structure. The entire interior was crammed with neat rows of tables which were in turn crammed with red-coated ne'er-do-wells who were entirely focused on scarfing down their meal as fast as anthropomorphically possible. At the rear of the tent was the serving line where cooks dished out whatever field rations would be available today. It did actually smell rather agreeable.

The one thing that very much did not belong was the horse. Not an anthropomorphic horse like himself - a feral horse. There was a horse in the Mess Tent, back by the serving line, happily stealing food straight from soldiers' hands. And they were allowing it to do so!_Not a single soul in the place seemed the least inclined to do anything about the beast of burden run astray in their midst, not even the ones whose bread was being eaten off their plates! It was so bizarre that Thasselton was forced to simply stand and stare, gaping at the audacity of this horse ... at the inexplicable complacency of the men. Should _he see too it and secure the wayward animal if no one else would? But surely there must have been some reason why no one else was doing that...

Next to him, someone cleared his throat pointedly.

That_finally tore his eyes away from the horse ... to find himself staring down a rather intimidating ram with neatly trimmed wool and in officers' colors. Thasselton's hand slapped upward into a salute on pure reflex. "Apologies, Sir! I didn't see you there. Did you notice, er..." Thasselton glanced once more, just to be sure the horse was still there ... that it was _truly there and not some bizarre hallucination on his part. "Did you notice that there is a horse in here - a feral - eating off the provision line?"

The officer shrugged it off nonchalantly. "You're looking for Leftenant Mackee, Private?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, you're staring right at him. Now what's so important that it needs to interrupt me ensuring that my men are well and properly fed?"

Thasselton renewed his salute, standing more stiffly at attention. "Private Murphy Thasselton Junior, Sir. Reporting for duty. Command at the Fifteenth sent me on an especial duty assignment to serve as the personal assistant of a Serjeant Chestnut, under your command ... Sir."

Finally, the ram returned his salute. "At ease, soldier." He held his hand out, obvious in his meaning.

Fumbling in his haste, Thasselton fished the papers out of his coat pocket and delivered them to the Leftenant.

It only took a moment's glance for Leftenant Mackee to skim through the short order. "Ah yes. You're our replacement, are you?" He raised his eyebrows. "I do hope you'll end up better than Private Alexander."

Thasselton nearly choked. "If ... if it's not out of turn for me to ask, Sir ... what happened to Private Alexander?"

The ram clucked his tongue. "Best not to say. Well, in any case, you'd best be reporting to Serjeant Chestnut."

"Right you are, Sir." Thasselton nodded in what he hoped would be an agreeable manner. Ingratiating oneself with one's commanding officer never hurt ... especially after such an awkward first impression. "Er... Would you happen to know where he is at the moment?"

"Where she is, Private."

What? Surely the Leftanant must have been joking! "But Sir! 'She'? Women can't be in the army! And surely not as a serjeant!"

Leftenant Mackee pointed to the horse on the other side of the Mess Tent. "There she is. You had better go and get introduced. Looks as if she's almost done eating."

Thasselton's jaw dropped. "I'm to be the personal assistant of a feral?" He laughed. He couldn't help it. This was all just so ridiculous! "Good one! Good one! A fantastic joke! I hadn't expected to find such a sense of humor in the army!"

But Leftenant Mackee was still staring at him, deadly serious.

"Uh... Good one, Sir," Thasselton quickly amended onto his previous statement, his laughter dying quickly. Surely, though, _surely_the Leftenant would at any moment burst out laughing and have quite a guffaw about how he really had Thasselton going there ... right?

No. Not at all. The Leftenant stared across the Mess Tent at the horse. "Serjeant Chestnut has proven herself in battle more than most of the men here, including me. She earned her promotion to corporal by being the only horse that managed to continue delivering munitions and supplies throughout the entire battle of Eastmouth. I'm sure you've heard about that. Particularly nasty affair. Once the fog rolled in, there were no more lines, only a giant melee. She had two confirmed kills in that battle, mind you. Stomped two of those French bastards quite flat when they wounded her handler. And then there was the siege of Malba. That's where she earned her promotion to Serjeant. We were being absolutely pummeled by French artillery, and our lines were badly fragmented. Serjeant Chestnut and her handler made six runs across enemy territory to supply one of our isolated units with munitions. She then went on to make _nine_additional runs on her own, without any supervision, after her unlucky handler took a cannonball to the chest. These days she does _not_have a handler - she has an assistant. And being Serjeant Chestnut's assistant is no joking matter, Private. It's deadly serious. You had better be prepared to show the same courage and merit on the battlefield as she does if you're to keep up with her while the shots are flying."

Thasselton stared at him, his jaw gaping open. Things were beginning to make a little more sense now ... but those exploits still couldn't be real ... could they? Surely that tale must have been embellished...

"Now," Leftenant Mackee said, "I _do_suggest you go report to your Command Serjeant before she's done eating and leaves the Mess Tent. She does tend to wander wherever she chooses through the camp, so you don't want to lose track of her, now do you?"

"No, Sir!" Thatsselton paused. That didn't sound right. "I mean ... Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!"

Thasselton hurried across the Mess Tent toward ... his new Command Serjeant? He had the distinct impression that his initial report had not gone at all well, and he was still quite befuddled by a lot of what he'd heard ... a lot of what he was meant to understand. But, at least on the face of things, it did not appear to be some sort of bizarre joke, so it seemed like it would be best to go along with things, at least for now. Had his father arranged this? It seemed bizarre even for him. And even if this was all some sort of joke, perhaps it would be better to go along with it. Let them have their laugh. Thasselton was merely following his commanding officer's orders, and no one could fault him for that.

That didn't stop him from feeling quite the fool as he approached the feral horse, though. He came up to stand right in front of her.

Serjeant Chestnut was wearing a standard army issue horse blanket with white trim, and the source of her name was obvious. She was a rich chestnut brown in color, with a white stripe down her face and three white socks. After he stood there in front of her for a moment, she finally stopped trying to steal a biscuit from a passing soldier's plate and instead turned her attention to him.

"Uh... Good morning," Thasselton said, feeling utterly ridiculous for addressing an animal so formally. Surely this would be the part when everyone jumped out to laugh at him and introduce him to the real serjeant he'd be serving. "I'm Private Murphy Thasselton Junior ... and I'll be your assistant from now on."

For a long moment, she simply looked at him, staring. Her eyes darted over him, lingering on his exposed golden fur and flowing mane. She then stretched her neck out toward him snuffling at the buttons of his coat as if they were candies she might steal and eat, then working her way up to his face. She sniffed him muzzle-to-muzzle for a moment. Her warm breath tickled his nose. When she pulled her head back, she knickered a little and shook her head. Her tail flicked behind her.

"She likes you!" someone at one of the tables yelled out.

Thasselton didn't have much of an opportunity to see who'd said that, because immediately afterward, Serjeant Chestnut began walking away ... walking quite briskly. And given that her legs were much longer than his, he had his work cut out for him just trying to keep up with her without breaking out into an unseemly run within the Mess Tent.

Once outside, he _did_run to catch up with her. Only ... he wasn't quite sure what to do with her when he did. She wasn't wearing any sort of halter or bridle. Even if she had been, was she really a serjeant? That would mean she very much outranked him, so would it even be his place to lead her around?

He didn't know where he was going anyway. But she seemed to. So for now, at least, he'd let her lead him ... as ridiculous as that was.

Strangely enough, though, as they made their way through the encampment, he no longer found himself dodging out of the way of everyone he passed in the pathway. Now everyone - even a cavalry captain leading his mounted formation! - made way for him. Or, rather, they made way for Serjeant Chestnut, who he happened to be walking alongside. It seemed that one part of this was true, at least: everyone here treated her with great respect. Was it all true? It couldn't be ... could it?

She led him quite directly and unerringly toward the center of the encampment, towards what was left of the old farm town in the midst of it. The way she was going, it certainly seemed that she knew just where she was headed.

And where she was headed turned out to be the officers' stables. Thasselton felt more than a small amount of trepidation as he followed Chestnut inside the open barn door at the front. This was not a place for enlisted men, save for those who served the officers and prepared their mounts. Only one thing would be his saving grace: he was following orders. He was to assist Serjeant Chestnut. Exactly what form that would take, he had no idea, but it would be a serviceable excuse should anyone confront him about trespassing where he wasn't meant to be. Assuming, of course, the officer in question didn't berate him for letting a feral horse lead him around rather than vice versa.

Not that it seemed that would be a problem, at least not at the current moment. Save for a few expensive-looking well-bred feral horses shut up in other stalls, there wasn't a soul in these stables. And it was quite true that the officers got the best of everything. This building was nice. More solidly built and probably less drafty than some of the other buildings of the small farm town, of well-seasoned and well-joined wood. The floor was strewn with a liberal coating of clean straw, and miraculously enough, it even smelled better inside the stable than outside in the encampment. Great effort was obviously being expended in keeping the officers' stables clean and tidy.

Chestnut paused just at the entrance to one of the stalls, causing Thasselton to stop just behind her, wondering why she'd stopped now after being so brisk and direct about getting here.

He got his answer soon enough. The raising of Chestnut's tail was _just_enough warning for him to back off to a more reasonable distance. She spread her hind legs a little and released a thick stream of milky-yellow urine into the straw, sending it pouring down from the lips of her vulva. Oddly enough, she stared at him over her withers the entire time, as if wanting to see his reaction to her little show.

And - despite himself - there was_a reaction. Despite the barrier between feral and anthropomorphic, the two of them were not so different. They were both still horses, after all. It meant that the teardrop shape of her equine vulva still had some instinctive appeal to him, that the heat-laden pheromones in her smell still lit up parts of him that should _not have been responding that way to a feral, and - worst of all - that he began to experience a sudden tightness in his trousers as her pussy winked open pinkly right in front of him, shedding the last few drops.

Chestnut whickered at him again. It almost looked as if her eyes were darting down to the bulge growing in his trousers. He was glad she wouldn't be able to report him for improper behavior.

Damn and blast - it was as if she _knew_what she was doing to him. No. That was certainly not an option of any kind. Nothing of the sort would be happening. He looked straight into her oddly lascivious eyes. "Not a chance," he told her firmly.

It wasn't easy to say that. If he were to admit his darkest secrets, he'd have to say that he had_been tempted. He had not been with a woman since the beginning of his army training, and he was beginning to feel that lack sorely indeed. Even now, he didn't look away. Simply _looking would be of no harm, after all. And as he looked, he couldn't help but notice how strikingly similar she seemed to a horse woman bent over at the waist. Her blanket covered her almost like a raised skirt, and the curves of her ass were quite exquisite - large and firm, with a slight secondary groove mirroring the curve on down toward her leg ... and such a deep_valley between her cheeks inviting him inward. Now that he was taking a truly close look at her, the scars on her body became more apparent as well. Small furless patches that somehow - bizarrely - made her seem even more attractive. They highlighted the curves and contours of her body while also conveying a sense of rugged toughness - far more toughness than _he could ever dream of having.

A moment later, it was over. Chestnut walked into the open stall in front of her, leaving Thasselton to his own devices in the wide hall between the stalls. These uniform pants could indeed get quite uncomfortable for the well-endowed equine gentleman.

Only after she'd moved out of the way did he see that there was a little brass plaque on the side of the stall reading 'Sjt. Chestnut'.

Ah, so she was meant to be here after all. And therefore, so was he. And, in fact, the next stall over had a similar plaque, though it was made of wood. It read 'Pvt. Alexander'. Well, that more or less explained where he'd be staying while he was in this encampment. And all for the better, too. Though it could easily be seen as offensive to keep an anthropomorphic horse in a stable like this, he was glad of it. The conditions here would be far better than the poor sods out there in their blanket tents. Particularly if it should happen to rain.

First, though, it seemed as if his charge needed attention. There in her stall, she tugged on her horse blanket with her teeth, as if trying to pull it off ... though she'd obviously never be successful at it without hands and fingers to manipulate the latches.

Still, the meaning was clear. He followed her into the stall and immediately set to work freeing her from the blanket. That was easy enough. Though he came from a posh background, it was never quite posh enough to afford full-time stable help, and he had often needed to care for his own horses at the estate back in England. First were the straps around either of her hind legs. He tried not to think about the show she'd just given to him - and his reaction to it - as he slid his hand around one of her thick, muscular thighs to undo the clasp. Then he had to go around to the other side, which he did by walking around the front of her. Besides it just being good practice to avoid being kicked with an unfamiliar horse, he had ... other_reasons to avoid being right behind her. The other thigh strap was just as uncomfortably intimate, forcing him to kneel down right next to her belly and reach around her hind leg. With the way she was standing this time, he could see her small, dark teats hiding up there between her legs. They should _not have been so alluring! Indeed, it had been far too long since he'd enjoyed any female companionship if he was thinking such thoughts about a feral. Once he'd gotten that strap, it was an easier and thankfully less arousing task to loosen the girth strap of it, then undo the three buckles at the very front.

Chestnut nuzzled his neck and whuffled against his ear as he worked those buckles. He tried to ignore how intimate that felt. It was just a horse being a horse. She was probably looking for treats or something. It couldn't possibly mean what his under-sexed mind wanted it to mean.

Now that it was fully unbuckled, the blanket came off of her easily enough ... which left him holding the big thing and staring at her. Oh goodness. Her body was long and sleek, her fur glossy and well-kept, her curves immaculate. And there were even more of those strangely attractive scars visible now, serving to underline just what a tough and powerful animal she was.

She interrupted his staring by nudging him with her nose and then looking pointedly at a vacant hook on the wall. All of her gear was hanging there - halter, bridle, pack harness ... and that one empty hook. The meaning was obvious enough. Thasselton hung the horse blanket up on that last hook, marveling at the apparent intelligence of this beast. Not only did she seem to know where the blanket belonged better than he did, she was somehow trusted to be left alone with all her harness and gear without destroying it ... something no other horse in the army would ever be trusted with.

Now that she was unburdened, Thasselton was more than ready to unburden himself as well. If that next stall over had belonged to Private Alexander, then it stood to reason that he would now inherit it, and he was more than ready to get the heavy pack and rifle off his back, not to mention the positively enchanting possibility of changing into some fresh clothes.

When he left Chestnut's stall and attempted to close the door of it, he found himself unable to do so. The door would scarcely budge before springing back into its fully open position. Upon closer inspection, he found each of the hinges to be damaged, with what looked suspiciously like an iron shod hoof-mark across each one of them. That was just as well. He wasn't certain if he had the authority to shut Serjeant Chestnut in her stall anyway.

Once in his own adjacent stall, he could finally_release his heavy pack down onto the straw floor and hang his rifle from a hook on the wall obviously for that purpose. Chestnut had followed him, poking her head in through the door, but he paid the horse no mind. It felt so _good to finally be free of that heavy pack after days on the road on foot.

Yes, this stall would certainly do. As far as army accomodations went, it was practically a luxury apartment. Well enclosed away from the weather, a comfortable-looking cot against the far wall, and old army-issue blankets hanging from nails around the stall's windows for a modicum more privacy and even more insulation against any possible intrusion of cold. It certainly wasn't what he was used to back home in England, but it was a great deal better than what he'd thought he'd have to put up with when he'd unwillingly joined the army and shipped out to Portugal. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as he'd been fearing. He would be well within his rights to complain about being lodged in a stable as if he were a feral horse just like Chestnut - and he probably _would_complain to his father upon returning home ... but at this moment, the last thing he wanted was to be put out in a drafty tent like any other enlisted man. This would do quite adequately.

Once again, he wondered just what happened to this stall's previous occupant. He couldn't see anyone giving up such accommodations willingly. So just what had happened to Private Alexander? 'Best not to say,' Leftenant Mackee had told him. Perhaps it was best not to think about, either.

Not that it truly concerned Thasselton much, anyway. He had more pressing priorities. The first of which was to rid himself of these travel-worn clothes. In his pack, there would still be at least one fresh and unworn uniform that he'd been saving for himself upon his arrival, and it was finally time to indulge himself in the incredible luxury of clean clothes.

The overcoat came off first. Rather than trying to hang it up anywhere, he simply tossed it onto the cot. After all, he had only one_overcoat. He'd be putting it back on shortly. Everything else, though, could go in an untidy pile next to his pack on the straw-covered floor. Sadly, it would _remain there until he himself saw to picking it up, washing it, and folding it ... but he was indulging himself at the moment, and he chose to live this moment as if there _were_servants about to handle all of that mundanity for him. As he took off his shirt and undershirt, he noticed Chestnut staring at him, but again he paid her no mind. Just a feral, an animal. She was probably just curious to see if he had any food tucked away under his clothes or something. Or, at most, she might be impressed with the way his golden fur shimmered in the dim light. Nothing more.

Freeing himself from his boots felt wonderful. His hooved feet were never meant to be thus shod. But the army was the army, and everything had to be uniform. No exceptions. _Everyone_here wore boots, regardless of how unsuited or unnecessary those might be. After that, he was easily able to peel his mud-splattered trousers off, leaving him wearing only his pants.

Strangely, this seemed to garner even _more_attention from Chestnut. She came farther into his stall, until almost her whole body was inside, and she looked with quite an unhealthy amount of curiosity at something in the vicinity of his crotch.

He shrugged it off, though. Even though it felt a bit crowded in here with the big feral horse with him, she was just an animal. Her attention didn't mean anything. After pausing for a moment to listen and ascertain that the stable truly was still empty, he shrugged off his pants as well. His still half-erect cock finally breathed free, swinging in front of him. Aah ... now didn't that feel better? If only he could order the servants to draw him a nice hot bath ... if only he had servants at all. That would have made the moment perfect indeed.

Instead, his moment was quite rudely interrupted by Chestnut coming all the way into the stall with him, pressing herself uncomfortably close.

Thasselton retreated to his cot, standing on it to get out of the way of the large and impertinent animal sharing the stall with him. "Go back to your own stall," he told her. "Plenty of room in there."

Naturally, she didn't listen. She instead came right up in front of him, snuffling at his cock in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

Despite the way it was making his needy cock rise and stiffen even more, he pushed her head away. "No," he told her firmly. "Not for you. Just go back to your stall and let me get dressed!"

Chestnut did no such thing. She _did_turn around as if she was going to leave ... but then she turned around and stood in front of him, spreading her hind legs slightly and raising her tail again. For a brief moment, Thasselton was terrified that she was about to urinate all over him and his cot which would have _definitely_ruined his already sub-par day. But no ... though her pussy winked open, showing a flash of hot, glistening pink, all that came out was a tiny bit of silky clear juices.

His jaw dropped. The invitation couldn't have been any more obvious. Or any less appropriate. "S-serjeant!" he said, stammering in his inability to believe what he was seeing.

She was not dissuaded by this, of course. And what was worse, she backed up towards him, quickly coming closer until she had him backed entirely against the wall.

He held his hands out to hold her back, but of course the only part of her body within reach was the wide, round curves of her ass cheeks. His hands pressed into her firm muscle there, his fingertips stretching around her curves. Despite himself, he couldn't help enjoying the feeling. Good gracious, what an ass! It would be so easy just to not look up at the rest of her body, to imagine her as a big, bodacious anthropomorphic mare eager for a taste of his cock. Very easy not to look up, in fact, because his eyes were quite naturally drawn down below her high-arched tail, at the wetly winking pussy lips of her smooth brown vulva so close to the rapidly rising tip of his cock.

Chestnut looked back at him, bending her neck sideways to peer at hem with one big brown eye. She whickered.

Thasselton's hands trembled. Did he ... did he dare? All question of whether he wanted to was already gone. There was no denying at this point. His cock yearned_for the steamy warmth right in front of it. He could feel the heat of her against his tip already. But did he dare? What if he was caught? Fucking a feral, fucking a war hero, fucking his _Command Serjeant. He literally could not imagine what kind of consequences there might be. Oh, but the sight of her there! It would be so easy just to...

He released a little of the pressure with his arms, no longer holding Chestnut away from himself, allowing her to push closer to him.

And, of course, she took full advantage of that, taking every inch he offered her. Quickly, he felt her soft, slick pussy lips directly_against his tip. Oh ... oh yes. The soft warmth of her pussy pressed against his tip. Her lips winked open once more, engulfing the first inch or two of his cock, surrounding him with her sultry juices and embracing touch. Oh yes, _that was what he'd been missing so dearly since leaving England.

He leaned forward against her, slowly plunging his entire cock into her needy, willing pussy. He squeezed into her tightness so easily, so readily. It was true what they said about being hung like a horse, and with most women, he'd have to struggle and work at it until they were finally able to accommodate his size. But with Chestnut, there was no struggle, just a long, smooth glide into the sumptuous depths of her pussy. She was so much bigger than him that it was easy. Shuddering and gripping her ass even more tightly, he began to thrust inside her.

Chestnut turned her head back forward again, lowering it a little as he repeatedly pushed his cock into her. She let out soft little huffing breaths every time he thrusted, obviously enjoying what he was doing.

Somehow, even though he'd never particularly cared about a woman's pleasure before - most of them would just lie flat and think of England anyway - the idea that Chestnut was enjoying what he was doing was irresistible to Thasselton. His cock swelled firmer than ever, and he pressed it inside her with even more than his usual gusto. She was so warm and inviting on the inside, anyway. Incredible.

Maybe it was just how long he'd gone without, but he couldn't help but think that this was some of the best sex he'd ever had. He never would have thought he'd be considering a feral this way, but it was undeniable. This was amazing.

Chestnut must have thought so as well, because before long, he felt a telltale rhythmic squeezing around his cock, a splash of warm wetness against his balls and inner thighs. Wow - had he actually given her an orgasm? Some men - inexperienced men - might think the female orgasm a fanciful myth borne out of hysteria, but Thasselton was experienced enough to know otherwise. He'd never seen one like this before, though. Other women might scream and thrash as they met their climax. Chestnut's sides heaved, and she made odd little grunting noises the like of which he'd never heard from any feral horse before, but she was otherwise stoic in her supreme passion.

Of course her orgasm left her even more soupy-wet and hot for him, which he thoroughly enjoyed, continuing to fuck her squeezing, winking pussy right through all of it. His hands slid appreciatively over the broad curves or her ass cheeks, and he reveled in the feeling of warm fur and tight, perfect muscle under his fingers. Chestnut was not soft and plush like the pampered, cultured women he was most used to. She was a warrior - a real warrior, who belonged out here on the field of battle, not like him. In that moment, he felt like she was his superior in every way. And yet ... yet, somehow, he was inside her, giving her every single inch of his cock, more than most women he'd been with could possibly take. It was a flood of new ideas, new sensations, and he was quickly coming to enjoy being with Chestnut more than any woman he'd ever been with in the past.

Soon, though, his efforts weren't enough for her. As her pussy began to tighten around his shaft again, she pushed backward, easily forcing him rearward until his back hit the wall behind him. Her hind legs stretched far over the cot, threatening to collapse it as she pressed backward against the rickety thing. And now, as Chestnut's second orgasm hit her, there was nothing Thasselton could do but stay along for the ride. Even as she grunted and her pussy squeezed and squirted, Chestnut began rocking slightly back and forth, lifting herself off of his cock and pressing herself back again, working her throbbing inner walls over his length.

Only once before in his life had he been with someone who took such control, and as strange as it seemed to admit it, she hadn't been nearly as attractive as Serjeant Chestnut. Thasselton groaned, rubbing her flexing ass with both hands, wanting to feel every inch of her, inside and out.

As her subsequent orgasm began to fade, Chestnut looked back at him again. There was a slight gleam in her eye, as if she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

And oh, what she was doing to him! Though he usually prided himself on staying power and stamina, this time he could already feel the pressure building. Chestnut began to feel even tighter inside around his tip as it flared as deep as he could reach inside her, swelling well over its normal width at the tip.

In most of his past experiences with women, the flaring of his tip would have them squealing in discomfort. Not so with Chestnut. She actually seemed to enjoy the way the rim of his flare pressed against her inner walls. She pushed back against him, her pussy already beginning to pulse with a third orgasm.

That was what did it for him. The squeezing _pulling_sensation of her inner walls milking him was just too much to resist. Unable to contain himself, he cried out pathetically. He could feel the cum beginning to rush forth!

Were an anthropomorphic horse and a feral horse close enough to have offspring together? The point was moot. Pressed against the wall as he was, there was no option of pulling out. He couldn't have budged her if he tried. As inevitable as the rising and setting of the sun, he came inside Chestnut, his cock pumping stream after stream of long pent-up cum into her, straight into the midst of her own orgasm.

It was as if she was drawing it out of him, pulling it from him, purposefully draining his balls. Every pulse of her pussy around his cock somehow seemed to time perfectly with another gush of cum, helping to draw it out of him. He collapsed forward, lying his chest and face against the curve of her back, hugging her thick, perfect ass against himself as his cock throbbed inside her, unloading everything he had.

Even after he was done, even after he was completely spent, Chestnut kept him pinned there against the wall. Her own orgasm had subsided as well, but she still kept him there, as if desperate for every last drop that might seep out of his cock. It was steadily softening, wilting inside her now that its job was done, but that didn't stop her from keeping him pressed tightly against the wall, still enjoying that last afterglow of warmth.

It wasn't until his cock had almost _entirely_retreated back inside his sheath and fallen free from her pussy lips on its own that she finally released him, stepping slightly away and turning around.

Thasselton could do no more than to slump against the wall, breathing heavily and sweating slightly. What ... what had he just _done?_Suddenly, the world made even less sense than it had when he'd met Serjeant Chestnut ... which was in turn less sense than it had when he'd been forced to join the army. It felt like he was spiraling into surrealism, losing his grip on anything remotely real.

To his great surprise, Chestnut came back to him, first nuzzling his face a little, then working down his chest until she reached his crotch, where she licked the nub still protruding from his sheath, cleaning the last of her juices and his own cum off of him.

He ran his fingers through her mane, giving himself over to the sensation. The world didn't need to make sense ... not if it was going to feel like this. Never before had any woman treated him so - licking his spent and messy cock - not even the most irrepressible of harlots or the most costly of whores. And yet, she showed every indication of enjoying the taste of their mixed sexual fluids. She even gave his balls a few broad, gentle licks, giving him a tingling pleasure in his afterglow that he had never before felt.

It was enough to make his cock begin to reemerge from its sheath ... but apparently, Chestnut was satisfied for the moment and wasn't interested in having another round. As she turned to go, Thasselton stared underneath her still-flagging tail. Her pussy winked again, dripping a thick drop of his own cum.

Once again, he wondered if it was possible for her to become pregnant from an anthropomorphic horse like him. What a dishonor to his family name _that_would be! If she was to give birth to a golden-furred Turkoman foal, his father would surely disown him entirely ... if his fellow soldiers didn't murder him first.

And yet, despite that risk, he could muster no feeling of regret for what had happened. In fact, he was rather looking forward to the possibility that it might happen again at some point. This especial duty assignment was going to be very interesting ... and much more enjoyable than he'd ever thought it could be.

Chapter 2

Corporal Berko relaxed in his cot, in the tent he had all to himself now that his roommate had shipped out to the front lines. And his chosen way to relax was to read one of his favorite illicit books - Savanna Sweethearts- by lantern light as he slowly, gently stroked himself beneath the blankets. This one was especially his favorite because it featured a zebra like him ... and even though she was a feral, or maybe because she was a feral, just seemed like the perfect partner that he'd never have. Zebras were quite rare in England ... even more so on the continent. He could only ever dream of meeting one as confident, caring, and lovely as Aluna.

The book was just beginning to get into the best, sauciest chapter when the flap of his tent opened.

He glanced over, hastily hiding the book under his pillow. If this was a surprise inspection...

But no, it wasn't. It was a feral horse. He knew her immediately, as anyone in his regiment would: Serjeant Chestnut.

"Serjeant," he said, his word a gesture of respect, but his tone that of scolding a wayward animal. He'd heard all the stories of Serjeant Chestnut's bravery in battle. He'd been there for many of them. But she was still a feral - an animal. And so what? Everyone had fought bravely in those battles, including him. So why did he now find himself outranked by a feral? It was disrespectful to the men - all the men, including him.

She either didn't pick up on his resentful tone, or - far more likely - was impudently ignoring it, because she pushed herself the rest of the way into his tent, crowding the small space inside. She filled nearly all of the free space, and if she raised her head, it would disturb the roof.

What was she doing in here, anyway? Sure, rumor had it that she'd go into soldier's tents at night for warmth - and maybe more than warmth - but what could have incited her to come into his tent in particular and bother him?

She was sniffing for something...

Berko's eyes went wide. _The cookies!_There, just in front of the feral horse was his precious prize: a paper bag full of molasses cookies sent by post from his wife back home in England. It sat safe and sound on top of his pack, next to his cot. Receiving those had made him the envy of his company when the mail call came a few days prior. He had eaten some and shared some more, but nearly half the bag remained ... for now.

Not for long, though! Chestnut was already nosing her way closer and closer to the bag, sniffing them out.

He moved in a flash, snatching the bag out from under Chestnut's nose and secreting it under his blanket. These cookies were not for the enjoyment of a feral, even one as renowned as her!

Serjeant Chestnut, however, was not deterred. She followed the cookies exactly where they had gone, nuzzling her way right up underneath his blanket.

There followed a brief and ultimately futile conflict. The same courage, strength, and determination that won Serjeant Chestnut medals in battle were applied in this struggle as well. No amount of pushing or abuse from Berko's hands could dissuade her from pursuing the bag of cookies. And she was big - she was strong. Try as he might, he couldn't hold her off for long.

It was a matter of mere minutes before Chestnut had managed to sink her teeth into the paper bag, which caused it to rip open when he pulled it away from her. His precious cookies were strewn all through his cot and his bedroll, where Serjeant Chestnut eagerly rooted around for them with her clever, questing nose. One after another, he heard the grating, tragic crunch-crunch-crunch of her discovering and devouring another one.

With each crunch, Berko's spirits plummeted. His most prized possession, plundered by a pernicious pest.

And to add annoyance to injury, she kept_sniffing around under his blankets, even after the last cookie was clearly gone. Yiffing horse, thinking she could do whatever she wanted. What was worse was that she _could do whatever she wanted. She outranked him, and he would be in for it in the worst way if anyone found out he'd abused her in any way.

Not that she didn't deserve it. He sniffed the air. Definitely a tang of alcohol.

"You're drunk again, aren't you?" he accused.

Chestnut, of course, didn't answer him. She just kept sniffing around under his blankets. How did a feral find alcohol in this encampment, anyway? He sure couldn't, despite his best efforts.

Reaching under the blanket, he tried to push her head away. "Go away, dumb horse - they're all gone!"

Still, of course, she didn't listen. For all that she seemed to understand spoken language sometimes, Chestnut had quite the irritating tendency to lose that capability when it suited her. It could be worse, though, he supposed. Serjeant Pederson had allegedly lost six hundred Pounds Sterling when Chestnut ate his poker chips. Privates with nothing better to do had been following her and sifting through her leavings for days afterward. The missing chips had either never turned up or whoever found them had been wise enough to keep his mouth shut about it.

Would she ever be done looking for cookie crumbs down there? He'd been busy_before she came in, after all. At the moment, she was sniffing her way up his leg. He could feel the tip of her nose wiggling as it worked its way farther in. What did she think she was after, anyway? None of the cookies had gone there. The only thing that was _there was--

Berko gasped and flinched when he felt the feral's nose nudging against the side of his cock.

And before he could do anything, he felt a broad, wet lick down there!

Ooh ... that felt good, though. He was still mostly erect from that book he'd been reading, and _oh_how it reminded him how long it had been since he'd felt such pleasures. Not since he'd left England, and even then, his wife had rarely indulged him in such.

Serjeant Chestnut, though, seemed quite content to lick and lick, quickly working her way up and down his whole shaft down beneath the blankets and restoring him to full stiffness.

How was she so good at this? She'd must have had practice. She was obviously doing it with the goal of pleasuring him, given the way she was deliberately running her soft, broad tongue up and down his length. Could it be true? He'd never given any credence to the rumors of Chestnut's lascivious side, but from what he was seeing - what he was feeling - now ... if anything, those salacious rumors were understatements!

As absolutely unbelievable as the feeling of a feral horse licking him under his blankets was, it still didn't prepare him at all for what was coming next. Chestnut slid her tongue all the way up to his tip ... and then, before he even knew what was happening, he felt his entire cock enveloped in sweet, sumptuous warmth.

Not believing what he was feeling, Berko whipped the blanket off of himself ... only for his eyes to confirm it as well: she had taken his cock into her mouth and now had her horsey lips wrapped around the very base of it.

He stared down at her, gaping. She looked back up at him, an odd little twinkle in her brown eyes. And then she began to move, gently bobbing her head up and down over him.

Berko had never felt anything like this_before. No one he'd ever been with in the past had been able to take more than the merest bit of his tip into their mouths. Being a full-grown zebra had its downsides. But Chestnut was so much bigger than him, so much bigger than _any anthro... She was able to plant her lips against his sheath with apparent ease, just happily stroking him with her tongue as his cock filled her long muzzle all the way to the back of her throat. He could feel her back there, swallowing against his tip. It didn't seem to bother her at all. What a mare!

Under her caring caresses, he went limp down on the cot, shuddering and pressing his hips up toward her. She let him thrust into her mouth as if she'd intended for him to do that all along. Maybe she had.

And it was all too easy for him to fall back into the little fantasy his book had been lulling him into before Chestnut came into the tent. If he let his eyes drift closed just a little, he could easily imagine that it wasn't a feral horse, but a feral zebra so tenderly working his cock inside her mouth. He could imagine that it was actually that exotic jungle queen who had her lips wrapped around the base of his cock, who plunged his tip into her throat, and who rubbed his shaft so skillfully with her broad, sumptuous tongue that wrapped almost halfway around his girth.

It was that very fantasy which ended up being more than he could handle. After all, he'd already gotten himself pretty close before she'd even come in here. Now he was truly ready to blow.

Chestnut seemed ready for it, too. Or, at least, accommodating his flared tip inside her throat was no challenge at all for her. She kept her rhythm perfectly, stroking his cock with her mouth in just the right way to tip him over the edge.

With an anthro lover, Berko would know what to do. It would be terribly impolite to finish inside a lady's mouth without warning. But Chestnut couldn't possibly understand what he said, could she? How could he warn her?

Not that there was really time to, anyway. All he could do was groan slightly before the dam broke, before his cock began pumping cum straight up into the feral's throat.

Despite everything he'd seen so far, Berko still expected her to be shocked when that happened, to wrench her head painfully off of him in shock. But Chestnut did no such thing. She planted her lips firmly against his sheath as his cock pulsed inside her mouth, and she eagerly swallowed as his cum fountained into her.

He had never even heard of anyone doing such a thing! And the intense pleasure of unloading himself like that led him through one of the most draining - both physically and emotionally draining - orgasms of his entire life.

When his softening cock finally subsided and slipped out of Chestnut's mouth, she astounded him again by licking her lips, showing every sign of pleasure at what she'd done. At that point, he was starting to think that the rumors about her had been understatements, if anything. She was starting to seem like so much more than just a feral.

But that was hardly the last surprise in store for him this night, it would seem. Rather than slinking away after her lascivious deed, Chestnut spun tightly around, turning her backside toward him.

Berko stared, his jaw going slack. Chestnut's tail was already raised high, which left _nothing_to the imagination. How many times had he seen the backside of a feral horse and thought nothing of it? But not now... This was different, very different. Even in the heavily satisfied state she'd left him in, he couldn't help but drink in every detail of her. Every illicit curve.

There was just so much to take in. Her long legs stretched up into high and taut ass cheeks that looked so warm and oddly soft in the gently flickering light of the lantern. Unmistakeably feral, and yet he'd never quite looked at a feral like this before. Those toned muscles of her thighs were so thick and deep, the lines of them so chiseled under her fur. Little scars ran here and there, including one up from her hock, around the generous curve of her ass, and nearly all the way to ... her pussy.

He felt like his head was spinning as he gazed up at Chestnut's velvety-soft looking vulva. That teardrop-shaped bulb jutting out so alluringly between her ass cheeks and constantly seeping a slow drip of crystal-clear juices. As he stared, it winked open at him, showing a flash of pink inside, of smooth inner walls curving inward toward a deep and inviting entrance that was just waiting for him...

But she couldn't possibly expect him to perform again right after she'd swallowed his entire load of cum, could she? Or was she used to feral stallions who could go again right away? Or...

It dawned on him suddenly. Chestnut expected him to return the favor.

That made sense, of course ... he just hadn't expected the feral horse to be intelligent enough to demand as much. Though it looked like he needed to revise his expectations in that regard. Maybe she'd only been sucking his cock because it was so similar to the feral stallions she wanted - the army didn't allow stallions, only geldings - and maybe that would lead her to do what she'd done on pure instinct ... but this showed far more. She knew what she'd done, and she understood what she was doing now. She knew what she wanted, it seemed.

Had someone trained her to do this? Who would do such a thing? And what was _he_thinking about, considering actually repaying the favor she'd just done him? He didn't know where she'd been! That pussy of hers could be full of feral horse cum for all he knew.

And yet... He also knew he was going to do it. After what she'd done for him, it only seemed right. It had been by far the best blowjob he'd ever received in his life. He'd want to encourage her to do it again, wouldn't he?

That's what lead him to getting up on his knees on the cot behind her. Mere minutes ago, he would never have imagined such a thing with a feral. Now it seemed like an inevitability.

He began by simply reaching out to touch her. Chestnut twitched almost nervously when his fingertips brushed the curve of her ass cheek, making him yank his hand back reflexively, fearing a swift kick for his audacity in touching her this way. But no - it didn't result in a kick, it resulted in another flurried series of winks from her dripping and eager pussy.

More sure of himself this time, he rubbed his hand along the scar that ran up her leg, feeling the border between soft fur and scarred skin, feeling the sensual shape of her, feeling the sumptuous warmth. He was left with his hand resting against the inner curve of her ass cheek, just _barely_not touching her pussy, but close enough to feel the steamy heat of it. Her fur there was so velvety and short as it transitioned toward the bare skin of her pussy lips. Unable to resist any longer, he touched her.

The response was immediate - her pussy winked against his fingers, the delightfully plush lips opening to douse him with a little squirt of her eager juices.

He just had to taste her.

It felt so strange, leaning in closer to her in this position. He'd done this with women before, but always with them lying in bed. It seemed so awkward, and yet it felt so natural. He kissed his lips against the soft, pliant bulb of her pussy. Her syrupy juices smeared onto his mouth. Her heady scent filled his breath. And when he ventured his tongue out, her tangy taste momentarily overwhelmed him. It was so much stronger than an anthropomorphic mare's. Not unpleasant, but intense.

He didn't let that stop him, though. Not for long. Remembering the way she'd licked him not long ago, he ran his tongue lasciviously all the way up the length of her steamy-hot slit, caressing her opening with his tongue. It wasn't long before she was winking right against his licks, letting him taste her pink inner walls directly and even touch the heart-shaped protrusion of her clit as it bulged out at him.

And those smooth inner walls of hers just looked so inviting... He eagerly thrust his tongue into her, tasting her as deeply as he could, pressing his lips tightly against her vulva. All the outside world was forgotten now - all that mattered was the incredible pussy right in front of him.

Of course, his tongue wasn't all that long, not compared to Chestnut's size. That's why he soon found himself venturing a finger inside her, plunging it in, desperate to feel her deepest warmth.

And oh was it _deep!_His finger sank into her slick warmth effortlessly, and her tail shot up even higher as he did so. He could feel her squeezing inside.

Chestnut turned her head, looking at him past the curve of her own rump. Was it just his imagination, or did he see a look of desire in her feral eyes?

Oh, she wanted more, did she? Well he could give her more. Much more. Berko gave her another finger, another, and she just took it so easily, until he had all four fingers inside her, sliding along her slick inner walls. He could feel her getting tighter deeper inside as he pressed ever inward. It was compressing all his fingers together as he approached a tighter inner ring, as he got so deep that even his thumb was inside her as well.

That's when Chestnut really surprised him, suddenly pressing back against his hand. There was a brief moment when push literally met shove, but she squeezed down his hand and stretched around it, and pop, his hand plunged deeper inside her! All the way up to his wrist!

His hand wasn't being squeezed so tightly anymore. Now it floated in a squishy sea of soft warmth. He never could have imagined from Chestnut's firm and battle-hardened exterior that the inside of her could be hiding such softness. It was incredible, forming against the shape of his hand. And just how deep could she go?

Very deep, actually. He was able to press his arm inside her all the way to the elbow before finally felt like he could go no further, until her inner softness and warmth stopped being quite so yielding.

It seemed to be affecting her pretty profoundly, giving the way she was sucking in deep, desperate breaths.

Starting to really get into it now, he began giving her little thrusts with his arm, alternately spreading out and contracting his hand inside her to touch every last bit of her spongy-soft deep insides. And the more he gave her, the more she seemed to like it. He could just give her more and more, and she just pressed back against him even more firmly, as if she wanted even more than she could possibly take.

What finally did her in, though, was when he took his other hand and gently rubbed her winking clit, squeezing it between his fingers when it bulged out and pressing a finger into her slit to tease it even when it retreated back between her pussy lips.

After only a moment or two of that, Chestnut's orgasm came. And it was _not_subtle. She groaned breathily, a strange noise Berko had never heard any feral horse make before, and her inner walls squeezed down hard and rhythmically against his hand, perfectly in time with the heaving of her sides. Trickles of milky marecum streamed down his arm as she lost control of herself, her whole body rocking back and forth slightly as her insides worked themselves over his hand.

Wow, what would that feel like if she came around his cock?

A throbbing from down below brought his mind back to himself. Apparently, his cock was more than ready to find out the answer to that question right now. It was raging back up to full hardness already.

But would Chestnut want it again, or was she satisfied ... done with him now that she'd had her orgasm?

She turned her head to the side again, looking him in the eye, and she nickered.

Well, if that wasn't an invitation, he didn't know what was. And Chestnut stayed right where she was as he stood up on the edge of his cot behind her, beginning to line his cock up with her sopping wet entrance. She even pushed back against him a little as he began to find the right spot.

The height was a little bit off. He had to strain his legs to reach just a little bit higher. To get the angle right. But once he did, his tip plipped into her oh so nicely. Chestnut's pussy was warm and welcoming, easily spreading open around the top of his shaft and hugging around him with soupy-wet softness.

And when he pushed... Oh, oh yes. It had been _so_long since he'd felt anything like this. His cock slid into her perfectly, easily, wondrously. He stared down at where his shaft disappeared into her slit, licking his lips slightly as he watched more of himself slipping into her.

She felt just lovely_inside. The heat and relaxed softness left after her orgasm was just utter perfection to slide into. He could feel that tight inner ring of hers, especially as his medial ring slipped through it - she gave a satisfied little huff of breath when that happened - and he was able to slide his cock _all the way inside her, all the way up to the hilt, until his sheath pressed messily against her pussy lips.

He ran his hands over her smooth, furry flanks, holding himself there deep inside her, just savoring the moment of finally being caressed by her inner walls. Chestnut looked back at him with a knowing little twinkle in her eye, and in that moment he didn't have the slightest doubt that she knew exactly what she was doing, exactly how she was making him feel.

Well, why not return the favor a little bit? Drawing himself back just enough to rub his medial ring through her very tightest point, Berko began to thrust in and out of her. It felt so _perfect_to really be able to give it to her. Normally, due to his size, he had to be very careful with any woman he took to bed, especially his wife. But with Chestnut...

Wait. What about his wife? He paused for a moment, his cock still deep inside the feral horse's pussy. Her warmth throbbed around his shaft. How had he gotten this far without even a thought about being faithful to his wife?

Chestnut nickered again, as if asking why he'd stopped.

Well, he supposed hastily, it ... it didn't count with a feral. It wasn't as if he'd betrayed his wife for anyone else. Chestnut wasn't really even a person... right? Sure, a large part of him knew by this point that Chestnut was very much the opposite of some dumb beast, but if it was to save his marriage, he could force himself to think otherwise. This was ... this was basically just an elaborate form of masturbation. Sure. And his wife had explicitly said she didn't mind it if he 'took care of himself' while he was off fighting in Portugal and Spain.

Confident now in his shaky moral ground, Berko resumed, pressing deep inside the horse's pussy. Even if this was wrong - which it almost certainly wasn't - he wouldn't have been able to stop. Not now. Anyway, Chestnut wouldn't be the type to kiss and tell, now would she? Rumors abounded about Chestnut, but none of them claimed that she'd ever talked to anyone.

Chestnut seemed to be enjoying it as well. The more he pushed his cock into her, the more urgent her breaths became, quickly warming the whole tent. He could feel her inner walls squeezing down on him more and more tightly as she neared her climax once again. Her tail rose even higher, flipping up almost entirely over her back.

And that gave him the most _dastardly_idea. He'd never dare such a thing with a real woman, and certainly never with his sensitive wife, but Chestnut ... she was just a horse. A feral. Supposedly. What did he have to lose?

Grinning, Berko reached down and grabbed the of Chestnut's tail, squeezing the thick base of it through the long tail hairs, using it to give him even more leverage as he slammed his cock into her.

Actually, rather than being upset about it, it seemed to set Chestnut off. Almost as soon as he'd grabbed her there, he felt her insides pulsing down against his shaft, much the same way she'd squeezed his arm earlier. A shudder ran through the horse's whole body as she came again, her marecum splattering his cot.

That was the last thing on Berko's mind, though. He had never_felt anything this intense before in his life. The way Chestnut's pussy convulsed around his cock, pulsing and pulling at him as if it was deliberately trying to milk him dry was just _incredible. Even though he'd stopped moving and just held himself as deeply as he could inside her, he still couldn't delay his own impending orgasm.

He had no idea if his seed could take root in a feral horse, but he was _not_about to find out. Even though his cock was beginning to flare wide inside her, he pulled it out forcefully. The whole length of it glistened in the lantern light, covered in her slick juices. And that made it all the easier to use his other hand and give himself the final few strokes he needed.

The first thick rope of his cum flew out and draped itself from the base of her tail - a little bit of it hitting his own hand there - all the way down the gap between her hind legs, thankfully just to the side of her possibly fertile pussy. Before the next might be able to hit the mark and make her pregnant after all, he pressed forward, sandwiching the base of his cock between her firm, warm ass cheeks and releasing his fountains of cum up and over her back.

Again and again he decorated the curves of Chestnut's back with squiggly, drippy, oozing white lines. He could feel the wet heat of her pussy still winking against the pulsing base of his cock as he unloaded ever last little bit he had for her, all the way until the last few little dribbles slid down his own cock, no longer coming out forcefully enough to land on her.

Not that it was needed. It was starting to soak into her fur now, making her whole back look mottled and damp with his cum. Succumbing - for the moment - to post-orgasmic fatigue, he sat back down on his cot, his wilting cock sagging down between his legs.

Chestnut turned and nuzzled his chest, and he reached up to caress her cheeks and neck by pure reflex ... or perhaps instinct.

But as the fog of arousal and orgasm began to clear out of his head, he quickly became more and more aware of just how terrible it would be if someone came into the tent and discovered the two of them like this. Naked, with his cum still soaking into a feral horse's fur. And not just any horse, the most beloved horse in the whole encampment. He couldn't even imagine what the punishment for that might be, but he knew it wouldn't be good. Not at all.

"Let's, uh ... get you wiped down," he said hastily. Bending over to where his uniform sat next to the cot, he pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket. It was one of his best, actually, but it was the only thing he could come up with in the moment. He certainly wasn't going to go wiping cum up with his blanket or his actual uniform!

Thankfully, Chestnut was perfectly cooperative as he wiped her fur down. Since the cum had already had some time to soak in, wiping it away was only marginally effective ... but at least it made it look only as if she'd gotten a little wet somehow, rather than blatantly looking like a well-used tavern whore. When he worked around to the back of her, to that first splatter of cum that had leaked down under her tail, she was a bit too cooperative. She pushed toward him, her pussy still winking, still dripping wet. He wiped that up as well, being careful to use one of the few remaining clean parts of the handkerchief. And he did his best to ignore the supple curves he was wiping.

It wasn't too hard to resist. Not after he'd just been drained twice over. Even now, though, he couldn't help thinking about her, looking forward to the next time she might visit him. There would be a next time, right?

He glanced up at her as he tried to shimmy his way back into his underclothes. "You're ... you're coming back sometime, right?"

Whatever sort of answer he'd been expecting, he didn't get it. She pranced a little, holding her tail high and proud - and threatening to collapse the entire tent on top of them - before trotting happily back out through his tent flap, leaving him alone with his lantern.

Yes, he couldn't deny it. He was hoping she would come back. Maybe if he wrote to his wife and asked for more of those cookies...

Chapter 3

Serjeant Chestnut paid little attention to all the gunshots and cannon fire around her. Gunsmoke was nothing new to her. Why should it interfere with the job she had to do?

It was a simple job, but an important one. One she'd done many times and done well. There was an isolated group of Redcoats holding a hill just a ten or twenty minute trot away, past a wooded valley, and they needed more boxes to fight off the Napoleons. She wasn't quite sure why there were so many Napoleons or why they had to be fought off, but that was none of her concern anyway. Being a feral horse had its advantages, and one of them was that she needn't concern herself with all of that. All she needed to do was carry these boxes from the one place to the other. The Redcoats seemed to have an insatiable desire for these heavy boxes.

Normally, she'd have a handler with her, guiding her along the way. But misfortune had struck Private Thasselton quite prematurely. On their way back from the very first delivery, he'd taken a bullet to the arm. She'd been sure to get him back to help fast enough, but she'd seen enough handlers come and go to know that poor Thasselton was probably going to get his arm amputated.

It was a shame. She was starting to really like what he could do with that arm.

But, oh well. That was how this whole war thing went. She'd lost handlers before. She'd make do. After all, she'd gotten pretty good at finding satisfaction elsewhere when she cared to. It was really surprising how many of these soldiers welcomed a little alone time with her ... or perhaps not so surprising, given their silly ways and how they'd brought no female companionship with them.

They hadn't brought any stallions, either, which was why she was stuck looking for fun among the men. But that was just the Army way, it seemed.

Once again, she descended into the wooded valley, making yet another delivery all on her own. The men on the hill needed their boxes, so it was time for her heroics. At least they recognized her for it. That was more than she could have hoped for.

In the path through the forest, the gunshots and explosions sounded much more muted and distant. As she worked her way through the path, she could easily imagine that it was all far, far away.

Still, though, it was enough noise to cover the other little sounds she should have been hearing. A twig snapping here, leaves rustling there. She really should have known better than to walk right into an ambush.

Three French soldiers leapt up from behind bushes and out from behind trees, pointing their guns past her, as if they were expecting someone to be following her. The three anthros looked at each other, at her, back at each other ... seemed a little confused that it was only her and her alone. One tall and lean stag, one huge and bulky draft mule, and a mean-looking grizzled poodle with more gold on his uniform than the other two. She'd never liked dogs much. They were too ... unpredictable.

"C'est juste un cheval," the stag said to the others.

Chestnut knew English pretty well, but she'd never had the chance to learn much French. And this wasn't the time. Shrugging off the Napoleons, she resumed her walk down the path. She had a job to do. All she had to do was do it.

These three Frenchmen had different ideas, though. The poodle grabbed her halter and yanked her head to the side, throwing her off her step and forcing her to stop.

That wouldn't do! That wouldn't do at all! She shook her head and reared, trying to free herself, but the poodle yanked her back down fiercely.

She wasn't about to give up that easily, though. She was Serjeant Chestnut, and she'd been through much worse than this. Taking a different tactic, she just started pulling on the halter, hard, dragging the poodle man backward.

He knew what he was doing, though, and yanked her to the side, forcing her into a turn that would just have her backing in circles if she didn't do something about it.

Alright. If he wanted to play rough, she'd play rough. Her hooves had dispatched more than a few Napoleons in her day. Suddenly changing to pushing toward him, she prepared to strike his legs with a front hoof. That would bring him down, and then she could--

"Tirez sur ce bourrin!" the poodle yelled, struggling to stay out of her reach. The other two men raised their rifles, pointing straight at her.

At that point, Chestnut quickly decided that this was a bad idea and that she should behave. Instantly, she turned into the calmest, most docile feral horse anyone could ask for. It seemed to work. Neither of the other men fired their rifles, at least.

Well, it looked like she'd have to find some other stratagem to use. The last thing she wanted was to be captured by the French. They would treat her like an ordinary horse, and she'd lose all the special privileges she'd built up on the English side. And that's if she was lucky. But she was a clever mare, and she knew that all she _really_had to do was delay and distract them. English troops would be coming down this path soon. And perhaps if she did things just the right way, she could have a little fun herself while setting them up perfectly... Were these Frenchmen just as starved for affection as the Englishmen she knew? Perhaps her feral charms would work on them just as well...

The stag stroked his chin, staring at her intently. Then his eyes suddenly went wide. "Merde! C'est le cheval fantôme dont on parle! Celui qui n'a pas besoin de cavalier!"

"Eh bien, qu'allons-nous y faire?" the mule asked.

The poodle snarled up at her viciously, rubbing his hand where the halter had scuffed it. "Je dis toujours qu'on devrait tirer."

The other two Frenchmen just laughed at him, slinging their rifles back onto their backs. Good. Now it was time to start having a little fun with them...

First of all, now that they were off-guard and she didn't have any guns pointed at her anymore... Shining inside with mischievous glee, she suddenly pushed forward, bopping the poodle right on the chest, giving him a nice hard shove.

He hadn't expected it at all! He went down so easily, crashing down onto the dusty path with words she didn't understand, but assumed were some kind of French swears. And best of all, instead of pointing guns at her again, the two other men just stood and laughed, pointing at him down on the ground.

Perfect. Now for her plan...

She advanced over him, just _happening_to step on a fold of his trousers, which pinned his leg to the ground and prevented him from getting up. Then she started sniffing her way up his body. It didn't matter at all how he shouted or pushed her nose away or struggled to lift his leg. She had him pinned, and she wasn't about to let him up until she was done with him. And the other two Frenchmen weren't about to do anything about it - they were too busy laughing at their comrade's misfortune.

But she wasn't worried about that. She had something much more important she was seeking. The smell was all over him. He had something tasty tucked away in his clothes, and she wasn't going to stop until she found it.

_There!_The other two Frenchmen laughed even harder when she nosed her way into the poodle's breast pocket and pulled out a paper-wrapped packet that contained ... a thick slice of crunchy, buttery bread! Before the poodle could react, she scarfed it down.

Hm... Saltier and sweeter than the English bread. Very nice. Maybe being captured by the French wouldn't have been so bad after all...

"Enlevez ce cheval de sur moi!" the poodle shouted, still pushing at her head, but it was too late. She'd already eaten the whole thing.

Meanwhile the big mule had gone around behind her. "Ce n'est pas un cheval, c'est une jument," he said, almost dreamily. She wasn't sure what he was talking about until he lifted her tail for a better look underneath.

The nerve! Of course she wanted_them to get there, but what did he think he was doing? With any normal mare, that would be a good way to get kicked. Chestnut didn't want to discourage them _that much, but she needed some answer to this insult to her dignity.

The idea popped into her head instantly. Perfect. Spreading her hind legs a little apart, she raised her tail even more for him ... and when he inevitably leaned in for an even closer look, she let loose, pissing all over him.

"Merde!" the mule shouted. "Je suis couvert de pisse de jument!"

The other men laughed at him, even the poodle from where he was still pinned on the ground.

But the mule... He seemed to have something different on his mind. It was like the laughter of the other two Frenchmen didn't even register to him. Instead, his nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of her ... the same scent that now coated him and his fancy uniform.

Wait ... was she in heat right now? It _was_almost time for her cycle to start, wasn't it? And if her feral pheromones were close enough to get through to his anthro mule nose...

Without the slightest warning, he reached up and jammed a couple thick fingers straight into her pussy. She whinnied a little in shock, but her tail also rose even higher. She'd never just been taken like that!

And this mule was merciless_about it. His fingers went into her easily, given how wet and winking her pussy was after peeing, and he took full advantage, pumping them in and out of her even as he thumbed her protruding clit. And that was only the _start. When she inevitably showed the signs of the pleasure he was forcing on her, that just made him go for it all the more, until he was shoving his whole fist inside of her, pounding her, just utterly dominating her. Even though his hand was big, he forced it as deep as it could go inside her with relative ease.

The orgasm that came over her body surprised even her with how quickly it came and how much it overwhelmed her. It wasn't often that she felt _this_kind of sudden, hot wave crashing through her, blossoming outward until it filled every part of her and made her legs tremble. Her pussy squeezed and squirted against the mule's arm, giving away just how thoroughly he'd taken her.

He pulled his arm out and licked it. "Mmm... Ça fait trop longtemps que je n'ai pas fait quelque chose comme ça."

The men weren't laughing anymore. They were staring at her with hungry eyes and lecherous grins. She spotted tell-tale bulges in all three sets of trousers ... especially the mule's. Heavens above, just how big was he?

And still, the British reinforcements were nowhere to be seen... That was alright, though. At this point, she _wanted_to distract these Napoleons for a while longer. Even the dog. That orgasm had kindled a fire inside her, but it had been too quick, too sudden, to quench that fire. Now it was burning in her hotter and hotter. Thankfully, she'd soon have three nice cocks helping her satisfy every desire she could ever have.

Her legs still a little wobbly from that fast and intense orgasm, Chestnut finally stepped off of the poodle's trouser leg ... but she didn't go far. Looking needfully at the three men, she laid herself down right in the middle of the dusty path, her tail still raised and her pussy still winking, splattering little drops of her lust onto the ground.

Thankfully, they seemed to get the hint. All three of them came toward her, already unfastening their trousers and dropping their packs.

The mule was the first one on her. He must have been _so_turned on after bearing the brunt of her scent and being the closest to her ... so turned on that he couldn't help himself. Still, though, he seemed to have a good sense of what was about to happen, and he even went far out of his way to make room for the others. Instead of just kneeling behind her, he lifted one of her hind legs as high as he could and squeezed up between her legs, all while nudging his cock into position.

And what a cock! He was big even by equine standards - bigger even than some of the feral stallions she'd had in the past. How could any anthro woman possibly handle him? Maybe that was why he was so attracted to Chestnut ... maybe he'd finally found a pussy that could handle him. Or could she? Gasping a little as the blunt tip of his cock crammed into her entrance, she did her best to relax herself and not clench. This was going to be--

Oh! Oh horsey goddess above! Seldom in her life had Chestnut been filled like she was now. The mule's cock _pushed_into her relentlessly, and it seemed like a small miracle that he fit at all, even given how sloppy-wet she was back there. His girth stretched her nearly to her limit, forcing its ardently hard warm pressure deeper and deeper inside her until she thought she'd burst. She grunted slightly with the effort of taking his cock, then sighed in relief when she felt his hips pressing between her thighs, when he'd finally pushed in all that he could. The sheer pressure inside her made her feel almost woozy in a strange combination of discomfort and sumptuous heat.

That wasn't the only cock coming her way, though. The stag got to her next, kneeling down right in front of her head with his trousers around his ankles. How he knew she'd be the kind of horse who'd willingly do such a thing, she couldn't guess. Or maybe he planned to force her? Well, that wouldn't be necessary.

Even though the mule had started to thrust inside her, making her mind reel with the shimmering pleasure of his medial ring slipping in and out through the tightest part of her depths, Chestnut still took it upon herself to stretch her neck out a little and lick the stag's cock.

She'd never had a stag before, actually. It was ... odd. His pink cock was long and thin. Impressively long, actually, but only as thick as some of the smallest anthro males she'd ever toyed with ... but that didn't stop her from licking up and down its length. It helped a little, actually. She was able to wrap her soft tongue around most of his girth, which he really_seemed to like. He moaned in approval and reached down to run a hand through her mane. Even his balls were odd - nicely sized, but almost twice as long as they were thick, and covered with fine pale fur. She still licked them lasciviously and thoroughly, though, which made him shudder in _such an adorable way.

Since she was so focused on that, she almost didn't notice the poodle coming up behind her. It was actually the pause in the mule's thrusting that first made her aware that something was happening back there. When she spared a glance, she saw that the poodle was kneeling behind her, right next to the mule's legs. His white fur seemed to shine in the sun, and his purple-veined, small and pointed doggy cock already glistened. Had he already lubed it up with something?

When she felt the pointed tip of it prodding at her asshole, she quickly began to _hope_he'd lubed it up somehow. As experienced as she was, anal was something she rarely messed around with. Sure, he was a lot smaller than her, but still...

Maybe he had gotten it nice and slippery somehow. Or maybe it was just easy because he was relatively small and pointed at the tip. Either way, it was surprisingly easy how his warm little canine cock managed to pry open her asshole and slip inside.

With that not being as bad as she'd feared, she went back to work on the stag's long cock, licking him eagerly and getting him nice and slippery, too. Because she had ideas_about where that long, thin shaft of his might go. In almost no time at all, she was able to open her mouth slightly and slide her way down his length. It was so easy to hold the girth of him in her mouth, but he was _so long ... he actually managed to reach the back of her throat and keep going. Seldom had Chestnut ever taken a cock in her throat before. Usually her long muzzle was enough. But this time, she needed everything she had and more.

"Sacré bleu!" the stag said. "Je n'arrive pas à croire qu'elle fasse ça!"

The mule laughed as he started thrusting inside her again. "Ne pose pas de questions. Baisez-la!"

Well, they_sure sounded like they were having fun! They probably thought they were taking advantage of her. She would have given a horsey little smile if she hadn't been busy with her lips wrapped tightly around a thin cock. If only they knew - she was the one taking advantage of _them!

The poodle, though, didn't say anything - he just grunted through his sharp teeth. He was slowly slipping the full shaft of his cock inside her ass now, gripping her hips hard as he did so. Was it that difficult for him, or was he just enjoying himself too much for words?

Soon, though, he managed to bottom out inside her just like the other two, leaving her with every hole full of cock.

She had to admit, this was a new thing for her. Never before had she managed to seduce more than one anthro man at a time, and just forget about three. All of her holes at been claimed at one point or another, but never all three at the same time. It was so overwhelming, so many sensations blending into one another, so much to try and wrap herself around ... both figuratively and literally. She put her best efforts into pleasuring the stag in front of her, who had begun clutching at her mane and thrusting his cock into her mouth as if she needed any encouragement to do one of her favorite things. The poodle's warm cock began rhythmically thrusting in and out of her ass, tickling and massaging her back there in ways she'd seldom felt before. And that mule's massive horsecock stretched and stained her depths in ways she'd forgotten how much she missed, threatening to overwhelm everything else in the waves of pleasure that swelled through her with each heavy push.

Everything fed together. Somehow, the smaller in-and-out motions of the poodle's cock had a way of pressing her even more tightly against the mule's, and the rhythm from the two of them pushing into her ended up carrying over to the bobbing of her head on the stag's cock. She was enjoying this far_more than she'd thought she would. If her plan worked and she made it out of here, she'd have to find a way to experience something like this again ... some how, some way. She was too far gone to even think about how that might ever happen, though. _So much of her concentration was dedicated just to the intense feelings coursing through her. So overwhelming...

Much to her gratification and pride, it was the stag who came first. He grabbed her head with both hands and shoved her down on himself until her lower lip touched his clenching balls. But even as he took control and pushed himself back into her throat one last time, she knew that it was her oral skills that had brought him to orgasm faster than the other two. That made it all the more satisfying to swallow down his thick, gooey spurts of cum as his long cock spasmed all the way up through her mouth. That was her just reward for a job very well done.

When the stag had finally given her his very last drop and pulled out of her mouth, his cock already withdrawing back into his body, he took time to wipe his dripping tip on her muzzle, leaving a little streak of creamy white on the soft, sensitive skin between her nose and lips. She could smell it as much as she could taste it, and it was just driving her crazy, making her pussy squeeze tightly around the mule's cock.

Maybe it was the way she licked that cum off of herself and swallowed it that affected the other two so much ... or maybe they were just getting to that point anyway.

Regardless, she distinctly felt the effect. The mule's tip was expanding deep inside her in a way she was oh_so familiar with. His flared cock would be pumping inside her in no time! It was a good thing she didn't have anything to worry about, given the sterility of mules. The dog's cock was what surprised her, though. She hadn't played much with dogs in the past, which is why she wasn't expecting the huge bulge that grew at the base of his cock. With any anthro-sized partner, that might have locked him inside her, but with Chestnut - especially given how her ass had started to relax and enjoy its massaging - he was able to push that thick bulb in and out through her pucker with every thrust. She'd never much cared for dogs before, but between the gently pointed tip and this bulb teasing her tail-hole, she had to admit that doggy cocks were _perfect for anal.

_So_perfect, actually, that she couldn't hold on much longer. Trembling uncontrollably and sucking in deep breaths didn't help - it only pushed her onward. She could feel the tension building, the pleasure swirling around the two cocks inside her spreading. It was only a matter of time...

The poodle came first, though. Digging his fingers into her hips, he _slammed_his cock into her one last time. She could feel it pulsing in there, and she could feel that extra bit of warm slickness inside her - slimy doggy cum filling her, flowing inside her where it was never meant to be.

That did it for her. With a strained little whinny, she finally gave in and let her dam burst again. Her sides heaved as her pussy and_her ass squeezed down tight around both cocks. She felt like she'd just been dropped into a pool of bliss, like she was wallowing in it, _bathing in it, except that it was coming from inside her, radiating out from where that huge mule's cock pushed in-in-in and...

Oh goodness! There was no question of when the mule's climax came. She could feel it even before it hit her - the thick bulge of it traveling through his cock, teasing her whole pussy from entrance to womb on its way in ... until it splashed inside her, bursting with a sudden fullness and heat. Her womb swam in mule cum, and that was only from the first pulse. Gush after gush fountained inside her, filling her utterly, renewing her orgasm again and again. Every time she's almost fade from her plateau of ecstacy, anther stream of hot cum would pour into her and set her off all over again.

It wasn't until the mule had pumped his very last drizzle of cum into her that she was finally able to calm down and take a few deep, desperate breaths. Already, she could feel slick, heavy drops of cum leaking out between her entrance and his sheath. She could scarcely contain as much as he'd given her.

That became even worse as he pulled out, releasing a little deluge after his now-limp cock swung free. She could feel it soaking through the fur of her ass cheek.

The poodle was the last to pull out ... which he did with a bit of difficulty, having to pull his bulge out past her rhythmically clenching asshole.

Of all of them, the poodle seemed the most spent. The stag was almost entirely dressed again already, and the mule had gotten up and started to pull his trousers back on as if it was nothing. As if pumping a load like that into a mare was something he did all the time. But the poodle was still on his knees behind her, panting with his tongue held out. He stared down at the two cum-leaking holes under her tail. Did he feel inferior, she wondered, from seeing how much smaller the white dribble from her ass was compared to what had poured from her pussy?

Sounds came from the woods. The poodle's head snapped up.

He was just in time to see a group of at least ten Redcoats rushing down the path, rifles already shouldered. Her reinforcements had finally arrived, and they'd literally caught the Frenchmen with their pants down!

There was nothing the Frenchmen could do. Their rifles were laying at their feet, and they were in no position to fight off so many. All three of them raised their hands in surrender.

One of the English soldiers pointed at her. "Look, Sir! It's Serjeant Chestnut!"

"By Jove!" another said, "It is! Look what they've done to her!"

As the Redcoats surrounded the three Frenchmen and relieved them of their weapons, Chestnut slowly managed to pick herself up. Time to put on a show. She limped away back toward the British lines, giving the Redcoats the most woebegone, head-hanging look she could manage, given the after-effects of the orgasm still coursing through her.

Seeing her like that had the desired effect. The faces of the Redcoats turned from surprised rage to ice-cold determination to make these Frenchmen pay for what they'd done.

Chestnut only broke the act for a tiny moment - to look back at the poodle, make eye contact, and wink at him. That would teach him to mess with Serjeant Chestnut and interfere with her ability to carry out her duties!

It was working perfectly. "Throw them in chains!" one Redcoat shouted. "They've raped and defiled our beloved Serjeant Chestnut," another said, his voice seething, "chains are too good for them!"

"Gather them up," a taller, more important-sounding English bear said. "We're taking these three straight to the Brigadier. He'll give them what they deserve. Hop to it now!"

"Yessir!" the others chanted back, almost in unison. They were already dragging the Frenchmen back toward the English encampment behind her even before the poodle had gotten his pants all the way up - he was forced to waddle along with them as best he could.

Had she been too harsh on them? No, Chestnut decided. Even if she'd put on a show more than she needed and had some hand in enticing them into it, they had raped her. And while ferals usually weren't overly worried about silly anthro things like consent, she'd learned enough from the two-legged ones to know how important it was to them ... and therefore how badly these three Frenchmen had just behaved. Whatever the Brigadier decided to do with them, she'd be alright with it.

And as for herself? Well ... delivering boxes to the front was important, yes, but at this point, she'd more than earned a day off. She'd spend the rest of the day relaxing with the other horses in the forward officers' picket line. Maybe she'd even find a cute stableboy to help clean the cum out of her fur...

A commission for Dio. If you'd like to get a commission of your own done, see my commissions sheet for details.

Get many more not-yet-published stories and vote on which story gets written next on my SubscribeStar! Supporters also get to decide which story I'll write next, and they get big discounts on commissions!

Or if you liked this story and want to send some love but SubscribeStar seems like too much of a commitment, you can send a gift on your own terms through BEABACKER, with no strings attached!