Harold the Plow Horse
#1 of Harold The Plow Horse
Harold was a farm horse. Ploughing, pulling and carrying was his job. He wasn't a peculiar breed, but he was definitely cold-blooded. He was pretty tall, muscular, and strong looking, a bit of Clysdale here, a bit of Shire there. Dark bay, with white socks and a blaze on the nose. Standard horse. But despite having a foreboding physique he was rather calm about everything. Nothing seemed to bother him. He did his job, he followed people on the loose string, he never complained, never pulled, never back up. He spent his days toiling in the fields and nights grazing in the backyard pasture with a goat, two cows and two cats. That was his life.
But, there was one thing that was bothering him. Of course, there was.
Since he had free roam of the entire pasture for the night and wasn't trapped in a tight stable box, (his people were good people), he would often leave the sleeping company of other farm animals, and in middle of the night go to his secret space. It was on the other side of the hill where the line of trees began. He would enter a small clearing just behind them, where a very peculiar tree was growing. There were two trees actually; sometime ago two seeds sprouted next to each other and they both grew together, trunk to trunk touching each other's bark, almost fusing. But after some time more, as if after a quarrel, both plants has decided to grow their own way, bending the trunk left and right. Which resulted in a beech tree with a bizarre Y shape.
This was Harold's destination.
He would step between two trunks and rub his rock-hard shaft against the polished bark.
What lead him here was his cock.
His cock, which would drop at random times and bother him, making him hot and frustrated and panting and demanding attention. Before he discovered the tree, he was miserable. Often at night he couldn't sleep, his cock dangling between his legs and demanding attention. Attention he couldn't give. He tried slapping it against his belly or lifting a hind leg to touch it, but it was no use. He tried to burn the frustration away during the day, plowing the fields or pulling a cart with extra energy spend, but no matter how tired he was, his libido would eventually wake him up.
One night just like that, he just lost it. He ran away from the pasture, and just galloped and jumped and pranced around, trying to calm down. It was no use, he thought it would drive him insane, that fucking cock, bouncing between his thighs when he run, unbothered.
He found himself between the trees, a place where few animals went, since they had trees and shade next to the barn, so no one bothered to come here.
In desperation, he trying rubbing his penis against the trees, but it was uncomfortable at best and bark hurt him.
And then.
He saw it.
The perfect tree. Two beeches with sleek bark. He stepped between them, suddenly unsure and tried to push his demanding cock against them.
He almost came at once.
When he finally felt some friction on his shaft, trapped between the two trunks he just LOST it. He flared his nostrils and he neighed and he just started pounding the tree mercilessly. He pounded so hard he almost uprooted the tree, he PLOWED it, arching his back and trying to touch all of his huge dick at once and after few successful hard thrusts he finally, finally, came. His cum flew so high it splashed on his front legs, but he didn't care. His face was painted by the expression of pure bliss, his mane at a total mess, his tongue rolled out when at the same time his hips pushed load after load on the ground, his legs shaking. He was finally, finally satisfied.
And he came here ever since.
After he discovered the tree, he become the calm, unbothered horse he was known for. He would blow a load after load on that clearing. But in time, he would become more sophisticated, more deliberate.
He would develop his own pleasuring technique.
He liked it slow at first. He would put just his tip against the bark and make small thrusts. Almost teasing. Rubbing the tip a bit. Up and down, forward, backward. He would snort from the sensation and flick his tail. It always made him harder. His flat tip would be touched from every side this way and it made him even hornier. Then he would stop for a moment, pull back, and very slowly, push back in all the way, arching his back, touching his dick from the tip all the way to the soft sheath and his balls. He loved it. He would always sigh after the first thrust and feel the tingle in his balls. And then he would slowly pull back. Sliding from balls to the tip again. At this point, his dick would be the hardest, with veins sticking out, and he would be panting with the mane in his eyes. His would drive his dick again, all the way in between the trees. Slowly in and out. In and out, swaying motion. Nice and long thrusts. His black balls would sway in response, his hips pushing gently, but far. His tail raised high. His neck arched and front legs locked. He would stay like this for a while. In and out. In and out. Then he would lower himself a bit, to feel his balls brushing the bark, to feel them resting on the wood. He would start to close his eyes. Then, he would start to go harder and deeper. But slowly, gradually. He would push harder with his strong hind legs, rubbing his black, wet sheath all the way now. He would open his mouth to pant a bit. It felt incredibly good. His tip was flaring and oozing pre. He became very good at his self-service. He would lower himself a bit more, so now his cock was sliding between the trees and his warm belly. He would lick his mouth, which would start drooling at this point. He would start pushing for real now. Locking his front legs, and arching his back he would push hard with his pelvis. Tam. Tam. Tam. Long and hard. His hooves digging in the ground, his hips shaking the trees, raining leaves on his back.
‚OooOooo' - he would moan, his head low, eyes closed and mouth open, he would moan to the ground, pushing his cock against the blessed trees, his forgotten, forever denied cock, now wet and sleek and too huge to put into anything that isn't a horse size. He would push. And pull back. And push. And pull back. And push again. His heavy balls slapping wetly against the back of his sheath.
‚Ooooaaa' he would moan again, his mane in his eyes. His cock throbbing and pulsing with seed unreleased. He would push and pull back. And push. And pull back. And push and pull back and push and pull back, his breath so fast now, push pull push pull push pull , he can't stop now, Push Pull Push Pull PUSH PULL PUSH PULL PUSH PULL PUSH.
He was fucking the tree for real now. His balls were slapping wildly, his tail flying high, his legs buckling, his buttocks contracting and pushing and pushing and pushing against the damn tree. TAM-TAM-TAM. „Ugh" he would grunt and roll out his tongue. „Agh, agh, agh,aghagahgah" with each push, leaves flying everywhere. The sweat sparkles his muscular body, shining in the moonlight. „Oh yes!" he would neigh to the sky, ‚Oh yeah!' arching his neck ‚here I come!, any minute now, mmmmmm, yeah, umm yeaa any ugh a a a AAAAGH ' Tam tam tam tam tam tam tam TAM! TAM! TAM!
O YEAH! he would yell, his nose to the stars, his eyes closed, his veiny cock would trob between his thighs and releaseeee, and realeaseee, and releseeee with each. slow. final. push. His seed would spray between his front legs. He would ride this wave for a while, with a smile on his face and half lid-eyes. His sperm wetly splashing on the ground, he rolls his tongue and stand for a while on a weak legs, pushing just a bit, not ready to part with the sensation.
He doesn't think about anything. His mind is empty, his itch is scratched. He would lower his head and take a few breaths, to even them out. His cock would drop flaccidly as if contented at least and would start to retract to his home, but for now, it just sways back and forth between his legs.
‚Uff' Harold would snort and step outside his trees. He would shake his neck to comb his mane a bit, and then cover the pool of cum with leaves.
Then he would turn back and head back home, his cock swaying with him, getting shorter and shorter.
He would go back to his pasture as a model citizen again. He would sleep, he would work and when his cock drops again he will be by the tree, with only a moon as a witness that he was indeed a sexual creature and needed a release, mare or no mare.
It was bothering him that it was the only sexual thing he would probably ever know. And he was feeling a bit lonely.
But something was coming.