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Mounting My Herd Mate

Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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I toss my head and wheel about in my favourite grassy field, rearing to strike at the sky, although there is only play in my actions. It is clear today with not a single one of those fluffy clouds scudding across high, high above. Sometimes I like to chase them, throwing my body into a gallop and neighing as if I can call them down to my very hooves. My owner says I'm stir-crazy, a real nut job, but I, of course, beg to differ. She simply does not understand how fun cloud chasing can be. Regardless, the crisp morning on the cusp of spring is the perfect weather for a horse to have all the fun he desired in what is and will always be my domain.

Except that it isn't.

Snorting, I lower my head to crop at the grass, spring need stirring in my belly. I should have a mare in with me, someone to keep me company. There's nothing like mounting a mare who's flagging her tail for you, backing up and squealing like she's playing hard to get. They always want it - I've not had one of them turn me away so far, not in all my life. Well, not since I was a colt. As I graze, my sheath tingles, an equine shaft slipping from its soft hold to drop below my stomach. I grunt into the grass, ears flicking, but pay it otherwise no mind, besides flexing those muscles below my barrel to slap it up against my stomach just once. It was too much fun to not do.

Yes, I would do very well with a fine mare or two or three to keep me company, I decide with a flick of my tail. Only the two-leggers seemed to have made the decision themselves that it was a very different sort of company I needed to keep me out of trouble.

My tail swishes, but there are no flies to chase off today. I am not as bad as my owner says and there weren't all that many destroyed fences. Not many. I just got bored sometimes. Tossing the feed bucket over the fence is also an excellent game. I should play that one more often. There is little else to do besides graze and when boredom strikes, well... I snort. Is that such a crime - to need a little entertainment? It keeps them on my toes and I am perfectly fine off in my field with the occasional mare to mount - whether I escape into their field or not - for all the company I could ever desire.

But_he_ had arrived.

My mood instantly grew sullen, tail clamped down over my hindquarters. Him. Why had he had to come along and ruin everything for me - my perfect routine and chosen company? I chomp at the air, working my jaw to no avail. There is no pleasure in the act and, so, I will not think of that. For now, I am alone in my field and that should be satisfactory, at least for the time being.

I pull my head up, slivers of grass flying from my nostrils and lips as I shake myself, black hairs leaving my body. It is time to moult as the weather turns warmer and already I long for the sleek caress of sunlight down my back. They say I bake in the sun, as I am black from head to hoof with only one white sock on my left hind leg.

The gate swings open, creaking as it always does. The two-leggers have been saying for many, many days - longer, I think - that they're going to oil it down, but I'm not sure if they have tried as it still creaks. It tells me when they're coming though, if they're trying to sneak by me with a bucket of oats. I must have my oats and will not abide them slipping into another field in any proximity to mine without a handful of sweet, sweet oats.

There are shouts from the gate and I gallop up to see who is there, tail flagged proudly and a whinny on my lips. But then I dig in my heels and skid to a halt, ears back and teeth bared, although there is nothing in striking distance. The two-legger with a brown mane laughs and waves her hand at me, a bucket on the ground at her feet, but I whip away with a stallion scream, throwing a buck in her direction to let her and her friend know exactly what I thought of them.

The_imposter_ is back in my field and it seems that, no matter what my protests may be, the funny two-leggers insist on leaving him there!

I snort and kick up my heels as they brought the light grey horse into my field and unclipped his lead rope, setting him loose once again. My human shakes the bucket of oats - traitors - as her friend crosses her arms, head shaking, but I call speed to my hooves and take off like there is a plastic bag whipping around my hooves. My nostrils flare and I pivot and neigh, balancing precariously on my hind hooves! Let them try to sweeten me up with food! It won't work! Not for me!

They hang about there a while longer while my fool of a new field mate drops down on his forelegs and rolls, legs kicking idiotically. I snort and hold my head high as I take a step back and away from him, one eye carefully on my owner as she dumps the bucket of treats over the gate, supposedly for us to share. My heart thrums with victory. She's given up on winning me over for today then - so that means I've won this one. I squeal and kick out. Let her go sulk without my attention! That'll show her!

Hey - what's he doing? I pin my ears down to my skull, mane whipping my neck, as the grey horse staggers to his hooves, shakes himself off and shoves his head right into my bucket of oats. I stare and neigh, trying to tell him what he's doing wrong, but he doesn't even acknowledge me - not even to twitch one ear! And my oats are all being eaten now, because of him and his stupidity! He knows they're mine! I snort and dig clods of earth out of the grass. They're always mine!

How dare he! The injustice makes my head spin. And he's not even a real horse either - not like me! For I had realised on his first intrusion into my field that the male equine was not whole at all and was lacking what I boasted under my flank. He's only a gelding. Why doesn't he understand the way of it? He should be leaving them for me! I scream and dance back and forth, but there's no amount of calling that will drive this idiotic beast away from what's rightfully mine.

My ears lay flat as I kick and lunge at nothing, but he doesn't realise there's no one here to protect him either. The humans are long gone down the path back to the stables, lead ropes swinging from their hands. I bare my teeth and grunt. It's now or never. I may never have another chance to show him who's boss. They're gone and now it's time for me to show him who's really in charge of this field.

I charge up the field, tail streaming behind me, but he doesn't move while he has the chance, stupidly stuck with his little gelding head crammed into the bucket, scoffing down mouthful after mouthful of my oats. My oats! My heart pounds and I neigh as I approach, a final warning. It's not as if I am not merciful. I would not kick if I had such a choice, but there's one trick tucked under my horse shoes that I know puts a gelding in his place time and time again.

My sheath warms and my drooling shaft, which had previously retreated after my earlier relaxation, slips out into the open once again, swinging and bouncing as I slow to a trot. As fun as it would be to slam right into the gelding, I didn't want to slam myself into the gate or wall either. I'd been trapped between both of those far too many times with the mares already and remembered the pain keenly.

And then I am upon the gelding.

He doesn't move a muscle as I lash out, sinking my teeth into his haunches with the speed of a striking snake. I hate snakes, yet I still think I'm as quick as one. Yet he merely grunts and steps aside, making space for me as if that's all I could possibly want - to share the oats. I shake my head in what expression of amusement I can manage through my anger, shaft slapping my belly. He'll soon learn, but there's no time to waste.

As he drops his head back to my oats, I pivot to his muscled hindquarters. He must be a gelding in a lot of work, not living the life of luxury a breeding stallion deserves. I almost feel sorry for him, but he shouldn't be in my field in the first place if he didn't want to be treated to every bit of what I have to offer him.

I rear, pushing my body over his and he finally jerks to attention, kicking out with a squeal and eyes that show a rim of white around the edge. Oh, so now he's paying attention? My hot breath tickles his coat, shot through with black and brown specks. What a fool. Just like a gelding to act like a mare, thinking he's better than me until it's too late. Far, far too late for him.

My weight falls heavy on his back and I bite his withers, giving him one more warning not to fight me. The kick was easy enough to dodge - like I hadn't been kicked out at before! - and my shaft bobs and sways as I seek a target that is not a mare's sweet warmth. But perhaps this one will be much better. I haul myself further over him as he tries to spin, but he is smaller and lighter than me. I snort and rake my teeth over the base of his neck. He doesn't stand a chance.

The flat tip of my cock jabs and I pull myself higher in time to brush that entrance of his, the one all geldings have. Of course, I have one too, but it's not for what I'm about to use his for. He tries to kick, sealing his fate as I lunge forward, thrusting the first bit of my length under his tail. His tail beats my underbelly and I snort heavily over his neck as I step closer, easing in what I can before lunging and thrusting, pleasure washing over my senses. Oh, how I have missed this! I grunt and nuzzle his mane to the side, still and enjoying the feel of him wrapped around me for a moment.

He trembles beneath me and snorts, shaking his lowering head down close to the ground, though it is too late for him to concede that I am the highest in the field pecking order. He should have known that to begin with. If he'd stayed in his own field, we wouldn't have been having this problem now, would we?

My heart pounds in my huge barrel of a chest, instinct taking over as I thrust and roll my hindquarters to take him like a mare. He grunts and nickers, tighter around me than the tunnel of a mare, cunny winking and pulsing invitingly. I don't have to think of a mare to enjoy myself, however, finding the smaller grey gelding more than enough to send trembling pleasure through every bit of my body. My skin shivers, muscles twitching as if to ward off flies, and I groan as I drive deeper and deeper, slamming into him past the ring in the middle of my cock. How much can I fill him with? Instinct rages and I can't now pull out even if I wanted to.

I must breed him!

And he submits to it, legs quivering as he even splays them apart from me. I whinny, proud of this accomplishment over getting the two-leggers to go away. It's better! Much better! Much better to feel him squeezing around me, almost as if he's trying to pull me in. I doubt he'd want to push me out. I'm a stud, after all, and no mare has walked away from me unsatisfied. My tail lifts proudly and I scream a challenge to anyone watching. This gelding is mine!

He grunts and squeals, though there doesn't seem much breath left in him to make a fuss. His legs tremble, but I'm sure he can bear my weight as I finish up using him. I groan over his back, flanks shuddering lightly, and drive in, rocking forward over and over again as I plunder him as deep as I possibly can. I can't quite get my back legs close enough to feel my balls slapping against the smooth patch of skin where his should be, but it's close enough to show the difference. I huff hot breath and nip his withers, driving in at a brutal place, need rising and rising. I will always be better than a gelding in my domain. And he needs to know that.

Too soon, I feel that need explode and whinny shrilly as I continue driving in, spurt after spurt of virile seed spilling under his tail. He grunts and twitches beneath me as I fill him, flare swelling to send my seed deep into his passage, flooding him with my scent and essence. There could be no better way of marking him as mine, even if there will be no foal from this coupling. That's but a side to pleasure anyway, ecstasy rolling through my mind and swimming back to reality all too quickly. Already I want to breed again, shaft still hard and refusing to soften as it should. I shake my head, lip flapping and groan.

Relaxing as my spurts slow, now but a trickle leaking into him, I can only hope there will be a better result from our afternoon breeding. After all, my gelding will now know his place in our strange little 'herd' of sorts and everyone else will know where he belongs too. What more could a stallion want from a herd mate?

I slip off his back, dragging from his hole with a wet slurp of semen. I'm surprised that it was so easy to push into him in the first place, but maybe this gelding was just made to be bred. He sighs, flanks heaving, as he shakes himself off, squeezing dollops of my cum from his well bred hole. It sticks to his tail as he flicks it, splattering across the grass as I jerk my head away just in time. It drips down his hind legs as he shifts, looking back at me with a question in his eyes that I can only answer with a proud snort. He knows his place. I am sure of it.

Maybe I'll even have more fun with him from time to time, just to remind him who's in charge.

Snorting, I toss my mane off my neck and, without so much as a farewell nuzzle, chase him from my oats, teeth bared and hooves flying. The difference is that, this time with my seed drooling from his twitching hole, he moves quickly, getting out of my way as he should have done in the first place. He trots off to a respectful distance and I nicker, pushing my head into what oats he's left, a pathetically little amount considering what must have been in the bucket to begin with.

I pin my ears back and shoot him a pointed look as he mouths the air and drops his head. Maybe I should take him again, like a mare, for leaving me so few. But I can't help but notice and snicker at his own shaft swinging from his smaller sheath, yet with no fat balls behind it to back up his arousal. My little gelding seems to have enjoyed my mounting more than a mare in season. My tail flags. Maybe I am simply that good. If he's well behaved, I'll mount him again, for fun and to keep him in line.

The two-leggers also should have known something before putting him out with me. Something that, surely, every interaction with me should have told them. The gelding whuffs and lips the grass, ears pricked and attention on me and me alone, as it should be. His pink and grey mottled shaft swings uselessly, too soft to penetrate a mare and pointing down to the ground. I chomp my last mouthful of oats, attention wavering as my length swings and bounces under my belly, refusing to go back into my sheath. What was I thinking... Ah, yes, that was what they should have known.

Never turn your geldings out with a stallion. We all know who comes out swinging. And drooling. I snort into the bucket, semen drooling plentifully from my tip.

Oats never tasted so sweet.