FSE

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People who knows me knows that I always was the calm, discreet anteater that does his best to entertain his friends. They also know I have « unusual » sexual tastes, to say the least. They know that even if I'm open about it and enjoy talking about it, I'm still shy and careful of other people's reaction. You all know I like it dirty, rough, me being a submissive « victim » that secretly loves what he's going through. Which is true, of course. After all I won't be leading this life if I wasn't. What I want to say is, I really am a loving, submissive « victim » in bed, and I still am shy about it even if I discuss it openly. Everyone knows it, and I like to still pretend it is a secret that everyone discovers each time. I pretend not to like it when deep down, I love every second of it. I suppose that at this point, it's more like « pretending to pretend not to like it ».

It is not exactly that I like being forced to do things, I'm not really into rape. To be more accurate, I like the idea that the person taking advantage of me does it because he actually knows what I like, and what I want at that exact moment. I love to be overpowered for my own good. No need to say that my Donkey is the one and only to know me at two-hundred percent.

But as much as I love him, and you might know how much that is, this is not what I want to talk about.

There is, like most thing in this world so far, an exception for this particular set of mind that I have.

While I love to have my life and my sexual life between my donkey's expert hands, I get reckless in front of feral equines.

Most of us knows how much I love equines of all shapes. Even sometimes, I get more willing, more docile and even eager to do some things with my donkey. Like a more « regular couple », if it can helps you understand.

But when I find a feral equine, especially horses and donkeys, it's hard for me not to get aroused, and feel my mind warp into something I'm not used to. I have urges, that has to be appeased. My heart races to a dangerous pace, my erection hurts, my mouth waters.

I behave myself. If there's anyone around, I keep my composure. After all, I do like those creatures. I talk to them, pet them, struggling with those needs and feelings. I ride them from time to time. It's not only love and lust with them. I actually respect them, admire their strength and beauty. It is a passion, in every sense of the word.

When I'm alone with them though, I feel like a stupid, horny teenager, that can't do anything but comply. Not that I mind...

There was this beautiful ginger horse, one time, in an open field. His mane and tail were lighter, and his four legs were white from the knees to the hooves, as well as his muzzle to his throatlatch ; his lips were slightly pink, just enough to make me want to kiss him. He was huge in all categories : he was one of the biggest horse I have ever seen, my head couldn't reach his withers. And he was so fat ; getting close to him as my heart got faster, I patted his belly, looking at his gigantic crotch. It wasn't the biggest I saw, but the wildness was what it was all about. I felt no need, no desire to act innocent and, not compelled to act naive and tricked. There was him, which I could smell his unclean sheath and cock from where I was standing, and me, slowly undressing myself after checking all around me.

I never felt exactly guilty when I was doing it, for the strangest reason : I never saw a horse flee from me. They never get scared or upset, they always are calm and at ease with me, as if they were reading my mind and always agreed with what they found in it.

And this horse was the best example of it, as he looked at me in the eyes, suspending time around us, before surprising me with a loud fart. Startled, I blushed, reacting like he was flirting with me. The strong smell punched my nose ; lucky me I never had any gag reflex, and I learned to love this scent. It was more than that this particular day : I immediately forgot about his appealing penis. To this sound and smell, I knew from the bottom of my heart what I longed for, and slowly got behind him. He answered to my move by lifting his tail, revealing one of the biggest asshole I ever saw.

It made me feel like falling in love with it : out of reach, I had to look up to see it, like a personal deity, and the stench was getting me drunk. He farted once more, his hole winking at me as a thick brown cloud of gas obscured my vision and embraced my senses. My mind knew the smell was supposed to be horrid and unbearable, but it was heaven to me. I sniffed it from where I was standing, right under it at one or two inches, packing my lungs with it. Some flies tried to join the party, but I wasn't one to share my new breathing tank. I let them fly around, as the idea that the scent attracted them, like it did to me, was only making me hornier and hungrier for more.

He farted once more, a couple of long, raunchy winds that were so powerful that it repelled them, as I opened my mouth, tongue flying along my left cheek. I felt the gas bouncing inside my mouth, covering my long tongue with a pleasant taste that made me beg mentally for more.

I moaned at another blast of gas to my face and mouth, eyes stinging from its force and its foul aroma, which was getting so strong the flies came back ! Catching a long whiff, I could smell he had to empty his bowels. My little cock throbbed of excitation as I couldn't wait for what was going to happen.

But nothing happened at first. I stepped back and looked at his face. As if he knew, he looked at me, and snorted. He looked bothered, something wasn't right for him, and I knew from experience it wasn't me. I looked back at his horsehole, and guessed what was the problem. I patted his butt, and smirked at him. He was constipated ! Lucky him, I had the perfect tool for it. I kissed the lower rim of his butthole, and started licking it.

Once again, I knew, I felt I should feel repelled by the taste, but it was divine to me. My first intention was to keep it slow and loving, but I quickly lost composure at the flavor : it was a perfect mix between bitterness, the sweetness of grass and oats, salt and horse musk. It was matching the smell, but with a more lovely way. But it wasn't strong, it wasn't powerful enough for me. Knowing I won't harm or upset him, I decided to shove my tongue inside, helped by another fart loosening up his musky asshole. I could pretty much feel the toxic cloud running inside my throat to find a comfortable place in my stomach. As soon as he stopped, my tongue got trapped inside his vigorous bowels, barely able to move inside. The warmth as the flavor made me sigh, making me want to keep it inside forever.

Groping his ass, I began to rummage around, collecting small sample of feces. But it wasn't what I was searching for. I took my time, each little move made by my licker feeling like small orgasms from my tongue. When I finally bumped into what was clogging him, my heart exploding with pleasure and satisfaction. I let out a clear moan, and immediately began to slip my tongue between his stretchy walls and the turd to coil round it. I gently tried to pull it out, avoiding breaking it, even though I wanted to hug it with my tongue as hard as I could. It slid out easier than I thought, making me wondering if the horse didn't held it in on purpose.

As I saw it crowning out of his stretched donut, I tried to held it in my hand: my fingers couldn't join from how large it was! I rubbed my hand around it, like I was masturbating it, the smell burning up my nostrils, and opened my mouth, waiting for it to come. As soon as it reached my lips, I began to suck on it, my jaw extending to the perfect size like it always did. My eyes rolled back to the incredible taste that assaulted my mouth; it was unbelievably stronger than the smell. It was delicious to me, not in the traditional sense, but in a sexual, psychological way. I could see myself eating it everyday, and rub my nose against this stinky, messy asshole until I pass out, only to do it again and again.

I kept sucking on it like it was just another cock, stroking it and working my tongue around it, moaning as it was slowly stretching my throat, as used to as my mouth to suck on such big things, comforting me that I was conceived to do all those dirty stuff. I let it slide inside, finally stopping from sucking, penetrating me, feeding me until it broke inside my mouth to let out another long, yet less deafening than the previous blasts. I could feel inside me the horse soothed and calmed down, relieved as he began to push another huge log in my mouth, careful not to drop any bit to the ground. I let it slide, my soiled hand groping his ass firmly. I was feasting on every inches of his intoxicating poop, delightfully choking on it before feeling it replenish my belly.

I kept eating his manure for what seems hours, having way more than my fiber requirements. Each fart blown in my nose, each turd gulped down in my mouth made me forget about everything else, even my need to masturbate, melting my brain with overloads of pleasure and satisfaction, leaving me with an everlasting crave for more of his perfume and his meal. It took me some time to realize I was making disgusting choking sounds each time I was swallowing, when I wasn't moaning loudly; but I didn't stop me from keeping on being gross. I couldn't care, as I could barely think about it. Everything was just contributing to my overwhelming bliss.

He eventually stopped both shitting and farting, his dumper getting back to its original shape and size like nothing happening, and even cleaner than when I met him, thanks to me. I burped loudly, filling the air with a wonderful scent of his product. Befuddled and stuffed, I was slowly coming back to my senses, and fell to my butt on the ground. My hand was covered in filth, as well as my snout. The horse's butt had my hand marks on it, but I couldn't clean him up: I had no towel or tissues, and my tongue and mouth were full of shit. I giggled, and burped once more, under the affectionate look of the beast. He looked a little bit thinner, unlike me.

My belly was bloated beyond its usual limits. I was looking more than pregnant; I could feel its crushing weight, and my stomach struggling with all this "food" he had to digest. I could barely move, settling for lying down in the grass I could no longer smell with my saturated nose: everything smell like horse fart and poop. No need to say that I was perfectly fine with it.

We said farewell in both our own way. The horse put his lips on my huge belly, and I caressed his muzzle, before he left me. I put my pants back, bothered by my stomach, doing my best not to mess it with my dirty hand, and waited a few minutes to put on my shirt which, by pure luck, was just as stretchy as most of my body. I couldn't wait to get back to my lover, to whom I'd tell the story so he could picture it in his mind and fantasize about it. He would tease me and make fun of me in ways he knew I would love it. I could even worry that he would fin another feral horse or donkey to make me do it all over again under his loving eyes. Because in the end, that's what it is all about.