FSE

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Great banks of cloud rolled in lazily from the edges of the steppes, laying shadows across the autumn grass. Along the scarp slope of a ridgeline, early snowfall had gathered in hollows, and clumps of bracken clung on grimly to weathered rock. A shower of pebbles suddenly clattered down from above; a young, grey stallion, almost the same colour as the rocks, was climbing up the slope. He was small, but stocky; well-built for this land. His long, pale mane was sweat-soaked, and his normally-white fetlocks had tracked through snow and mud, leaving them filthy. His ears were flat as he struggled forward, and he panted heavily. His flanks were speckled with white; he'd been galloping hard before, and for some time it seemed. But there was no way to gallop up this slope, so instead he struggled, and slipped, and slowly climbed higher.

There were no names in this land -- for what use did animals have for names -- but there were smells. Under the layers of dirt and grime, the little grey stallion smelled of the humble scent of the blue flag flower. Blue Flag's hooves found poor purchase in the loose scree as he battled his way up the side of the rocky slope. Sharp stones bruised his feet, making him whinny in unhappiness, and the cold wind blowing from over the ridge made his mane whip about in every direction; he was constantly shaking his head, trying to escape it.

Every so often, he would turn, and look back down the slope at the herd of horses grazing distantly on the valley floor. His herd, until recently. He would stand for a long while, and then take a hesitant step back towards them, before stopping awkwardly and nickering softly; he dare not. His instincts told him to re-join them, to be a part of the herd, to have safety and companionship; his memory reminded him how they had driven him away, the males snapping at him and trumpeting, forcing him out of the group and even charging him angrily when he tried to re-join. Even the mares had screamed at him, dismissing his claim to them. He was not one of them anymore. He was too weak for a male, too submissive. The herd needed strength to survive as winter approached. So, he had been driven out, to make his own way in the world -- or perish.

The little horse was desperate. His only hope was to find another herd that would admit him, but to do that, he'd have to challenge their own males. Blue Flag didn't want to do that, at all; when he saw another male, his first instinct was not to fight them, but to be meek, and raise his tail. But the other stallions didn't care for his scent, and he was usually lucky to get away with merely a nip or a half-hearted kick. Perhaps he could find a herd without a dominant male; a small group of females and foals that would not mind a young male joining them. But, the chance was slim.

It took him hours to make his way from the temperate valley floor to the tundra plateau above, and the sun was high in the sky before the slope began to crest. Any warmth it might have bestowed was stripped away immediately by the cold and fearsome wind that greeted him. It cut through his thick hair like it was made of leaves, and the little stallion was soon shivering helplessly. He stumbled on, half-blind from the wind in his eyes, needing to escape it. The ground on the far slope was less rough, at least, and he made better time, descending the dip slope until the force of the wind faded and the warmth of the sun was something he could once more feel, instead of just imagine. But he had been moving all day now, first climbing, then descending, and he was thirsty and exhausted; he needed sustenance. He stumbled between the boulders that had come tumbling down from the ridgeline over the years, seeking food and water. At the very bottom of the slope, he found it; a small glacial lake, surrounded by thick grass. He nickered in delight, finding the strength to gallop forward, right into the lake. It was warm! And the greenery was plentiful. He neighed again, in sheer happiness...

---

The great chestnut stallion was in a foul mood. He was hungry, and the food around here was too sparse for a beast of his size. He was tired, but the cold made resting dangerous; if a sudden snow blew in, he might not wake up. But, most of all, he was lonely. He had been wandering by himself for many weeks, and had not come across a single other horse. He could not return to his old herd; after challenging the leader, seeking to take control: they had fought, and he had lost. The herd had not forced him out afterwards, but defeated, bruised, and full of youthful spunk, the stallion had left anyway, to make his own way. He would not be like the old and weak, haunting the edges of the herd, grateful merely to be allowed to stay. He would be the champion of his own herd!

If he could find one.

Besides -- and he snorted -- none of the other stallions in that herd had been interested when he tried to mount them. They dismissed him, walking away when he pushed himself up onto their rears, and seeking out mares instead. He found the scent of mares disinteresting; what did those other stallions see in them? He could not understand why they would not let him take his pleasure with them. They must be afraid that he was stronger and younger than them, and would dominate them too easily. Or, perhaps it was his scent, un-mare-like and worrying to them. He knew his scent was a little different. He could not have named it, of course, but he smelled of the strong scent of sagebrush, after the rains.

Now, Sagebrush was following a faint whiff he'd caught earlier in the day. There was better grazing to be had around here, for certain, but it was eluding him. He snorted unhappily at another mouthful of dry, unsatisfying grass, then sniffed the air yet again. There -- yes! Ears perked, he whinnied in delight. He had the scent now. He set off at a trot, weaving between the large boulders that littered this area, the glorious smell growing by the moment, until he rounded a drumlin and ran straight into a small lake, surrounded by reeds and thick grass. The stallion dunked his muzzle into the water, drinking deeply with deep satisfaction, and then attacked the grass to sate his hunger.

He grazed for some time, restoring his strength and vigour. The water was warm, and had an odd taste. Near his old herd, there had been a mountain that shook, and rumbled, and the air there had smelled like this. Still, it was water, and it slaked his thirst. The sun rose, and fell; he rested, and woke, and grazed some more. Days passed, and he began to grow restless again. This place was comfortable, but his urge to find a herd was growing once more. He would set out soon, and--

A splashing noise had him raising his head, ears pricked forward. Some other creature had also found this quiet little lake. He nickered, nervously. There was enough cover around, with the large boulders surrounding the lake, so he cautiously moved toward the sound, muscles tense and ready to flee in a moment. The sound came from behind a small group of poplars, right on the edge of the lake. Sagebrush circled the shore warily, as the sound grew louder, and then stopped in surprise when he heard a neigh. It was another horse! He neighed back, and the splashing quickly ceased, and for a moment there was only the sound of the wind in the trees. The chestnut stallion took another few steps forward; if it was another horse, he need not be so cautious. Then, trotting from around the copse, a small grey stallion with a pale mane appeared. He was absolutely soaked, and had clearly been frolicking in the lake's pleasantly warm water. His thick hair was still dripping, giving him a rather bedraggled look, and when he saw the much larger stallion, he paused, cautiously.

The two horses regarded one another for a while. Sagebrush noted the balls and sheath between his legs; another stallion, then. Eventually, he shook his head and nickered in a friendly manner; I am just another traveller, I do not seek any trouble. The smaller grey made no response, except to dip his head and grab a mouthful of grass. Maybe you are, he seemed to say, and I'll believe you for now, but I'm hungry. The big chestnut horse took a few steps closer, then also reached down for a bite of food, subtly sniffing at Blue Flag. There was something about him that the bigger horse could not quite make sense of; familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. And attractive. He chewed a mouthful of grass, and watched his acquaintance, and tried to make sense of it. Perhaps if he got a better sniff...

Blue Flag started momentarily when Sagebrush took a few more steps toward him, whinnying and shaking his head. His tail flicked nervously from side to side, and he backed away slightly, unsure of what to do. But, the large horse did not appear to be aggressive. In fact, he was simply sniffing Blue Flag; taking a step, sniffing, then taking another step. The grey paused, and let him. The chestnut stopped, and whinnied one more time, before pulling his upper lip back and taking a deep breath. The grey's ears flicked forward when he saw that; he knew what that was, and what it might lead to. And when he saw the other stallion drop a bit, a ripple of delight ran down his flanks...

Sagebrush pulled in a deep breath with a flehmen response. Now he understood why he had not been able to make sense of this other horse; he smelled like a stallion, but also a little like a mare; subservient, willing to be led. An intriguing mixture -- intoxicating, even. As he breathed in, he could not help but drop slightly as thoughts of mating entered his mind, the tip of his member hanging down lazily from his sheath. Blue Flag was watching him keenly, and at the sight of this, a little shiver had run down his sides. The grey stallion turned a little, making sure the bigger horse could see that his own member had also come peeking out. The muscular chestnut nickered, stepping right up to Blue Flag, and nuzzling the side of his neck, making sure the smaller horse could feel the strength in his neck and upper body. Blue Flag's hair was rough, and his mane unkempt; it tickled Sagebrush as he rubbed along it, in a pleasant sort of way. This close, the still-damp horse smelled earthy, and the stallion part of his scent was much stronger. Much more arousing. Sagebrush pulled his head up, trumpeting loudly, and looked down at Blue Flag, who dipped his head; he was prepared to defer to the larger equine.

Sagebrush, head held high, stepped around the other horse with a bold bearing. Blue Flag kept his head low, his swishing tail the only thing in motion as his new master inspected him. The stocky little stallion was sniffed at, snorted on, and licked; Sagebrush explored between his legs, snuffling the drooping penis there -- soft, and weak, just like it's owner -- then at his rear, where the restless tail hinted at a secret to be enjoyed. He nipped at his new stallion throughout, making sure there would be no confusion. I am your stallion now, and you will be mine -- female or not. You will do as I desire. You are my mare.

Eventually, Sagebrush stepped back, snorting with satisfaction at his mare-stallion; it was time to be serviced. He turned to one side, presenting himself to the other horse, and allowing the full length of his cock to drop from his sheath. Blue Flag, willingly cowed and ready to serve, watched attentively as the other stallion's penis emerged, inch by inch, until it hung out entirely between the stallion's dense, muscular thighs. Long, flaccid, and dark, the cock was mottled with splashes of pink, with a flare that was already partially grown. The skin below the medial was smooth, practically shiny, while above the fleshy ring it was rougher, and thicker. The globes of his testicles nestled just behind, doubtless as eager for release as their owner. Blue Flag nickered at the sight; it stirred something within him. Something he needed filled, by the very cock hanging in front of him.

Sagebrush shifted his hips impatiently, sending his dick swinging, and Blue Flag quickly trotted closer, lowering his head to wrap his lips around it, pulling a couple of inches of the penis into his mouth. He knew this felt good for him, so it must feel good for his master, too. His lips massaged the shaft as his long tongue roamed sloppily over the tip, sampling the dominant stallion's flavours. The acrid taste of dried urine mixed with the potent tang of seed; Sagebrush must have masturbated recently. Both flavours washed away in the bath being bestowed upon the cock, leaving only the heady, musky taste of a powerful young stallion's member. Blue Flag suckled away, rumbling softly in his chest with pleasure.

Sagebrush's heart raced as he felt his magnificent penis receive the attention it was due, and his lust rise. The submissive little grey stallion had brought out every dominant instinct he had, and the feelings coming from under his belly were wonderful. Moment by moment, he felt the flesh filling, growing more and more tumescent, pulling down heavily from his sheath. The sensation of the monster dick hanging from under him just made him snort. He was the lord of stallions! How had those other males ever dared to deny him before? This grey behaved appropriately, however; he would use him as he had always wished to use his past herd mates.

Pulling to the side, he tugged his penis from his faux mare's mouth, and slapped it hard against his belly. Blue Flag whinnied, and tried to grab it back, but the flexing of the large cock was too difficult to match. He settled for snuffling up at the root of the penis, snorting against the sensitive sheath and balls, breathing in the commanding musk of horse. It was a scent that he simply had to obey; no part of him was able to resist it. He simply wanted to keep smelling, tasting, feeling this stallion that he would serve. His own cock was long since fully dropped, but it was a poor reflection of the masculine marvel he was snuffling now; shorter, paler, and still flaccid. There was only one thing that would be sufficient to get the grey stallion erect. He held his tail stiffly up and away from his rear, waiting, hoping to receive it.

Sagebrush reared his head back, the powerful muscles of his neck standing taut, as he slapped his dick against his belly, and felt the other horse exploring the crook of his rear legs. Every slap made his penis flare a little, then shrink back. If he continued, he might be able to climax. But this was not a new feeling. He already knew how this went, and he wanted more. He turned, nosing at his rear as he had done earlier. The tail already having been lifted, he could see the winking hole there; he raised his lip in a flehmen again, absorbing the smell of it. Chemical need flooded through his veins. Enough! He needed to bury himself now in his ersatz mare. With a loud neigh, he nipped Blue Flag's haunch, and the smaller stallion -- still nosing around the crotch of his master, drunk on his scent -- cried out, lowering his head and spreading his back legs, just as he had seen the mares do in his old herd.

Blue Flag's mouth stood listlessly open, tongue slack; he breathed heavily, desperately needing to be bred like a mare. Shivers ran up and down his body, as the wind kissed his puckered doughnut, and he waited to receive his stallion. He knew just what to do. He used to watch the mares, in his old herd, winking at the other stallions, driving them mad with lust, until the bellowing males leapt onto their backs and drove their hard and leaking members forcefully in and out, without mercy or pause, muscled hips pounding themselves against the females, until both their bodies shook and the mares screamed in rutty lust. The little stallion would belly slap as he watched them, smelled them -- oh, the heavenly smell of a stallion in rut -- and the sounds of their climaxes would bring on his own. As the males dismounted, pulling out of the mares with a wet lurch that spilt the last dregs of their seed across the ground, Blue Flag would approach, and try to lick the shrinking cocks of those perfect, dominant master stallions. They had simply driven him off; they were sated, and a weak, feminine stallion like him was of no use to them.

But he was definitely of use to Sagebrush. The great beast finally stepped up behind him, pushing up with his front legs without warning, and slamming down onto Blue Flag's body; legs straddled him, corralling him tightly in place. Sagebrush's head lowered onto Blue Flag's back, snorting against it, and licking his salty mane as his eyes rolled and he shuffled his hips about, searching for the perfect angle as his glans slapped against Blue Flag's butt. Finally, he felt it catch on a warm, welcoming ring of muscle, and instantly shoved forward. Take me, my mare! The smaller horse screamed as he was brutally penetrated, thick equine cockflesh spreading his virgin anus wide without care or pity, long turgid inches sliding inside the feminine stallion, his body resisting the invader at every inch...which only made Sagebrush push harder. Blue Flag's own member made mockery of the pain, though: it hardened under his belly, quietly showing just how much he had desired this.

Sagebrush was deep in rut now, and his instinct was to simply empty himself in the willing horse under him and be done, but something made him hold back just enough to stretch out the experience. The feeling of a hot, firm tunnel of flesh surrounding his enormous penis, massaging and resisting in turn, was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he did not want it to end. He thrust in hard at the same time, though, pushing ever forward, needing to feel all of his length inside the mare; he had no experience of what an actual mare felt like, but if he had, he would have found this horse much tighter than one of them. The sounds of the squealing animal under him were so much background noise -- let his mount learn where he belonged. Controlled, and deferential to his herd leader's needs.

Horse cock did what it did best, and ravaged a needy hole. Both giver and receiver were mostly oblivious to one another, as they discovered the exquisite pleasures of two males mating. As Sagebrush's member pounded into Blue Flag, the little stallion's own erect shaft jerked and twitched and sprayed precum all over his belly. After several thrusts, Sagebrush could feel that he was fully inside his new friend, and his breath blew out in a hot snort across his back. The mare-stallion was his now, owned and dominated in his preferred manner. But, it wouldn't hurt to remind him. Baring his teeth, he nipped at the shoulder under him, eliciting a special little squeal and the unmistakable sound of another horse's penis smacking into a belly. Satisfied, Sagebrush whinnied, and resumed his thrusts, finding it easier and more pleasant as his dick painted the inside of Blue Flag with pre, lubricating his poor abused passage.

The powerful chestnut stallion fucked with all his might, and the sounds of stallion mating floated across the lake.

Blue Flag's body was churning with sensations he had never felt before, a confusing whirl of pain and desire and pleasure. The white-hot flame of his master's entry into him had almost made him bolt, but with the fearsome mass of the other stallion pinning him down, he would probably not have escaped -- not that he truly wished to. The pain was overshadowed by a deep sensation of rightness. Lifting his tail for another stallion had always felt like what he was supposed to do, and now that it was being consummated, with the weight of a powerful stallion on top of him -- and of his massive cock deep inside him -- he felt complete. The grey's own member was hard as stone, and he whinnied and shook his head, desiring even more of his mate inside him, not knowing he had received all Sagebrush had to give of his huge dick. He shuddered every time the big stallion thrust, as the chestnut's swollen flare slid over something inside him and drove him crazy. Drool began to drip from his slack lips as the pleasure built, and the grey stallion could feel the rush of orgasm approaching.

Sagebrush's tensed muscles stood out from under his skin like river-smoothed stone, his body a living sculpture, filled with the fire of raw masculinity. Golden afternoon light played over him; the equine practically glowed, limned in soft glory. But he was blissfully oblivious to any of this. The mating, the rough, hard rutting, the bestial animal fuck was everything right now. He would put a foal in this mare, marking her as his, and they would begin a new herd. His herd. Blue Flag had long since ceased to cry out from under him; instead, the little stallion made small grunts with every thrust of the equine dream on top of him. Sagebrush himself was snorting and grunting in equal measure, as his haunches flexed and heaved and drove his dark, delicious length in and out with great, irregular motions. His flare grew even bigger as his climax approached, completely blocking the little grey's slicked passage; no drop of his virile seed would be allowed to escape and touch the ground. As the horse under him cried out in a great groan of pleasure, so did Sagebrush; an ear-splitting bellow of power and ascendancy and domination. His new herd, his _own_herd, would begin, here!

From deep inside his swollen testicles, Sagebrush's sperm was pulled up, mixing with his liquid sex. His flare, bulging twice the size of his girthy shaft, released it inside Blue Flag, spraying the watery mixture far into the horse's insides; the little horse could not fail to feel the hot liquid filling him. His rear legs shook with the power of the orgasm, so long denied, and his front legs gripped even tighter, his hooves scraping painfully along Blue Flag's sides. Four, fix, six strong bursts from his cock flowed into his new mare, and finally a thicker, slimier extrusion, to make sure his seed remained where it should be. It was over in seconds that had felt like minutes to the pent-up stallion. He sighed deeply, his deep chest rising and falling in satisfaction. The stallion under him was squirting out his own ejaculation now, he could smell; not that he cared. His pleasure had been taken, and anything else was secondary now.

With a grunt, he slid off Blue Flag's back, his front hooves clattering back onto the gravel. His cock, streaked with cum, hung like a smirk under him. He shook his mane, holding his head high, and whinnied again. Strong foals would come from this! Unexpectedly, though, he felt a softness on his member; Blue Flag had come up alongside him, and was licking him clean. The feeling of the long, warm tongue on the rough skin of his penis, rubbed nearly raw by his stallion-mare's tight hole, was very pleasant. As he stood and received the attention, he saw that the grey stallion's rear was toward him; Sagebrush sniffed at it. A drip of his seed was oozing out of the smaller horse's anus, and he licked it curiously. He had never tasted his own seed before, and it intrigued him. He licked a little more, probing the loose and puffy hole that his rough breeding had left behind, wetting it and digging deeper, finding more of that unexpected musky and delicious taste.

Blue Flag nickered in delight as his friend's tongue soothed the pleasant ache in his rear. The anal muscles flexed, pushing out some more of the seed that the other stallion's bestial fucking had deposited inside him, even as he continued to clean his master stallion's cock, as befitted a good mare. Sagebrush lapped at him, and the two equines nickered happily to one another. Fate had brought them together: the grey who was as a mare, and the chestnut who desired him. They cleaned one another, carefully, establishing a bond of trust and care. This was not simply an act of lust, but something more...they would be together, now. Master and mate. Stallion and mare.

When they were done, Blue Flag turned around and brought his head came up alongside Sagebrush's, rubbing his muzzle under the larger stallion's neck and snorting. Sagebrush nickered back at him quietly, satisfied to be this little grey's protector. They grazed together for a while, side by side, quiescent and happy, as the sun sank below the ridge. Blue Flag felt safe with this big stallion; safer even than he used to feel in his old herd. He did not need them anymore. He would remain with the chestnut, and they would travel further, perhaps finding others of their kind that were forgotten, or cast aside. They could give them a new herd. A herd of vagabonds.