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"Perch? Come on, son, we need to head out." Bucephalus checked himself in the downstairs mirror, shaking loose his still-damp hair, and making sure the lock of goldenrod hung forward, visible. He double-checked the suit, and put a hand to his neck, debating momentarily before opting to skip the tie; it would only get in the way later. He put a hand to his crotch; still plump from the session in the bathroom. Oh well, the Uber driver would get a bit of a show then. He glanced up the stairs, frowning.

"Perch! Where are you? Get down here now! We're going to be late!" he called. He paused and listened. There was a muffled response from upstairs, followed by a loud crash, and the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor. He sighed deeply, gripping the skin between his eyes with a pair of fingers, and shaking his head.

He climbed the stairs, slowly pushing open the bedroom door. He was greeted with the sight of Perch, legs on the bed and upper body on the floor, entangled in a tight-fitting vest. Both arms were stuck through the neck, making him look like a trussed-up piglet. His tongue was sticking out, and he had an expression of fierce concentration as he manfully struggled to pull his arms back through the hole, but he was entirely stuck. When he saw Bucephalus, his eyes lit up.

"Daddy! Help!" He struggled again, before giving up and lying limply off the bed. "The vest is too tight, daddy. I got stuck and...I fell over." His wide eyes were guileless, and hopeful. Daddy was here. Daddy would fix it.

Bucephalus took in the scene of his son, outwitted by an item of clothing, helpless and needing rescue. It was tragic. It also reified a feeling he'd been having for the last few weeks, ever since he first brought Perch home. The younger horse was gorgeous, and so eager to please him. He did as he was told -- mostly -- and he was an amazing fuck. But...there was something else. Bucephalus had initially hoped that it was simply due to the big changes in his life, and that once he got settled, he'd behave more normally. But he hadn't.

The week before, he had come into the kitchen to see Perch microwaving a slice of bread because "the toaster is too slow". When Bucephalus had asked him to mow the lawn, he'd found Perch with a pair of secateurs, painstakingly cutting each blade of grass. He'd cleared a square metre in three hours. And, when Bucephalus confronted him about these situations, it went the same way every time. Perch would nod along to everything he said, and vehemently agree that he was wrong, and tell him how smart he was, and how Perch would do everything the way he told him. And he did. But then, inevitably, some new situation would arise where Perch would once again behave...unexpectedly.

As Perch flopped around inside the vest like a fish out of water, Bucephalus was forced to accept the growing suspicion he'd been harbouring: his new son was, in fact, an idiot. A keen, beautiful idiot.

This did not particularly bother him. It simply meant he would use a somewhat different tack when dealing with the young stallion. He walked over to the bed, taking a seat on it next to his trapped son's lower half. Perch looked up at him from his prostrate position with patient expectation, and Bucephalus reached a hand down to stroke his muzzle.

"Perch, tell me something." His son's ears perked up. "Has anyone ever told you that you're...special?" A huge smile blossomed on the pretty face.

"You have, daddy!"

"Yes I have. But apart from me."

The little face scrunched up, thinking heavily for a moment, then: "Oh! Mom and...Dad did." He paused only a moment before mentioning his biological father; he wasn't supposed to talk about that daddy. "They said I was extra special. A lot."

Bucephalus nodded. "I bet they did. They named you Percheron, after all. Only a very special horse gets to be a Percheron when they are...well, whatever you're a mix of. Definitely not a Percheron, at least." Perch looked up at him in faint confusion, and Bucephalus waved away the unasked question. "Doesn't matter. Son...I've got some bad news. You're stupid. Tragically, irredeemably stupid. And I'm pretty sure it's genetic, your parents don't sound like lightbulbs either."

Perch's face folded up like a failed origami. "I'm not stupid! I'm not! I'm just...a slow learner. I'm gonna grow out of it, they said!" He absolutely radiated hopefulness, faith in the unnamed someone's that had decided to fill the balloon of his self-esteem with empty words. Bucephalus took note and readied the needle.

"Oh, did they now? Perch, you're twenty. There's no more growing you can do from now on to fix being this big of a dumbass, son." More to the point, Bucephalus had no desire to start paying for the young horse to keep attending university. He'd put a stop to that little activity within the first week; Perch had been studying some useless art degree...or social studies? Something, anyway. He'd not really paid attention to the details.

He leaned down, his face now right next to Perch's, watching him. "You better deal with that, slut-stallion. You're a fucking moron, and that's not going to change." Perch's eyes broke from his, and his ears drooped. Bucephalus grabbed one of his arms, holding it as he pulled the vest over Perch's head to free him, then releasing it again. Perch's arms came free, and he rubbed at his wrist as his father slapped the ass next to him on the bed. "But, hey -- it really doesn't matter, son. I'll just expect less from you in any arena that isn't the bedroom, won't I? Now, finish getting dressed, princess, or else we'll be late."

He got up and went back downstairs, double-checking his mane in the mirror once more. Perfect. It was going to be a very good night. He glanced up the stairs one more time. "Peeeerch?"

The bedroom door eased open. Perch walked out. He had the tight vest on, bright pink and straining around his torso. Below them were long and colourful stockings under short pants. There was a gap of a couple inches between the bottom of the vest and the top of his pants, exposing a ripple of deliciously muscled skin. He had one arm raised, tucked behind his head in embarrassment. The other was half-covering, half-resting on his crotch, which nonetheless bulged lewdly. Bucephalus ran his eyes up and down, drinking the sight in.

Perch shuffled his hooves on the landing and blushed. "Am I pretty, daddy?"

His father nodded and smiled. "You look amazing, princess. You're going to be the belle of the ball." He held out a hand, like a suitor, and Perch giggled, descending the stairs to take his hand. "Shall we?" he asked. His son giggled again and wrapped an arm tightly around him, saying nothing, just nuzzling against his father's body happily. Bucephalus chucked, and they left the house to meet the driver waiting for them.

---

The car eventually deposited them on the sidewalk outside of a nondescript-looking brownstone building. A simple brass plate stated the name what lay inside: The Bold Equestrian. Perch looked up curiously at Bucephalus, who gestured him forward with a soft hand at his back.

"Where are we, daddy?" Perch asked, craning his neck to look around the side of the building. Apart from the sign, there was nothing that indicated what might be happening inside.

"Just a club that I'm a member of." He looked down at his son. "Well, we both are, in a way. Come along." The two horses mounted the steps. Bucephalus knocked on the door. After a few moments, it opened, and an elegantly-dressed equine valet smiled at them.

"Good evening, sir," he said, clearly only addressing Bucephalus. "So delighted that you could join us again." Bucephalus smiled back and patted the valet on the shoulder as he walked inside.

"Good evening, Jeffrey," he said amiably. "Very glad to be back." Perch followed, looking up shyly at the valet. Jeffrey looked back impassively.

The entrance way led into a much larger room, which seemed to occupy most of the lower floor of the building. Cigar smoke drifted through the air, winding lazily between the high chandeliers and along the narrow platform that ran along one entire wall. Curtains at the far end of it hid whatever lay beyond. The rest of the room was filled with furniture: high-backed chairs faced leather couches, around glass-topped coffee tables. There was enough room for at least fifty people to rest comfortably, and there was nearly that many here tonight. As prim waiters moved about, taking orders and delivering beverages, pairs of horses stood, or sat, and conversed quietly. All the equines were paired off, and it was immediately apparent that all the pairs were of an elder horse, well-dressed, and a younger one, most far more scantily dressed, and invariably very attractive. In between the waistcoats and cravats, nubile equine flesh posed from within tight leather trousers, loose chiffon shirts and endless other combinations of clothing designed to show off as much youth and beauty as possible.

Bucephalus let his eye rove lazily over the equines, nodding at those he knew while staring a little longer at those he didn't; the club had grown somewhat since he was last here. The volume of conversation in the room had briefly dipped when he entered, which gratified him; he might have been gone for some time, but they had not forgotten about him. He glanced down at Perch, who was staring at everything with his typical open-mouthed amazement. Honestly, he acted like he'd never done anything or gone anywhere in his entire life, sometimes. But the outfit he had on, combined with his clear-faced beauty, was sure to turn some heads. In fact, Bucephalus could already see a few from the corner of his eye. A deep sense of satisfaction rolled through him; this was how it should be: admiration, and respect, and deference.

He sauntered forward slowly, giving the other horses time to admire him and Perch. The attractive little horse was the ideal match for him, and his simple innocence only compounded the effect. He could practically feel their jealousy radiating off them, and smirked. Drink it all in, you sad and lonely horses. You will never be all that I am, have all I have. This was heaven. It was so good to be back.

His gaze fell on a particular pair of horses standing off to the side. He smiled a genuine smile. "Come, Perch," he said, leading his son over to the couple: a stocky Shetland pony and his tall, young Arabian companion, hand in hand. The pony grinned as they approached and greeted Bucephalus with a gruff hug around the midsection; the top of his head barely reached Bucephalus' chin.

"Bucephalus, you old warhorse!" he said, coquettishly. "Where have you been? I was just saying to Remmi here --" Remmi smiled shyly at the mention, waving his fingers softly "-- that things have been so dreadfully ordinary lately. Didn't I, Remmi? And then who should wander in but Bucephalus and his..." The pony paused, giving Perch an ardent, lustful stare; the hand holding Remmi's hand loosened, and slid up the taller equine's arm sensually, before the pony appeared to snap back to the moment. "His just delicious young prize. And won in such a dramatic manner, hee hee." The little equine simpered, picking at his cravat absently. "Oh my, but you're a peach...I can see why Bucephalus was so eager to get his big rough hands on you. If you get bored of this grizzled hunk of obsidian, my cutie pie, I'll always have a room for you, won't I?" Perch blushed bright red, and the Shetland tittered, then huffed as Bucephalus snorted at him. "Oh, be still, you know I only tease." He pulled Remmi closer to him. "Besides -- I heard how you came by him. That little scene in Stud Farm?" A soft nicker. "You're better than that, my handsome friend. Do you and Marcus really need more bad blood between you?" A flick of his head, to send his mane shaking; small bells tied into it tinkled gaily. "He's here tonight, as it happens. It would be lovely if you could manage to not destroy all the furniture. The dues are already so onerous ever since they redid the catwalk."

Bucephalus had said nothing as his acquaintance nattered on, sparing only a glance for Remmi -- slouches, doesn't trim his hooves, won't last long -- and a half-hearted snort when he awkwardly flirted with Perch. At the mention of Marcus being present, however, his ears pricked forward. "Is that so, Cameron? Well, I believe we had quite the heart-to-heart the last time we met, and I doubt he'll see the need to discuss anything further with me. Besides -- I've brought something that I'm sure he won't want to miss."

The pony tittered again, slightly more nervously, and seemed on the verge of replying when the lights suddenly dimmed, before coming back up. He shook his head in lieu of a comment, turning instead to give Remmi a kiss on the cheek. "Put on a good show, darling." Remmi smiled and thanked him in a soft voice. As he began to walk off, Bucephalus called out after him.

"Remmi, take Perch with you. He'll need a little guidance." He looked at Perch, who obviously had no idea what was happening; having rapidly become bored of the conversation, he had somehow ended up holding an entire platter of canapés, and was eating them with gusto. Bucephalus gently pulled the platter away from him. "Go with Remmi, princess," he said to his son, as Perch brushed crumbs away from his mouth. "He'll show you what to do. And make sure to make daddy proud, son."

"Okay daddy!" Perch clopped over to Remmi, saying hello, and the two twinky horses chatted as Remmi led them to the door at the side of the catwalk. They disappeared inside. Bucephalus watched them go, until he heard a soft cough from Cameron behind him. He turned, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

"'Son', Bucephalus?" The pony shook his head sadly. "He's not your--"

"One more word, Cameron, and you'll get a hoof in that pretty face." Bucephalus suddenly stepped very close to the pony, full of fury, towering over him like a dark storm cloud. "Do you somehow still not know me well enough to know better? Take a seat, pony, and watch your little glass horse prance about. Do you realise he's a lame one?" He tapped his skull. "Up here. He would shatter under me, Cameron." He snorted dismissively. "I am creating something far better in Perch." With a final shake of his mane, he strode away.

As the lights dimmed, he took a seat near the catwalk. All of the young companions had disappeared into the same door that Perch and Remmi had gone through. The older horses got settled in, and after a minute or two, the main lights dimmed entirely, and bright spotlights came up to illuminate the catwalk. Music kicked in; music that would have felt more natural in a strip club. In this sumptuous setting, it felt bizarrely alien, but none of the patrons seemed to care. Moments later, it became clear why: the entertainment had begun.

The curtains at the front of the catwalks swished aside. One of the young horses appeared. Whatever he had been wearing before was gone, replaced with a skimpy speedo. His body had been oiled up, and he shone under the focused illumination. He knew what he was doing, sauntering down the catwalk, swishing his tail about and smiling naughtily at the glittering eyes in the gloom. Apart from the music, the entire room was dead still. No catcalls or boisterous conversation; the equines sat in silence and absorbed the sight. Many were touching themselves. Bucephalus, however, simply sat, and waited; he had something specific in mind for tonight, and it didn't involve these second-rate fucktoys.

The procession of gorgeous boyish stallions continued. Most simply did as the first had done, walking slowly up and down the catwalk, allowing the bright light and the body oil to do most of the work. Muscles gleamed and crotches bulged as the young males dropped just enough to tease; asses sat pert and delectable under thin material. A few took it a bit further: some lowered themselves slowly, making their crotches sag lasciviously between their legs, or leaned to one side to make their cheeks strain at the bonds of spandex. One especially gifted youngster could barely fit his balls in the speedo, so with a flourish, he pulled a tablecloth off an unoccupied table next to the catwalk, held it in front of him, and shook off the speedo, tossing it to one side and grinning lustily as he moved the tablecloth about in front of him, almost revealing his goods along one edge before moving it back. The outline of his fully-dropped penis against the white material was sexy enough to make even Bucephalus shift about a bit as his cock swelled.

Finally, the curtains opened a final time, and two stallions appeared: Perch, and Remmi. Both were in speedos, but Perch seemed a little shy, and stood still just past the curtain at first, unsure. Bucephalus imagined how it looked for him: the lights in his eyes would drown out any details in the darkness beyond, and he would probably not feel very sexy standing out there by himself in such a skimpy outfit for the first time. He cleared his throat, and called out to him with a deep, mellow voice.

"Perch. Percheron." He pitched his voice even lower than usual, generating a bassy rumble that rolled across the room, audible over the terrible music. "Come now, son. Show daddy what you're made of. Show him that you're better than all these other sluts." A horse sitting nearby glared at him, and he gave him the finger as he continued. "Show off for daddy, Perch. Act like the sexiest little stallion in the world...for me, and only me."

Perch had blushed bright red the moment he heard his father's voice, and Bucephalus had not missed the twitch in his speedo either. Fuck, the little stud was too perfect sometimes. He nodded eagerly at Bucephalus' words, taking a few more steps out onto the catwalk.Remmi followed behind with a slightly confused expression. The horses on the catwalk didn't usually take suggestions from the audience. Perch walked out into the middle, running his hand through his mane and smiling. Then, he started running his hands over his body, his eyes closing a little and his mouth smirking. Oh, yes...shy or not, the little stud knew he was hot shit. Bucephalus' sheath rapidly grew fatter as he watched. The other stallions might be attractive, but they weren't his.

Perch's hands glided easily over oiled muscle, up and down his form. Fingers splayed across his abs and pulled to each side, making the muscles stand taut. He looked down at himself, smiled, then slapped one hand on his ass. His exhibitionist side seemed to be developing pretty fast. Perch peered out into the darkness, eyes trying to seek out his father in the shadow. "D--daddy...?" Bucephalus' voice rolled out again, like a slow, gruff breaker, to meet him.

"Yes, son, I'm here. You're such a fucking sexy thing. I can't take my eyes off you. All those other little stallions are gonna spend their whole lives trying to be everything you already are, Perch. Show me more, slut-stallion. Show me everything."

Perch's breathing sped up as his father spoke to him, and he bit his lower lip in a way that he'd learned his father loved. Bucephalus snorted hard and undid his fly, fishing his growing cock out before it ripped something, and began stroking it with a deep sigh of satisfaction. He ignored everything else around him: the low mutter of some annoyed horses; the wet sounds of someone masturbating very enthusiastically; the wetter sounds of someone else getting a blowjob. He just watched his gorgeous, fuckable young slut-stallion show his body off on stage. This was becoming much more of a show than the club typically put on, but nobody was going to interfere because -- well, it was him. He was always in control, and tonight he'd gift them with something truly special.

Perch was sliding his hands very slowly down his sides now, until his fingers hooked under the speedo. He tugged outward, stretching the fabric, before turning and bending to present that firm ass to the mesmerised crowd, tail swished to one side. The young horse was a complete natural on stage; Bucephalus was deeply impressed, and hugely aroused. His dick stood stiffly at attention, pre leaking down one side; he scooped some up on a finger and licked it as he watched his son. Perch gave them a few seconds to admire his goods, before suddenly tugging the speedo down completely, causing someone in the audience to gasp audibly. Nudity was very much not typical for the show, but nobody seemed inclined to make a scene; even the irritated horse from earlier had his eyes fixed on Bucephalus' gorgeous companion now.

Perch had a legendary ass. Without his hands spreading them, the perfectly symmetrical cheeks almost met in the middle, giving only the slightest glimpse of the hole between them. The fur was just a little darker on them, and the dapples along his sides ended here, white spots fading into the tan. Perch -- quite the little showman, it seemed -- allowed them only a couple of seconds to lust over it before his whipped his tail back, covering it up. He stood upright, kicking the speedo off to one side as one of the other horses had done, but with no modest tablecloth to tease with. Facing away from the crowd, his legs close together, they could just admire his back: either tracing the lines of lean muscle as they curved up and around his shoulder blades...or down, along his sides, and crane their necks to try and get a glimpse of what lay hanging on the other side.

They needn't have worried. Perch slid his hands up and locked them behind his head, before shaking his ass from side to side a little, and then simultaneously jumping and twirling around to face his front towards them. His dropped dick and hefty balls, the things they'd all been imagining, slapped heavily against his thigh. The pink beast itself was only half-hard: long and weighty enough to swing about, but not hard enough to stand up. Every eye in the room became a makeshift metronome, tracking the hypnotic motion. He continued to sway from side to side, arms held behind his head, and a massive grin on his handsome face. He was clearly enjoying himself a lot now, and it turned Bucephalus on even more than he'd expected. He couldn't resist any more.

He stood up, letting his massive dick fall from his hand, and walked to the stairs at the very end of the catwalk. His hooves echoed on the steps as he climbed them. Perch turned toward the sound. His eyes widened as he saw his father, tall and erect, appear from the darkness. A shocked silence had settled on the room; it was unheard of for anyone to join the performers on stage. Unheard of, but not forbidden: Bucephalus had carefully perused the by-laws. Plus, by now he doubted that any of the other members would be intervening.

He stopped a few feet short of Perch, already feeling the heat under the spotlights. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, and he snorted, shaking it off. His son was staring at him -- well, to be fair, at his dick -- with the most amazing expression: a little intimidation, a little fear, and a lot of lust. It was perfect. It made him feel completely in control, completely powerful. Bucephalus breathed in deeply, savouring the moment, savouring life. He was so fucking magnificent. And now he'd demonstrate that to all the old, dry has-beens desperately jerking themselves off in the audience as they looked at his perfect cock and dreamed about him fucking them. He slowly put a hand around his dick, lifting it up until it was almost perpendicular to his body, then letting it fall. Perch gave a little gasp, his mouth slack, almost drooling. The big stallion smiled at him and spoke, making sure to speak loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear.

"You put on a lovely show for daddy, Perch. I think you enjoyed yourself, didn't you?" Perch nodded eagerly; of course he'd enjoyed himself. A good slut loved nothing more than showing off. He just had to be encouraged a little. "I knew you would. I know just what you like. Speaking of which..." He hefted his thick meat again. "Look what you did to me, son. I'm all hard now...for you. Do you think it's fair that I should stay like this?" He raised an eyebrow, and Perch practically tied his tongue into a knot trying to respond.

"No daddy no so unfair so beautiful oh daddy please I need it you're so handsome daddy pleeeeease daddy can I?" He tentatively reached out a hand, but Bucephalus shook his head, and he drew it back, biting his lip again. Good boy. Show them how to obey.

The heat under the spotlights was really quite uncomfortable. Bucephalus removed his jacket, just letting it fall, and untucked his shirt from his belt. That felt better. He undid the top button of his trousers too, freeing his testicles and cock fully. Then he walked closer to Perch, painfully slowly, only an inch or so at a time. The little horse was undergoing exquisite torture, by the look of him: small, sexy noises every few seconds, eyes that roved over every inch of his father's body, and an absolutely rock-hard cock. It was so tumescent, it had darkened to a deep red, instead of the usual pink. Just gorgeous. Bucephalus nickered at the sight, and his asshole tightened a little...but, tonight was not the night for that.

When he got close enough to Perch, he placed a hand on his head, wordlessly pushing him down. Perch got the message instantly, dropping to all fours like a boneless thing, and swallowing his father's flare with a huge gulp. The horses moaned in tandem, Bucephalus letting his head drop back a bit as his son's incredible tongue got to work. He'd become a whole lot better at blowjobs since that first evening together; the training process had been a lot of fun. Now, as his son's tongue roved about expertly, lips assisting, Bucephalus brought his own head forward again. He looked out directly into the crowd, putting just the right smirk on his face to make sure they could read his mind.

You will never have this, because you are pathetic and I am me.

He placed both his hands on Perch's head, rubbing gently behind his ears as the stallion attended to him. He thrust back and forth a bit, but not too much; it was too easy to blow a load in that sweet mouth, and his load was destined for somewhere else. Abruptly, the music cut out; the show was supposed to be done by now. The sudden silence was filled with Perch's wet suckling noises, and piping moans, as well as similar sounds from the audience. He sounded so fucking hot, Bucephalus felt a sudden surge in his loins, and had to hurriedly pull out before his son pushed him over the edge. He took a few deep breaths, nodding comfortingly at Perch's confused expression, his saliva-wetted dick hanging next to his face.

"Don't worry, son." He twirled a finger, and Perch smiled, turning around to face his ass back at his father. The tall Friesian spread the firm cheeks, admiring the doughnut nestled inside, before getting down on his knees and giving it a long, slow lick from bottom to top. Perch shuddered and groaned; Bucephalus had learned that he absolutely adored a good rimming, so he'd started using it as a special little reward. He definitely deserved a reward after the little show he'd put on. He circled the ring with his tongue, then simply dove right in, forcing as much of his long tongue inside as he could. The muscles gripped it hard as Perch almost screamed in pleasure, and Bucephalus grinned into the soft rear. He removed his tongue just long enough to command, "Tell all the other horses how much you like it, son," before digging back in to taste his slut-stallion some more.

Perch took a moment to breathe before he responded. "Oh daddy, it's so nice. I love it when your tongue is inside me. It's so warm and big, daddy, and it feels so good when you touch me inside like that. But it's not as big as your dick, daddy. Nothing is as big as your dick, I love your amazing horse cock the most, daddy. It's perfect...so thick, and long, and I love the colour, and the feel, and the smell..." The little horse was working himself up just talking about this, as Bucephalus knew he would. "I need it daddy, please. I need it now! I need it more than I ever wanted anything!" His begging was perilously close to a whine now. "Fuck me daddy, please! I need you in me, daddy, filling me with cock and cum!"

Bucephalus pulled his tongue out of Perch, snorting hard and standing up quickly. He'd played this out long enough now. He grabbed his penis, slapping the fat flesh against Perch's quivering hole, and gripping his son's sides. Then, slowly and steadily, he began pushing in. Perch was still well-loosened from the fucking he'd received in the shower earlier, and Bucephalus' pre and saliva took care of the rest, so it didn't take much effort. Bucephalus kept himself under control, sliding in carefully, lovingly, stretching it out. Perch's fantastic hole gripped him as tightly as it had when he'd fucked him on their first night together, the heat and softness merging together into something flawless. Every time he fucked his little slut, he was reminded of why stallion ass was the best, and why this ass in particular might be the best he'd ever taken.

After a beautifully agonising time, he felt the base of his prick meet Perch's flesh. All his tens of inches were deep inside his slut; the thought alone, as always, was nearly enough to make him shoot right there. Perch took him with such ease, and Bucephalus was sure he would have taken more if he could -- not that he'd find a bigger stallion than him. He gripped Perch's sides harder, eliciting a final happy squeal to cap off the series of lustful moans that his son had been giving as he pushed into him.

"Fuck me now, daddy!" Perch cried. "I want to feel that big stallion dick sliding in and out of me! Breed me, daddy, breed your fuck-mare!"

Bucephalus snarled, nostrils flared, as a cloud of rut descended on him. The details faded away: the lights, the heat, the invisible audience. There was only him, and his prey; the lucky little horse that was going to be fucked raw by the greatest stallion in the world. There was just one change that he needed to make...

Perch moaned again as Bucephalus pulled out of him for the second time that night, the endless cock flesh sliding from his greedy hole, but did not feel it re-enter. As he began turning his head back to see what was happening, he was pulled to his feet by Bucephalus' powerful grip on his arm. Before he could even respond, Bucephalus pulled him away from the edge of the catwalk and pushed his back against the wall with a thud. Perch gasped, and as he did, the bigger stallion leaned down to kiss him, invading his mouth. The little stallion melted under the kiss, accepting his father's plundering tongue. Bucephalus gripped the back of his son's thighs as they kissed, and then suddenly lifted his entire body up, sliding his back up the wall until their faces were at the same level. Perch looked down, watching the muscles of his father's arms bulge to support his weight, and sighed happily; he wrapped his arms around Bucephalus' neck and rested his head on his father's shoulder. "Oh, daddy..." he said softly.

Bucephalus nuzzled against his neck, licking the fur a little. He tasted salty: either the spotlight heat, or his exertions, had covered him in sweat. Either way, it tasted delicious. Bucephalus licked and sniffed around a bit more, enjoying his son's body, before unexpectedly nipping him hard -- winning a small, pained sound -- and whispering into his ear.

"Sing for me, slut."

He thrust his hips up at the same time that he dropped Perch's body a little, the motions combining to force his dick up into the little stallion like a hot, thick piston. Perch's asshole, well lubed with his father's precum and saliva, and loosened up from the brief filling earlier, accepted it all without hesitation. This time, Perch did scream, a loud, lustful whinny of pure pleasure, until his lungs were empty, and then he pulled in another breath.

"Yes daddy, YES! Oh, fuuuuck oh fuckohfuckohfuck..." Perch was very unimaginative during sex; Bucephalus usually tuned him out until the delicious crescendo. But tonight, he listened. He closed his eyes as he fucked Perch like a machine, lifting and lowering his body in his muscle-corded arms to vary the speed and angle of his strokes. He imagined the rapt audience behind them, staring at his rear; he twitched his tail aside to grace them with the sight of his flexing doughnut, tight muscle ass winking at them. He imagined them hearing what he could hear, and how they would desire to be where Perch was...getting railed by the masterful Bucephalus, horse-lord, fuck-master. He hoped their loins -- and their holes -- ached for him.

He hoped Marcus was watching.

Perch had devolved from repeated cursing to wordless euphoric whimpering, punctuated with high-pitched grunts every time Bucephalus hilted in him. His body weight barely registered in Bucephalus' arms. The bigger stallion let himself fade deeper into the cloud of rut, allowing his other senses to expand. So many incredible sensations. The way his medial ring caught ever so slightly on Perch's hole when he pushed in. The body heat inside his son, that felt like it was searing the ridge of his swollen flare. The way his obscenely fat balls swung around as his hips gyrated, pulling down heavily in their sack with that wonderful, masculine feeling. The sweat running freely down his back, the droplets sliding together into his crack and dripping off the bottom of his perineum. The scent of his son's cum -- Perch had already orgasmed from the assault on his prostate, at some stage -- and the firm flesh under his hands as he pushed the youthful body around; stabbing into him over and over and over again with his truncheon of a cock.

It went on for ages. Bucephalus used every trick he knew to drag it out, pushing down his orgasm until it felt like his entire body was thrumming hotly from withheld consummation. It wasn't entirely for his own pleasure, and it sure as fuck wasn't for Perch's; he just wanted to make a final point to all the horses watching him. They might think they were so much better than him, just because they called their sluts "dearie" and "darling" and pretended they were their equals. Bullshit. They knew nothing. As his anger seethed, his control slipped, and he felt his orgasm come roaring up like a forest fire. So be it, then.

He held Perch still and thrust inside him roughly, one final time, before opening his mouth and trumpeting at the top of his voice. Perch's glazed eyes grew wide at the stallion's bellowing noise, and his muscles tightened around Bucephalus' monstrous member, just as he'd hoped. It was such a fantastic feeling, and it came just as his flare swelled to full size and began spurting shot after shot of his potent seed deep into his slutty son. Bucephalus' legs almost buckled from the pleasure, and he gripped Perch more tightly, leaning into him a little to stay upright. Perch's signature rising squeal began, and his son's second orgasm of the session sprayed out between them, soaking his almost-certainly-ruined suit in yet another fluid. All of that was background for Bucephalus...he only felt every powerful squirt of his cock, the feeling of his urethra swelling with the sheer volume of semen, pressing back against the constricting anal walls. Cum poured into Perch like a fire hose, and was soon draining out of him just as fast. Even his talented hole had been brutally loosened up by Bucephalus' cock, and there was lots of room for his father's voluminous load to squeeze out and drain onto the floor below him.

As soon as he felt the final jet of cum, Bucephalus whinnied, and pulled out of Perch. A fountain of cum followed -- and then he dropped him, deftly stepping to one side as he did. Perch was only a foot or so off the floor, but he wasn't expecting it, and his muscles were entirely slack and still spasming a little from the power of his second orgasm. They buckled as they hit the floor, and the tan stallion fell forward, sprawling onto the catwalk, his tongue flopping out of his mouth and his arms akimbo in near-senseless post-sexual gratification. Bucephalus stepped next to him, taking a moment to breathe and take stock. His suit was most definitely ruined: sweat- and cum-soaked to the point that it felt like a wetsuit, sticking against his fur. His penis, ever the champion, still hung massively from his cum-soaked crotch. A thin rope of semen was drooling from the tip; he caught it on a finger, licking it absently. Then, he reached down and grabbed one of Perch's legs by the hoof, lifting it and making his whole body swing around on the polished catwalk. He faced the silent audience, Perch's raised leg exposing his son's yawning, dripping hole and the mess around it. He gave them a few moments to admire it, and then dropped the leg again with a snort.

He walked off the catwalk, pausing only to point at Remmi, now hiding meekly behind the curtain; a white stain against the wall mutely stated what he'd thought of the show. "You. Go get my son, and clean him up, and bring him to me." When Remmi didn't move, either from confusion or shock at being unexpectedly addressed by the horse that had doubtless just shattered his world, Bucephalus barked again. "Now, slut!" The Arabian skittered off, hooves slipping on the polished surface. Bucephalus sniffed, and made his way back to his seat, to wait for Perch.

---

The lights came back up soon thereafter, and Bucephalus got a good view of the aftermath of his erotic soirée. The room smelled thoroughly of equine cum; how much had been spilled, and how much had been deposited inside greedy bodies, he could not say. Random pieces of clothing lay around, and a few naked or partially-naked equines had slinked off into bathrooms when the lights illuminated their shame. More than a few horses caught his eye to give him a bashful smile, or even to attempt a leer; he ignored them. Had they not just fucking seen what had happened? None of them interested him.

Perch reappeared from the back door of the stage, mostly clean and positively glowing. He ran to Bucephalus as soon as he saw him, almost breaking a leg on a coffee table in the process, and fell into his lap, hugging him tightly. Bucephalus hugged him back. The young horse gabbled excitedly.

"Oh daddy, oh, that was so amazing daddy, and I did the dancing, and I liked it, and I felt so sexy daddy, doing it just for you and all the other people and then we did sex and it was amazing I came TWO TIMES daddy and it's still dripping out of me and I love it oh daddy I love you daddy." The word-flood ended and Perch stared into his eyes, happy and satisfied and smelling slightly of vanilla. Bucephalus looked back, and smiled. "Yes you did, son, and you did it so well." He really had; Bucephalus didn't even need to sugar-coat that for him. He'd been a little sex bomb up on stage. But...love? Perch had never said that before to him. He'd absolutely never said it back. Love was the problem. Love was the thing that made all these other horses pathetic. If Perch thought he was in love...

"Um, Daddy...?" came Perch's voice suddenly, sounding alarmed, interrupting his thoughts. Bucephalus turned his head, and saw Marcus approaching him, followed by a buff younger stallion in a tank top. Bucephalus pushed Perch from his lap and stood, his muscles tensed. He put one foot back and casually braced the hoof against the floor. If Marcus wanted to try and take his revenge for the incident in the club, he was more than willing to try. He'd just lose again.

Marcus stopped in front of them, looking thunderous, and addressed Bucephalus. "So, shithead, are you actually going to stop once you're ruined everything, or will you start inventing new things to destroy?"

Bucephalus kept his tone level and mild. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Marcus."

"Don't fucking give me that bullshit line! You want this to be your raunchy sex club now, is that it? Just can't resist putting the Bucky stamp on everything. You're such a fucking..." He seemed at a loss for words, and shook his head, looking at Perch instead. "Still around, slut?" he asked nastily. "Lucky you. Bucky normally doesn't keep them around this long." The big mustang locked his hazel eyes with Bucephalus, and the two glared at one another. Bucephalus hated that Marcus knew how much he despised that nickname, but as usual, didn't let it show. He could deny him that little satisfaction. Instead, he affected a nonchalant air; he, in turn, knew how much Marcus was annoyed by his apparent disinterest.

"No need for barbs, Marcus. Perch is perfectly satisfied with me, and happy to remain. Can you really blame him? I'm sure you saw what just happened; Perch was just telling me how incredible and sexy I was -- isn't that so, Perch?" It was a risky move, asking for Perch's unreviewed opinion; he might just blurt something about how garden gnomes never helped him with the gardening, or something. Thankfully, the little horse still seemed to be anxious around Marcus, and his muted response was perfect.

"Y--yes daddy. You're very good to me, daddy," he said nervously. He had slid back a little, half behind Bucephalus now, looking cautiously at the mustang, and curiously at his companion.

The big brown stallion didn't respond, continuing to meet Bucephalus' stare. Conversation bubbled around them quietly. As the uncomfortable situation dragged on, Perch, the beautiful idiot, suddenly leaned around his father and stuck his hand out in greeting to Marcus' companion. "Hi! I'm Perch!"

The muscular horse looked quickly at Marcus, as if unsure what to do. Marcus broke the stare with Bucephalus with a snarl, pushing his stud horse backwards, away from the other two. "Already training your little slave to take after you, Bucky?" he said angrily. "One begging sycophant not enough for you, as usual?" He spat on the ground in front of Bucephalus. "This is exactly what I mean. Why can't you just let things be?" He gave Perch an oddly sympathetic look. "Let me give you a tip, kid: get as fucking far away from Bucky as you can." Perch was totally confused, trying to apologise for upsetting Marcus, looking up at Bucephalus for support, and Bucephalus placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Marcus was still speaking.

"Did he feed you the line about having died already?" Marcus gave a short, humourless laugh. "He's fucking crazy, is all. Dumb fuck thinks he's the reincarnation of the original Bucephalus; the horse that conquered the world!" He waved his hands in the air, mockingly, at the honorific. "He's deluded. Crazy, even. He pretends to be so in control, and successful. The wonderful, loving, sexy daddy Bucephalus." He was yelling now. "He's nothing like that! It's all lies, boy. He's a mentally unstable, violent, sociopathic piece of shit--" his voice cracked a little, and faltered, "--and you'd best get away now before he takes everything that matters from you." Marcus fell silent, his breathing unsteady, shaking with emotion.

All conversation in the room had ceased by now. Bucephalus could imagine the stares, the whispers. He didn't doubt that, by now, all of them knew about Marcus and him, even if they were too smart to ever mention it around him. He didn't care; this had actually gone perfectly. Marcus was the one that appeared unhinged in this exchange, and Perch was too fucking dumb to process any of this, he was sure. A few words in his ear later, and he'd have him forgetting all of this. Exeunt, stage left.

"That was a rather poor apology for how you treated Perch the last time you met, Marcus. I don't think we'll accept it. Come, Perch," he said calmly, staring plainly at Marcus, before letting a nasty grin flash across his face. "Oh -- and I really hope you enjoyed the show, Marcus. I hope it brought up a few memories." He felt a flush of exultation at the stab of agony on Marcus' face, before he tightened his hand on Perch's shoulder and pushed him away. The sound of a half-choked sob behind them as they left was the icing on the cake. It was so easy, really. Even half-undressed, with cum congealing on his clothes and his dick hanging out, he was ten times any of these other sad equines...

"Daddy?" Perch's quiet voice intruded on his preening. He'd been expecting it, of course, and the words were ready.

"Don't worry, Perch. Marcus is a sad and lonely horse. He's angry and upset at everything, at the world, at me. At you. I saved you from him, didn't I? He just wanted you for himself, and he lashed out with dirty, filthy lies." He looked down at that trusting little face. "Don't you worry. I know him, and that means I know how to keep you safe from him. All you need to do is everything I say, son, and you'll never need anything else. Alright?"

A nod and a smile. "Okay daddy!" He hugged Bucephalus' side, and sighed as they made their way to the exit. "I love you, daddy."

Bucephalus was rather proud that he didn't even miss a step when he felt an unexpected, long-forgotten flutter in his breast.