{"sf1_id":1329819,"sf2_id":"ZmMM3olm","title":"The Mare with the Black Blade","author":"The Brain of Lazarus","words":3555,"posted_at":"2018-05-02T13:10:48.000Z","tags":["Alcohol","Equine","Greentext","Human","M/F","Mare","Oral","Short","Size Difference","Straight","Vaginal","Violence (Not In Yiff)"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1329819-the-mare-with-the-black-blade","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/ZmMM3olm","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/87/8e/878ecd66-b111-482b-aff1-9cb97da6121b","description":"Now here's something I was considering for a while. Greentext is probably one of the more efficient, unique storytelling methods I encountered. It's quite refreshing. In the same vein, it essentially ignores most conventions of writing stories, and it's not something I plan to make a habit out of (as in, every story I submit is now a greentext). It's tempting, certainly, but practicing this format can teach you all the wrong lessons, I feel.  \n  \nAnyway, I hope you enjoy this short. You are a swordkeeper, holy expat with a duty to swords and a certain mare.","content":"THE MARE WITH THE BLACK BLADE\n\nA Greentext by Laz Briar\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou are the bladekeeper of the northmare Agwyn\n\n\\\u003eLong have you been dutiful to her, and the titanic weapon\n\n\\\u003eMonths have transpired and your job is the same: care for her armaments and, by doing so, care for her\n\n\\\u003eAt first, you were promised to the great Brightswords of Sol Solaria, but internal conflict threw you into the service of the mare and her mercenary band\n\n\\\u003eNow you spend your days at her side, administrating care to her greatsword\n\n\\\u003eToday is especially important, as the mercenaries will take strike at a small camp of Solarian loyalists\n\n\\\u003eThus, you must make sure the greatsword is in fine order, along with all of Agwyn's supplies\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eMorning has scarcely breached the dull, grassy horizon, but you're hard at work\n\n\\\u003eWithin a hastily drawn tent, you've laid out the flank of obsidian metal, oiling it carefully\n\n\\\u003eIt's a terrifying object, easily your size, where the head is terminated without point - rather flat, as an executionior's blade might be\n\n\\\u003eIt takes a mighty wielder to swing this dread object, and such is Agwyn\n\n\\\u003eEven with your time spent with her, you're still bewildered at her strength and stature\n\n\\\u003eShe claims lineage from the cold, desperate northern lands of Vyskaal\n\n\\\u003eIt's a terrifying place, you're told, littered with giants and wolf men and the ruinations of old gods\n\n\\\u003eAs such, it makes sense she could possess this weapon\n\n\\\u003eLike the sword, she's hands higher than you, eclipsing you with a size perhaps eight feet\n\n\\\u003eHer horsehair is a dismal ash grey sporting a black mane and cut tail\n\n\\\u003eYou liken her to an old parable: \"her buttocks could break backs and her breasts were like battering rams\"\n\n\\\u003eYou never say this aloud, of course\n\n\\\u003eBut she isn't just a warrior of the north, she's also a mare, and one you sometimes think too much of\n\n\\\u003eYou shake your head, losing yourself in thought again\n\n\\\u003eThis wasn't a time for games - you had to make sure the weapon was ready for service\n\n\\\u003eYou shiver inside the small tent, the morning whipped with a fine chill\n\n\\\u003eSoon, the band would prepare to strike, and Agwyn would expect you to report to her\n\n\\\u003eSpending some time, you finish cleaning the greatsword, even muttering a few Solarian prayers to bless the damned metal\n\n\\\u003eMorning has come, and so has death\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eFinding Agwyn isn't difficult, considering her stature and reputation\n\n\\\u003eShe's atop the grassy hill, hiding amongst brush, gazing down at the camp of loyalists\n\n\\\u003eYou, with all strength, carry the greatsword to her, as though a knight might care for a child\n\n\\\u003eShe does not look to you when you arrive at her side - she finds your company as natural as breathing at this point\n\n\\\u003eYou remain silent too - you've been chastised enough to know not to break her peace\n\n\\\u003eFinally, she glances down to you\n\n\\\u003e\"It's the brew they want, did you know that?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou aren't certain what she means - \"The brew?\"\n\n\\\u003eA smirk tugs her lips - \"Aye, quite. Rare stock, vintage, so I'm told. Rare, fermented blackberries you can only find in the southlands. Pilfered em' straight off the rabbit folk.\"\n\n\\\u003e \"Oh.\" You knew little of alcohol and meads and drink - the holy attendance of swords was more your trade\n\n\\\u003e \"More than oh, anon. Imagine that? Sending out for swordwork, just to get your hands on fine drink.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou're not sure you understand - \"We aren't here for the soldiers?\"\n\n\\\u003eShe offers a warm chuckle, and amidst her leather, you can't help but notice the gentle bounce of her massive breasts - you try to push the thought aside for now\n\n\\\u003e\"We always are. But it's the brew we were sent for. Men will die so other men will drink. The most northern thing I've encountered in all my years in these sunsoaked lands.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou clasp the sword tight, like it might reveal some additional wisdom\n\n\\\u003eThe thought is strange, but death is trivial to you now\n\n\\\u003eEven then, the exsanguination of foes was a holy lesson amongst the Swordkeepers\n\n\\\u003eNow their own soldiers would die by the lesson\n\n\\\u003e\"Perhaps some of the stuff is lost during combat,\" you say\n\n\\\u003eIf there's one thing you learned about Agwyn, she loved her drink\n\n\\\u003eAnother warm chuckle, and her hand comes to grip the greatsword's hilt\n\n\\\u003eYou kneel and offer it dutifully, while she nudges you playfully\n\n\\\u003e\"We might just 'lose' the whole batch and barrel.\"\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eMorning brought tides of blood and scream\n\n\\\u003eYou are only a keeper of weapons, not a soldier, so you are left to watch, and watch you do\n\n\\\u003eThe brutalization of men through violence is its own terrible philosophy, one you try not to think much on\n\n\\\u003eBut it plays out much the same - bodies are hewn and limbs seperate like snapped branches\n\n\\\u003eBlossoms of scarlet mist erupt from the once living\n\n\\\u003eStink and entrails litter the once calm grass below, and fire springs out in searing pillars\n\n\\\u003eThe Solarian loyalists are caught off guard, and Agywn's mercs do their bloodwork with such casual, efficient indifference\n\n\\\u003eAgwyn is something else - a terror in her own right\n\n\\\u003eShe swings the ugly flank of black metal with horrifying ease and each foe caught in its proximity simply turns to fleshy tendrils\n\n\\\u003eYou can't see too much from the brush, but you're quite sure one of her swings bifurcates a man from shoulder to groin\n\n\\\u003eDespite all the testaments and preachings, you find that all sword work is the same; there's no holiness to it, not as the Swordkeepers said\n\n\\\u003eSoon, it's over\n\n\\\u003eIt seems to have gone by in a flash, and you're grateful\n\n\\\u003eYou return to camp, prepping supplies to clean the litter of blood drenched weapons\n\n\\\u003eYou try to ignore all the death, and think of one thought which always brings you comfort: Agwyn in her tent, prone and nake, nursing a mug of brew\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe mercs take their time coming back - most are cheery, having carried off bags and kegs of loot\n\n\\\u003eThe promised brew is among them, and you notice many cherish the fat barrels with greedy desire\n\n\\\u003eSome, you overhear, are protesting with Agwyn, wishing to keep the stuff\n\n\\\u003eShe is insistent, however, the job be done as instructed, much to the chagrin of her quarry\n\n\\\u003eBut, she adds with a tempting smile that not \\*all\\* barrels were found during the assault\n\n\\\u003eThis leads to cheers\n\n\\\u003eYou are glad, even though you do not much partake; you're simply pleased to see Agwyn pleased\n\n\\\u003eWhile you tend to your work, wrapping swords in scrolls of testament parchment, she finishes talking with the squads of men and women\n\n\\\u003eSoon, she comes to you, and you feel yourself excite at her approach - she has always been fond company\n\n\\\u003eThe northmare casts you a fine grin, and she lodges her mighty titanshredder into the heard\n\n\\\u003eHer snowy gray fur is spatterd with splashes of crimson, and her leathers are torn in a few places\n\n\\\u003eYou can spy her cleavage, shown in excess, hardly held by the remains of her attire, while her thigh is quite exposed\n\n\\\u003eYou shiver, but not from the cold chill\n\n\\\u003e\"A fine fight?\" you query, smiling\n\n\\\u003eIt's not needed, her soaked weapon is story enough\n\n\\\u003e\"AYE!\" she bellows. \"Solarian southmen aren't as hard as a stallion's cock, but they fight like stubborn bras on a wenches teat!\"\n\n\\\u003eShe's riled, you can tell, almost nickering\n\n\\\u003e\"Far better than those paltry Gallers we caught off the river. These southers, ah! Had blades that'd make me father blush!\"\n\n\\\u003eShe laughed, and her heaving tits wobbled a bit - you did your best to look busy then, finishing your work\n\n\\\u003e\"I'll feast on the finest hay and drink their blackmead, I will!\"\n\n\\\u003eOddly, a twinge of pride radiates in your chest - you like to see her succeed. . . even if it means the ruination of other men\n\n\\\u003e\"You are a fine warrior, maestress Agwyn.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe made a face, pushing you\u0026nbsp;\n\n\\\u003e\"Ahh FYE to that, anon! Agwyn, Ag, even mare! But never maestress! I'll cut yer tongue for such formality!\"\n\n\\\u003eShe roiled with a chuckled, though part of you wondered if she was serious\n\n\\\u003eYou relax yourself, nodding \"Right, of course!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou want to say something else - you don't often get to catch her in fine, talkative moods\n\n\\\u003eBut she rolls her shoulders, turning - \"Anon, I'll trust you to take care of Her? She sung like all the bitch wolves of Vyskaal!\"\n\n\\\u003e\"Her\" meaning the blade, and you nod \"Of course! My service is to it, and to you.\"\n\n\\\u003eAgwyn smirked - \"Good lad.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe saunters off, and your eyes snag on her thick, plump buttocks, which even through leathers is quite noticeable\n\n\\\u003eYou block the thoughts, because if you don't, you'll have another \"sword\" to attend to\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eEvening settlings in an obscenely peaceful fashion\n\n\\\u003eDown the hill, carrion vultures and murders have set upon the entrails of the dead\n\n\\\u003eYet crickets and fireflies and pond frogs are dancing and singing\n\n\\\u003eIt's still a bit cold, but nothing a massive campfire can't settle\n\n\\\u003eAll the cutthroats are singing merry and drinking their weight in brew\n\n\\\u003eYou are snagged into the mess, forced to share mugs with rose faced brutes and narrow eyed ladies\n\n\\\u003eYou don't mind though, and the ale helps you loosen a bit\n\n\\\u003eThe Swordkeepers were always so stifling and dutiful, pious about their traditions, hardly ingesting except for the occasional ritual wine\n\n\\\u003eSo, you aren't used to it, but you manage a horn or two, the liqud tasty, yet better, bearing a strange heat to it\n\n\\\u003eThey are strange, you find, so full of cheer despite the incarnations of earlier violence\n\n\\\u003eThese bands come from all stretches of Sol Solaria; vixens from the Shadewood, men from borders of Dagados, dogs of the Dying Sands\n\n\\\u003eAnd you, friend among them, traitor to Solaria\n\n\\\u003eYou let yourself sing with them, bad as you are\n\n\\\u003eEventually, you find somewhere to sit, nursing another mug of brew\n\n\\\u003eSomeone approaches not too long after, a man with a pale white beard split into three tendrils\n\n\\\u003e\"Oh anon, dun be squarin' off to soon, the Mare wants to seez ya\"\n\n\\\u003eYou look up, surprised\n\n\\\u003e\"Agwyn has asked for me?\"\n\n\\\u003eHe grins, showing off rows of gold teeth, sloppy in his motions\n\n\\\u003e\"Oh yah, don' keep er' waitin, Mare ain't one for slowfoots.\"\n\n\\\u003eHe wasn't wrong; you thank him as he returns to the festitivies, and you stagger up\n\n\\\u003eYou can't imagine what she wants so close to twilight\n\n\\\u003eBut you dare not keep the northmare waiting, so head to her tent, fever of the night rolling over you\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eYou reach the massive set up, far larger and more luxurious than others\n\n\\\u003eEntering, the nightfire and chill set aside as your eyes try to adjust to the light\n\n\\\u003eIt's difficult to see at first, as only a small cinder-born fire lingers\u0026nbsp;\n\n\\\u003e\"Aaaahh, anon, good lad.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou see Agwyn\n\n\\\u003eNo, you SEE Agwyn, and your heart stops\n\n\\\u003eShe isn't in leathers or armors or ANYTHING\n\n\\\u003eNo, she is nake, lying prone on the floor at her side, nursing a frothing wooden mug of blackmead\n\n\\\u003eShe bears a grin, her cheeks are flush, and her immense, supple tits rest together, tented with nips as dark as the night sky\n\n\\\u003e\"W-what? Agwyn?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou're at a loss, as it seems the idle thoughts of your dreams have coalesced before you\n\n\\\u003eYou're allowed to ogle her shapely form, which bears all curves of a mature, mother-made lady, yet carved with delicate sinew of tempered muscle\n\n\\\u003e\"Aye, Agwyn. Stop ya starin' and get in, swordcoach, been wantin' you for a bit now.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou aren't about to argue with your leader, yet at the same time you're at a loss\n\n\\\u003eWas it... the drink? She appeared quite tipsy\n\n\\\u003eYet, a part of you - actually - all of you, doesn't know that it cares, you could see where this was going\n\n\\\u003e\"Yes?\" You step forward, closing the flaps behind you, and your loins already tent from the sight\n\n\\\u003e\"Mmmmmm,\" she casts another smirk, eyeing your crotch, taking a lengthy sip of the mug before tossing it away\n\n\\\u003e\"You been doin' fine, fine work, anon. Told you that She sang today. Not a hint of rust on the ol Girl. You're skilled. . .\"\n\n\\\u003eAgain, she referred to the titancutter, but your thoughts were distracted by her renewed motions\n\n\\\u003eShe sprang to all fours, crawling to you, licking her soft, plush lips\n\n\\\u003e\"Now, I need to take care of you, eh? After all, ya' gotta sword yourself.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou're stunned, watching the object of your affections and lusts shift toward you, thick hips swaying as she came to you\n\n\\\u003e\"I. . . Agwyn. . . I don't know what to say. . .\"\n\n\\\u003eYou truly are at a loss - not that you plan on going anywhere, but no words from your teachings could possibly describe THIS\n\n\\\u003e\"Ahhh don't be sayin' nothin' unless it's more, welp. Shut up and let the captain have her sword!\"\n\n\\\u003eShe cackled, and at once came to your tunic, snatching it down in one brisk motion\n\n\\\u003eYour cock sprang free, and you were allowed to appreciate the true different in size between you to, as even on fours, she was quite massive compared to you\n\n\\\u003e\"Gah! Maest-\"\n\n\\\u003eShe abruptly gripped your cock and squeezed, staring up at you with a expression that could stop a devil\n\n\\\u003e\"I told ya welp! Anything but THAT. Try mare why don'tcha!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou wanted to nod, but couldn't as your shaft was enveloped by warm lips, wrapping around your tip with practiced ease\n\n\\\u003eAgwyn mumbled in coaxing pleasure as she kisses at the crown, her tongue lapping in seductive, worshp fashion, procruing pleased groans from you\n\n\\\u003eShe even spared your stones a gentle smooch, nuzzling them, breathing on them, letting her long pink rug lap away and cover them with sticky saliva\n\n\\\u003e\"Oh fye by every sword, mare, gods, do not stop! Do more!\" you yell\n\n\\\u003eShe grins, hands to your waist, assaulting your cock with another barrage of suckles, slowly bobbing her head with rises and dives\n\n\\\u003eShe suckles the sides as well, kissing, leaving trails of saliva as your sex dribbles\n\n\\\u003e\"Ain't much a sword, more like a spear. You're quite the big one for such a welp.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou shuddered, uncertain if she was truthful or just stroking your ego - either way, you cared little\n\n\\\u003eEspecially as she shoved the tip into her cheek, running it across her lips, drinking your scent\n\n\\\u003e\"Good lad,\" she rumbled, pulling you again, now shoving you to the blanketed ground\n\n\\\u003eYou grunt, but don't move, astounded, ready to see what she had in store\n\n\\\u003e\"I've never wanted a thing so much in my life,\" you say, as she comes to you again, at your loins\n\n\\\u003ethis time, her thick, frothy tits come about to smother your pike, and you wince from astounding pleasure\n\n\\\u003e\"Aye? Hah! What a thing for a welp to say. Probably losin' your little mind. What was it then? Wanting to watch me fat arse bounce off that cock? Or maybe you lick your prick like I was servin' a god? Precious.\"\n\n\\\u003eThe words rattle you with profound truths, and your mind is flooded with desire\n\n\\\u003eSoon, the mare begins pressing her fat bust together, utterly crushing your mast with her plump front, stroking it with her grey cushions\n\n\\\u003eAgain, she sucks at your crown in between motions, while your gaze is treated to the labor of her bouncing front, the warm horseair like hot silk\n\n\\\u003eInstinctively you grind into the motions, helpless, desperate to sate this tingling urge radiating through your loins\n\n\\\u003e\"That's it, swordboy. Might make a proper pole outta' you!\"\n\n\\\u003eYour hands toss out to grip her breasts, chancing - she only laughs, shoving them into your palms, where you twist and flick the black, hard nips\n\n\\\u003e\"I've never seen... tits so large!\"\n\n\\\u003eIndeed, they were likely twice the side of your dome, and here they were, wobbling on your cock\n\n\\\u003eShe grins, and this sends you into overdrive - a surge of heat bursts from your bellend, and suddenly spurts of hot white issue flood between her pillows\n\n\\\u003e\"AGGGGH!\"\n\n\\\u003eYour body jerks and twists in ways you didn't know possible, a siege of harsh pleasure gripping your mast; it doesn't help that the mare continues to work you over, adding a twist of pain to the orgasmic pleasure\n\n\\\u003eAgwyn laughs, and the axis of her breasts are soaked with your male essence\n\n\\\u003eShe rolls a finger over your tip, though you aren't quite softened\n\n\\\u003e\"Not bad for a lad who polishes nothin' but swords. Well, not done thankin' ya yet.\"\n\n\\\u003eBy the gods, what else could she mean?\n\n\\\u003eNow, the towering body of powerful mare looms over you, and her frame encompasses your own\n\n\\\u003eYou gasp, feeling her thick rump cheeks coax your pole between them, wiggling the veiny flesh as if to tease you\n\n\\\u003eAnd it works\n\n\\\u003eHer soft, black, sodden snatch rolls against your own, testing it with cleft kisses, while she pins you down by the shoulders\n\n\\\u003e\"Hope I don't break ya', lad.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou are concerned? But also excited\n\n\\\u003e\"What do you me-\"\n\n\\\u003eYou dare to question, but you're cut off as she sinks her hips over yours\n\n\\\u003eYou let loose a guttural, pleased groan as her tight, sodden walls snugly grip yours; you've never felt anything quite so pleasantly comfortable as this\n\n\\\u003e\"Aghnn, sword fits the sheathe!\"\n\n\\\u003eFor a moment, she holds, enjoying the sight of you writhe within her, trying to buck into the plump pussy\n\n\\\u003eYou are, of course, at her mercy, being that she is so large\n\n\\\u003eIt is hardly a concern, however, as the mare begins battering your loins with a gentle barrage of heavy grinds\n\n\\\u003eHer fat, plump buttocks wiggle with each slap, and you find yourself reaching for any part of her to grip\n\n\\\u003eHer cunt is practically drooling with pre and saliva, allowing for quick, smooth motions, creating puddles of sex beneath your coupling\n\n\\\u003eHer lips nip at your ear, and her hot moans twist into your brain, causing you to hump and groan in tandem\n\n\\\u003e\"G-gods!\"\n\n\\\u003eYou have barely any words to muster; and how could you?\n\n\\\u003eThe mare quickens pace, how hammering her hips and thighs against your own\n\n\\\u003eYou're almost afraid she'll break something, as the power of her bouncing rises and dives is sexually terrifying\n\n\\\u003eShe hastens, to the point where things become a blur of fucking\n\n\\\u003eYou can't hold out, though, as you're not quite used to the temptations of flesh\n\n\\\u003eSurprisingly, you feel a rush of nectar pour over your cock, but it's not you\n\n\\\u003e\"AGH!\" Agwyn bellows with a moan, loud enough you're afraid someone might here\n\n\\\u003eBut no, she reaches peak and floods the coupling with her own juices\n\n\\\u003eYou hit yours as well, with surprisng gusto, bursting with a renewed river of seed\n\n\\\u003eYou clench her close, and she seems content to allow this, letting you rut into her satin cunt\n\n\\\u003eAfter a while, the orgasm fades, followed by serene afterglow and panting breaths\n\n\\\u003e\"Well aren't you full of surprises, lad?\"\n\n\\\u003eCarefully, Agwyn rises, her pussy leaking with floods of seed and honey\n\n\\\u003eYou're quite battered and worn, watching her saunter to a table as she pours another mug of mead\n\n\\\u003eYou're winded, yet she hardly looks bothered\n\n\\\u003e\"I can see why She's in such good hands. But I might have you at closer attendance from now on, eh?\"\n\n\\\u003eYou struggle to raise yourself, nodding\n\n\\\u003e\"Yes, of course. I'd serve you well.\"\n\n\\\u003eAgwyn laughs, bending over, wiggling her thick, gray rump and spreading thighs\n\n\\\u003e\"That so? Well serve again. Get over here and start fucking, welp.\"\n\n\\\u003eYou're in disbelief, surely she wasn't serious?\n\n\\\u003eBut a quick flash from her devious eyes tells the story, and you dare not decline\n\n\\\u003eBesides, you don't want to\n\n\\\u003eTrembling, you steady yourself and rise once more, going to her thick haunches and working yourself to get hard again\n\n\\\u003eBefore you know it, you're desperately humping into that thick, fat buttocks, quite a challenge considering difference in size\n\n\\\u003eIt was going to be a long night\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eThe night fizzled out in ways you dared not expect\n\n\\\u003eAgwyn's appetite for you was insatiable, forcing you to fuck for most of twilight\n\n\\\u003eThank goodness for the blackberry mead\n\n\\\u003eAt some point, you fall asleep\n\n\\\u003eIn the arms of a goddess, no less\n\n\\\u003eYou're quite content\n\n  \n\n\\\u003eWhen morning comes, the first thing you see is the mare with the black blade\n\n\\\u003eShe's stroking along it with - as far as you can see - one of your holy cloths\n\n\\\u003eWhen she notices you stir, she looks to you wrapped in blankets\n\n\\\u003eShe's still nake\n\n\\\u003e\"Anon? Sleep well? Good. Come show me how you tend to Her. I want to see it first hand.\"\n\n\\\u003eThough you ache, the pains are blissful\n\n\\\u003e\"Of course, uh, Mare.\"\n\n\\\u003eShe casts you a smirk as you come to her\n\n\\\u003eYou spend the morning in her grasp, her breasts on your shoulders, her arms wrapped around you, watching you work with patient attention\n\n\\\u003eThe life of a traitor might not be so bad after all","series":{"name":"Greentexts","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1337033-student-of-the-sultry-tome.json"}}