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Dylan slumped against the wall of the changing room, hooves splayed out in front of him. One hand lay on a towel next to him, restlessly playing with a set of car keys. He stared off into the middle distance, oblivious to the activity around him as his teammates got cleaned up. The zebra himself was still in full hockey gear, dirt-streaked and sweaty, but the towel beside him was clean and dry. Unused.

The team was washing off after practice. People in various stages of undress wandered around, laughing, chatting. Dylan saw none of it, lost in reverie, but he heard them. The ribald comments, the joking catcalls. Post-adrenaline sports banter. And central to it all... the Clydesdale. Maverick. His friend. Best friend, even. If that label still even applied. The zebra didn't know. Whenever he imagined cutting the stallion out of his life, he felt something with sharp edges curling around in his belly -- and yet he could hardly stand to be around him lately. The dissonance was making him miserable.

Maverick's confident voice boomed off the tiles of the shower area, unmistakably him. He'd changed, lately. Everyone had noticed. He'd never been a wallflower by any means, but his attitude had been a little blustery, a little overeager. Typical young male pride, based more on the simple faith in his own invincibility, rather than any facts. But, almost overnight, that had changed. Now his confidence felt... real. He spoke, and people listened. He listened back. He looked at you, and you felt like he really saw you -- and that he was sizing you up a little, too, sure, but anyone could overlook that when they had the attention of a confident, handsome Clydesdale stallion.

Their team loved it. His new attitude fanned the flames of their own confidence, and their above-average performance on the field in their last three matches was proof of the change. There was talk that he might be made captain, and even the existing captain -- a pale-furred bull with arms like steel bars -- didn't seem to hate the idea. People had always liked the big, brash stallion, but now they'd taken that critical last step. They were respecting him.

Apart from Dylan.

Respect was the last thing he felt for Maverick right now. He had a whole slew of other options. Anger, to start. Confusion. Despair. He didn't how to harness the emotions to his benefit, though, or even which one was the right one to be feeling. He didn't know how to fix things, or why Maverick was acting as he did to him. His mind felt trapped in his own skull, and for the tenth time that evening, he considered leaving; abandoning Maverick at the school to make his own way home. To his own home. Dylan didn't need to do this. He... he could tell his dad he didn't feel comfortable doing it, that he wasn't ready. But then, he'd have to see his father's disappointed face, and feel bad that he'd caused it -- and that just made him angry all over again.

This was all the wrong way around! He shouldn't be the one feeling bad!

He would never even have agreed to this, but his dad had begged him. Pleaded, like a lovesick teenager, in a handwritten note. Apparently, two weeks was the time needed for one's son to get used to the idea of you fucking his best friend. Maverick's car is damaged, it's in the shop. I've not seen him for weeks. Can you give him a lift? Please, son? And Dylan was too soft to break his dad's heart, even now. Especially now.

Shit. Fuck. His dad was happy. Actually happy. There'd been such a joyful look on his face when his son agreed. Dylan hadn't seen him that happy in such a long time, and -- fucked-up situation notwithstanding -- he couldn't bear to be the one to kill that happiness.

As the zebra stewed, his teammates gradually finished up, laughing and chatting, melting away in twos and threes into the evening dusk. Friday, at last: they would be heading out to get drunk and have fun. The zebra envied them their fun. A fortnight ago, he'd been chatting with Maverick like that, making plans and looking forward to a good time. Before the stupid horse fucked everything up.

The locker room was almost empty now. The last person to leave was a goat who waved half-heartedly at Dylan as he slung his kit over his shoulder, hooking a handle through his horns for support.

"You good, Dylan?" he asked. The zebra must have looked out of sorts to him. Dylan blinked out of his thousand-yard stare, taking a moment to register the question.

"Uh...yeah, Bill. Just..." The zebra waved vaguely towards the showers. "Waiting for... for Mav."

"Ah, alright." The goat looked at him in silence for a moment, then seemed to do a mental shrug. "Cheers, then. Have a good weekend." He pushed the door open and headed out, letting it slowly close behind him.

"Yeah, you too," Dylan said, mind drifting away again. Rote words, for a normal day. Social lubricant to skip the hard questions. Hey there, buddy, how are you feeling? Are you doing all right?

Hey there, buddy...

Bereft of other people, the only sound left in the locker room was the hiss of a single shower. Maverick was taking his time. Asshole. Dylan leaned forward, looking down at the floor, swapping the keys between his hands. The jingling sound was slightly calming. He suppressed another urge to stand up and leave.

The shower water cut out, and the vague sound of towelling replaced it, followed by hooves tapping on the tiles. Dylan sighed and waited. The hooves moved closer. The zebra kept looking at the floor, playing with his car keys. When the hooves stopped right in front of him, he let the keys swing loose, one finger tucked through the eye ring.

The stallion hadn't gone near his tog bag. "Get dressed, Maverick," Dylan said, not looking up.

The hooves shifted apart, and in his peripheral vision, Dylan saw a hand rubbing at something. "You can look if you want, bro. Seriously." Maverick's voice was soft and calm.

"I don't want to see your dick." The stallion had been saying things like this to him for almost a week. Every time they were alone -- which hadn't been often, thanks to Dylan's efforts -- he'd asked the zebra if he wanted to see it, touch it. Mocking him, obviously. If one Keevey was greedy for Clydesdale cock, the other one would be too. Fuckhead.

"I know that's not true, dude," Maverick said. His tone was so... so fucking reasonable. The zebra wanted to throw his keys right at the stupid horse's face.

"Just because..." Dylan gripped the keys angrily, silencing himself. He would not let this asshole control him. "I don't want to look at your dick, you stupid prick." He jumped up, swinging his head to the side to avoid looking at the Clydesdale, and stalked towards the door. "Put some clothes on. I wanna go home, now."

The Clydesdale didn't answer back to that, at least. He clopped over to his bag, and Dylan heard the rustle of clothing. The zebra crossed his arms and stared resolutely out of a fogged window. His heart was beating fast, and it made him all the angrier that it was not because of rage. Fuck that stallion! Fuck him and his...

The zebra's eyes flicked over before he could stop them. Maverick was midway through pulling on some sweatpants, one leg raised in the air. The rear of a very full scrotum pressed between his legs, pulled taut by the raised leg, making the balls within stand out like juicy plums in a smooth velvet bag. Below them -- through the space between his tree-trunk thighs -- a cock dropped, hanging freely as he balanced precariously on one hoof. His back muscles clenched with the effort of remaining balanced: rippled, firm expanses of flesh that showed why he was the team's premier forward. The fine white hairs at his wrists and ankles added a touch of softness to him that only accentuated the rest of his...

Dylan wrenched his head around, screwing his eyes shut, trying to focus on his breathing to slow his heartbeat. Life was being a real shit to him lately. It wasn't... it wasn't fair.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he shrugged it off. "Dylan... please can I talk to you?" Maverick asked. The zebra could not believe the sympathy in his tone. As if he truly gave a shit.

"No." Pity his voice cracked like a twelve-year-old soprano when he said that. "Can we go?"

He turned to look at his friend. Maverick's jaw was clenched, and his eyes flickered between Dylan's as if looking for something there. Dylan didn't know what he expected to find. Forgiveness, perhaps. Keep on looking then, asshole. The two equines stared at one another in silence. A dripping shower head plinked off to the side. Cars grumbled off in the distance. Dylan met his friend's eyes with all the sternness he could muster under the circumstances, pretending he could read him right back. Tit for tat. You take something from me; I take something from you.

The problem was, he knew he couldn't. Maverick had almost everything a young stallion could want, but it was all innate. His magnificent body made up for whatever gaps there were in his intellect, his newfound confidence was making him friends left, right and centre... and for his more carnal needs, he now had Dylan's father. Maverick was the one who took, and Dylan was just the schmuck that had to take it. The zebra wanted to forget that awful Saturday more than anything, but as he stared at the horse that had ruined his life, his mind reminded him of every agonising second like the world's most painful play rehearsal.

Act one. Scene one. Our hero is betrayed.

When he'd arrived back home from doing the chores that his father had unexpectedly sprung on him that morning, he'd done a double-take to see Maverick's car parked outside. His dad had assured him that Maverick had cancelled their plans for the day. Had something changed? He'd been a little pleased, honestly. The annoyance of having to do tasks for his father had only been compounded by not being able to find his phone before he left. Waiting in queues without even the Internet for a distraction had been agony. If he could at least spend the rest of the day with his friend, he could forget about all that. They'd share the beer Maverick had got hold of, play some games. He'd steal a few glances at his friend's body. Maybe they'd end up jerking off together as they did now and then. The zebra's penis had thickened pleasantly at the thought.

The first sign that things would not work out that way hit him as soon as he walked into the house. The television was on, and beer bottles covered the table in front of it. Six or seven; the air reeked of alcohol, as if one had spilled. Dylan stopped dead. That was... weird. His dad didn't drink that much -- not normally, anyway. Dylan felt something unpleasant tighten in his gut, like a screw -- and tighten further when a loud 'Fuck yeah, take my dick, you horny zebra bitch!' came from the television.

The young zebra had slowly walked closer, the strangeness of the situation making him afraid for what he would see. As the flat screen angled more and more into view, his eyes grew wider. Porn was playing on the television: very gay porn. A buff Clydesdale was fucking the shit out of a punk zebra, his long dick slamming in and out of the zebra's asshole so fast it was almost a blur. The zebra's face was being held against a wall, moaning incoherently as the other stallion rearranged his insides. Dylan had stared in disbelief, unable to figure out what was happening. Maverick, and beers, and... gay porn? What was happening? He'd looked around, but nobody was in sight. "Dad?" he'd called, uncertainly. "Maverick?" No response.

His dick, already aroused from thoughts of Maverick, responded to the porn the second he saw it. Dylan felt his penis crawling down his pants leg as he stared at the hot, explicit sex, focused on the zebra's hole. The way the slick, dark ring -- that looked so much like his own -- was stretched open by the Clydesdale's porn-sized cock. The horse had even looked like Maverick. The way the stallion pushed the zebra up against the wall like he didn't matter, like he was just a hole to be used by the bigger, stronger equine. The noises he made: sounds of pleasure and need, urging his partner on, wanting more of him. The young zebra's pre-cum started running from him like his dick was a broken faucet. It didn't take much to set off the horny teenager, and watching a horse fuck a zebra's ass did the trick. The pre-cum had soaked his underwear in no time, and then started on his jeans.

He might have stood there for longer yet -- both confused and excited by the pornography -- if a sudden yell from the back of the house hadn't made his head whirl around. It had sounded like someone was calling out his name. From... his bedroom.

The zebra stallion had walked down the corridor in a daze, heading to his bedroom. His mind had spun only one possible answer out of the mismatched threads: Maverick had come over, found that neither Dylan nor his father was home, gotten drunk, and watched porn. The zebra would go into his room to find his drunk friend jerking off, or... or something. Nothing else made sense -- as long as he ignored a few things. Like it being gay porn. And like his father's car still being in the garage.

The shaky earth beneath his justifications had fallen away entirely when he'd pushed his door open to see Maverick and his father, as nude as ferals, with his friend buried cock-deep inside his father's ass. His father. His father.

"...Dad?"

Nothing about that scene had been within Dylan's expectations or understanding, but it wasn't the carnality, or Maverick's presence, or even the prime view of his father's cum-sloppy hole after his friend pulled his beautiful thick cock out that had brought it back to reality for him. It had been the simple look of guilt on his sire's face when their eyes met. He'd been caught, and he was ashamed. It had been like looking into a mirror.

Dylan had made exactly that face once, as a fresh-faced teenager, the day he'd lied about going out and snuck into his father's room instead, to take his pistol out of the holster that hung in his closet. He hadn't intended to do anything with it. He'd only wanted to look at it, get a feel for it. His father had repeatedly warned him that his gun was not a toy, and not to be touched. Dylan had known that. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to shoot anything. He'd simply wanted to see. But when his father walked in on him unexpectedly, the look on his face... Dylan had never forgotten it. A mixture of terror, and confusion, and deep, deep disappointment. He'd stepped over quickly and taken the firearm from his son. He'd put it away, and then come over to sit next to him, and in a voice all the more awful for how calm and collected it was, explained to his son what an awful thing he'd done. How upset his father was -- not only because he could have injured or killed himself, but because he'd lied. He'd deceived him. Dylan had never felt lower.

Until the day he stood at the entrance to his room, staring at a replica of his own face, and realised that both his father and his best friend had deceived him in turn.

Best f_riend_. Maverick...he hadn't even seemed like Maverick. His cock had still been smeared with cum from fucking the older zebra, and the look he'd given Dylan had been appraising, as if trying to judge how to deal with him. He didn't make excuses, or try to explain. The situation was left to explain itself. Oh, yeah, I fucked your dad. I fuck guys now. He'd smiled that disgustingly perfect smile, and walked towards him, and looked at the wet spot on his friend's jeans, and then drawled the knowing greeting that still knocked around in Dylan's mind when he lay in bed at night.

"Hey there, buddy..."

He'd pushed the door shut, and the click of the mechanism had broken the spell. Dylan's father had pushed himself to his feet and pulled his pants on as fast as he could, while Maverick stood there, seemingly unconcerned with his own nakedness, explaining something about personal limits and how they didn't matter. Dylan hadn't processed a single word. He'd stared at his father, seeing how he'd had one hand squeezed into a fist and the other tightened around it, the skin over the knuckles strained thin. Dylan's ears buzzed, drowning out all sound. His father had said something, and Maverick had turned to look at him. Then the big horse had shrugged and pulled the door open to leave. Halfway through, he'd stopped and turned to Dylan, and said one thing that the zebra heard.

"He said I was hot."

Hateful words. An exculpatory Hail Mary from a co-conspirator. The zebra had finally felt something when the Clydesdale said that: burning, furious rage that made him whirl about and chase after the lying horse, screaming at him as he walked with measured steps to collect his clothes and head outside. He didn't put them on; he'd simply walked to his car, and tossed them into the back seat, and driven off. As if a nude, dripping Clydesdale was just another curiosity you got for free when you lived in the suburbs. Dylan didn't know what he'd yelled at him, but it couldn't have been pretty. The rage had broken through a lot of barriers. He seemed to remember calling him a "dad-fucking faggot horse" at one point, so he'd definitely ended up getting some of his own personal issues mixed in with it.

And then he'd had to walk back inside, and confront his father, as ice froze his insides. The older stallion had stood in the living room, pants on, still shirtless. Still squeezing at his fist. He always did that when he was stressed. Dylan had been brutally pleased by that at the time. The shock and adrenaline were still thick in his veins, and as soon as his dad opened his muzzle to speak, Dylan cut him off.

"Dyl--"

"Why?" Dylan had screamed it so loudly that he'd felt hoarse. "He's my friend, Dad! Why did you..." The tears came then, as hot as passion. "You lied to me! You... you said..." His throat was seizing up, trying to say the words. "You said he wasn't coming over..." Sobs joined the tears, and the zebra tried to push his words out through them. "Y--you said... and, and, and I went out, and... and I d--did what you..." The adrenaline was disappearing as fast as it had arrived, and the young zebra began to shiver. "Y--you lied, Dad... you lied... to me..." He'd wiped a hand across his nose, and looked through watery vision to his father. The fire inside had turned to ice. "Why, Dad?" he'd repeated, in a voice half-broken and welling up with pain.

He'd wanted to say more. To try to explain what he'd felt in the first instant he'd seen the two of them. How it had shattered years of comforting, impossible dreams which he'd hated as much as he'd loved them: their inaccessibility keeping them forever perfect. No matter what, he'd always been able to tell himself that he had the two of them, and happily dreamed of more...until they found one another. He said I was hot. That was all it had taken? If Dylan had known, he could have said that, and had him too.

Now... now he had nothing.

He hadn't been able to see well enough through his tear-filled eyes, but he had heard: his father's crying had been soft and anguished. The zebra was holding his head in his hands, raw emotion sketched across his sobs. It had broken Dylan's heart. He had never made his father cry before. Not once. In all the decades that his sire had been raising him by himself, through struggle and pain and happiness and trials, not once had he ever cried because of something his son had done.

"I'm sorry, Dylan," his father had said, misery incarnate, unable to meet his son's eyes. "I just... needed..."

Dylan's mouth had grown thin, hopelessness settling about his shoulders like a grey cloak. "Dad..." He couldn't speak. He'd gasped for air, and wiped his eyes clean, and tried again. "But... what about me...?"

If Dylan had stepped up to his father and slipped a dagger between his ribs as he smiled at him, he did not think he would have seen a face as agonised and shattered as the one that statement produced on his father. His mouth opened, but no words came out. Tears ran down his face, and he fell to the ground like a dead thing, dropped his head into his hands, and wept as if he wept for every sufferance inflicted on the living.

"You can have me, Dad."

He'd ached to say it. To take his broken father into his arms, and tell him he loved him, and say that he could have him, not Maverick, him, his son, his own flesh and blood. He'd reached out a shaking hand, and opened his mouth... and fled to his room, slamming the door shut and falling against it, holding himself with his arms and sobbing in grief and loneliness.

Act four. Scene three. Our hero confronts his enemy.

The hated memories had not taken long to flash across Dylan's mind as he stared at Maverick's simple, open face. Something had changed in the horse in between the time that Dylan had said farewell to him on that fateful Friday, and when he'd seen him the next day, in his bedroom, covered in his own juices, fresh from pounding a load into his father. The stallion had always been cocksure, fair enough, but there'd been a... simplicity to him. He was just another horse. Dylan had always felt at ease around him. Shit, it was most of the reason he'd slowly fallen for the guy: handsome, friendly, and easy to be around. Not the smartest, but that never stopped him from being right there alongside you when it mattered.

But now, it was different. When Maverick looked at him now, it was as if he was looking at him from a dais. He'd climbed up just a little higher than everyone else and was peering down at the rest of them. Not with scorn, or disregard: his eyes were as warm as before, and his words as simple and friendly. There was simply a bit of distance, and a strange feeling of extra weight when he said things that were requests. As if he had more of an expectation that people would do as he asked, as if they were commands. It was weird, and it made Dylan a little scared -- which was simply another feeling to toss into the stew-pot of emotions he was dealing with.

Fuck him, for making the zebra feel this way, and for ruining what they'd had.

"Can we go?" he snapped again. "It's getting late."

"Sure, man," Maverick said. He sounded so calm. As if they were regular buddies headed out to a movie, instead of one guy driving a friend back to his house for a fuck-date with his dad. The thought made Dylan even angrier, and before he realised it, he'd stepped right up to the taller stallion and spat in his face.

Maverick's head rode back in surprise, and one hand came up to wipe the spittle from his nose. Dylan continued to ride the anger wave. "Just stop it!" he shouted at the Clydesdale.

"Stop what?" Maverick asked. Like a fucking robot. It only incensed Dylan more.

"This!" Dylan waved his hands all around the stallion. "Everything! Just... this whole... thing." He looked away in disgust, then looked back. "I'm not doing any of this for you, alright? I'm doing this for my dad. Him, and only him. 'cos for whatever fucking reason, something about your stupid fucking face actually makes him happy." That knowledge sat in his craw like a centipede. "I wish to god it was anyone else, but it's you, alright? Congrats! You won. He asked me to bring you, and so I will -- but only for him. Not for you."

The beautiful face looked back at him with a sadness that made Dylan want to punch his friend in the gut. "Come on, man," he said, as one might sigh at a puppy. "You gotta move past this, Dylan--"

The arrogance staggered the zebra. "Fuck you," Dylan screeched. Maverick tried to say something, and the zebra spat in his face again. "Shut the fuck up!" He threw his hands in the air. "Go ahead, then, you piece of shit! Fuck my dad all you want! Breed his tight hole with your studly Clydesdale cock! I guess his type is selfish dumb assholes, in which case, ding ding ding! Jackpot winner! Patrick Keevey goes home with an animated cock attached to a big fucking moron!" He pushed one hand against Maverick's chest, not moving the bigger equine a single inch. "And hey -- maybe if you fuck him hard enough, you'll even bring your own parents back to life, and I can take a turn on your dad!"

He was ashamed of it the moment he said it, but the rage made any hope of apology nil. Instead, he whirled around and pulled the locker room door open with a crash, and hurried out into the evening dusk.

The zebra was terrible at anger. The fury was cooling seconds after he stepped outside, and by the time he reached his car, it had congealed into an unpleasant mass that bobbed around, viscous and distasteful, inside of him. He yanked the rear door open to toss his sports bag in, as he usually did, and immediately realised he'd left it inside. He slammed the door closed so hard that the window glass shifted. "Fuck!" he screamed, into the sky. He couldn't go back in, not after that. He felt like shit inside. But he'd also half-run to his car, and now he had to wait for the horse to get here.

He climbed into the driver's side and slumped against the faded vinyl, staring resolutely ahead as if entranced by the pattern of dead bugs on his windshield, justifications circling his mind. He'd been within his rights to say all that -- if not more! The horse was being a fucking moron. He'd asked for it. The car keys swung on one finger, the repetitive motion like a little island of calm. He'd put an end to this tonight, he decided. He was done. One last favour for his father, and then he never wanted to see that stupid fucking arrogant piece-of-shit stallion's smarmy fucking face ever again...

Maverick appeared in his peripheral vision. The back door opened, and a hockey bag thumped onto the seat -- followed by another. Dylan clenched his jaw. Whatever. He wouldn't thank him for that. It had been his fault he'd forgotten it, anyway. The rear door closed, and the passenger one opened, and the big stallion slid carefully into it. Dylan took his keys properly in hand, preparing to start the engine -- until Maverick's huge hand reached over and grabbed them from him.

The zebra turned in shock. "Hey!"

Maverick crossed his arms, the keys hidden somewhere in the depths of a fist. "Dylan, hold up." He sighed. "We gotta talk, man."

Dylan's stomach grew legs and tried to climb backwards out of his body. "No! Give me my fucking keys!"

"Nope." Maverick reached for the handle and opened the door, climbing out.

"Hey! Hey!" Dylan shrieked, clambering across the front seats after him like a colobus. "Maverick! Fuck you! Give me my car keys!"

Maverick had walked a short distance away and was standing still, arms crossed, lit by the single sodium lamp in the school parking lot. Dylan ran at him and pushed against the big body with both hands, barely moving it. He staggered back, breathing heavily.

"Give me my fucking keys NOW or... or..." He blustered, trying to imagine a sufficiently worthy threat. "Or you can fucking walk home!"

Maverick cocked his head at his friend. "Dylan, you're being really unreasonable about this. It's not that big a deal."

Dylan's jaw dropped. Had he really heard Maverick just say that? Did the horse care at all about his feelings?

The stallion continued speaking. "I spoke to Patrick, and if you just--"

"Fuck you!" Dylan screamed, fear and tension and something else boiling out of him. How fucking dare he mention his father like... like he owned him. "I hate you! You fucking ruined everything!" He swung a leg, catching the Clydesdale on the thigh, making him grunt in pain and bend down to grip the muscle. As he did so, the zebra hurled himself forward, arms spread, and tackled him.

They fell into a heap, Maverick groaning under a frenzied Dylan who dug, punched and bit at every piece of flesh he could find. He was screaming incoherently, blind rage driving him to inflict as much pain on the horse as he could. He hated him! He was a liar! Him and his father both! He hated them so much! They had betrayed him and let him down and they would leave and he'd be alone and he was so afraid and he didn't know what to do...

He was lying on the asphalt, sobbing, by the end. Maverick's hand was resting awkwardly on his side, but the zebra was too exhausted to push it away. He lay in a partial foetal position, tired, hurt, and wishing he could die, there and then. The horse seemed to sense that he wasn't ready to talk, because when he spoke again, he did so by himself.

"Bro, I'm sorry it came out like this. I really am. I... I thought I could give you some space to, like... get used to it." He was silent for a moment. "You're my best friend, Dylan," he said lamely. "I hate that we haven't spoken properly for weeks. I get it, I do -- well, kinda -- but I still hate it. I miss... I miss us, bro." A shorter silence, and then in a voice as awkward as a baby giraffe, he said, "There's nothing wrong with being gay, Dylan. I know it's scary. I didn't even know I could like guys until..." He coughed and segued. "You don't need to be afraid, buddy. I know, and your dad knows, and we're not gonna tell." Wherever Maverick's newfound confidence had come from, it didn't seem to be serving him too well right now. He changed tack. "I don't care, bro. I don't care and I won't tell anyone. You don't need to be scared, alright? I promise." He patted Dylan ineptly on the side.

For the second time that night, Dylan wasn't sure he'd heard his friend properly. Did he...did he think this was about being gay? That for two weeks Dylan had been upset because he was scared he would be outed? Had he seriously thought... and the constant invitations to look at his dick...

The big dumb stupid horse thought he'd been helping him. He'd just gotten it completely, hopelessly wrong.

Hot pain swelled behind Dylan's eyes. It was all too much. "Please don't take my dad, Maverick," he asked plaintively, voice choking up, tears running again. Even saying the words was horrifying, as if merely saying them would cause it to come to pass. "Please. I need him. He's all I got. I... you two can do... whatever you want together. You're in charge. I'm sorry. Just please, please... don't..." He could hardly form the words, the emotional anguish of the idea nearly rendering him speechless. He was like a child again: powerless, but for the ability to beg. So, he begged; his voice a husk, barely audible. "Please, Mav, don't take him away from me, please..." He squeezed his eyes shut as his heart hammered, and despair's hollow deepened within him, and he sobbed in desperate torment.

Maverick's hand on his side quivered, and he heard the big stallion's breathing shudder. "Oh, shit, Dylan, bro, I... no, no..." Both of his arms came around as the other stallion spooned him in the dirt, holding the zebra tightly as the smaller male wept. "Oh, fuck, dude, I'm so fucking sorry, I..." His voice broke up. "I'm not gonna take your dad, I promise. I never thought..." For the first time in two weeks, Dylan heard actual uncertainty in his friend's voice. It was as if the veneer of confidence he'd gained had rubbed off, and the horse that Dylan had known all his life was showing through again. "I'm sorry, man, I'm so sorry... I'm such a fuckhead..." His muzzle pressed against the back of the zebra's neck, and he held him as tight as he could.

There was no mistaking the raw honesty in the stallion's words. Dylan felt Maverick's own tears soaking into the back of his shirt, and it was as if someone had removed a millstone from his neck. The awful, curled-up tension of the last few weeks began to dissipate, and he clung to the stallion's arms with all his might. Maverick kept apologising, and Dylan was too exhausted to stop him, but that was okay. They'd be okay.

Eventually, Dylan sat upright, with Maverick hugging him from behind. They still sat on the dusty ground, with the sodium light overhead flickering occasionally. Maverick clasped his friend as if afraid he'd lose him again.

"You big stupid dummy," Dylan mumbled.

The stallion hugged him tighter. "I am. I'm sorry, Dylan. I--I just felt like I knew everything, and I thought I understood..."

"Typical stallion. You know nothing, Maverick Clydesdale." He pressed back against him. "But it's fine now."

"Ah, bud, c'mon, I'm not that dumb." Dylan raised his eyebrow, unseen, and even Maverick realised what he'd said. "Usually..."

"Psh. Dumbo the horse, that's you." An aeroplane droned through the sky, far above. "Sorry for what I said about your dad."

"It's fine." The stallion shrugged. "I mean... maybe he was, you know. Gay. Like... your dad, and you, and..." He trailed off.

"...and you?" Dylan supplied. When the horse didn't answer, the zebra patted his side behind him. "It's just a word. Doesn't mean you have to start dancing on top of the floats at the next Pride. But, uh, if you do..." He squeezed his friend's powerful arms. "Let me know."

The Clydesdale snorted, but seemed unsure about quite how to answer. "Nah, it's... not that. I'm not gay gay. Not exactly. I still get hard thinking about pussy. I just..." He tried to form a shape with his hands, in front of the zebra's face. "It's not about gay, or straight, or whatever the fuck, you know? There's just, like... people. And sex. And it's just not that complicated -- unless you make it complicated." He seemed frustrated with that explanation. "You know?"

"I...guess. So -- you just wanna fuck anyone?"

"Yeah! I mean...well, yeah. Works for me."

"And my dad's the super-stud who finally made you realise that? Fuck, that's gonna boost his ego."

Maverick rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don't think he's gay either though. Not exactly. I mean"--he patted the zebra's chest--"he made you. And I mean, we were kinda drunk, and he put his -- uh, the porn on, and then he was saying so much stuff about my body..."

Dylan's heart skipped a beat at the thought of his father seducing his handsome friend. "Stuff?" He tried to sound casual. "Like what?"

"Like..." Maverick looked up, recalling. "Just really nice stuff about my muscles, and how hot I am, and shit... it made me feel really good. And he sucked me off first, and it was fucking amazing. And it was such a rush, right, I felt like a fucking king... and I figured, the chicks wouldn't give me ass, so..." He suddenly realised what he was saying, and held up his hands in apology. "I mean, shit! Sorry. I'm being weird. You don't wanna hear about me and your dad."

Dylan wouldn't have minded, but said nothing. As his friend had talked about his father, the zebra had felt something growing against his lower back. He could still feel it, and it was eliciting an equal reaction from his own body.

"No, it's cool," he said, as if the mental picture of the two of them hadn't instantly sprung to mind. "I... haven't had sex with a guy yet. Uh." The awkward pause felt like a lifetime. "Is -- is it nice?"

Maverick's arms around him had gone still. The horse had to feel his growing hardness pressing against the zebra. "Well, I've only done it the once," the Clydesdale intoned carefully, "but... yeah. Super fucking nice." A moth flew past them, headed for the light. "Probably better than pussy..."

"Probably?" The zebra's head turned towards him, grinning widely. "Waaaaait wait wait. You wouldn't shut up about fucking that one tiger at the party!" The evil smile reached all the way to his eyes. "Were you a virgin, Mav?"

The Clydesdale had a sudden coughing fit, and Dylan bellowed a laugh. "You were!" He clapped his hands in delight. "Oh, I can't wait to tell Dad..."

"Hey now!" Maverick feigned injury. "You can't tell him! It... uh... it's private..."

Dylan reached back with a hand to slap his friend's muzzle. "I'm sorry, Maverick, but the whole 'privacy' option kinda went out the window the moment I walked in on you and my Dad having fun." It still felt a little odd to be saying it so casually, but every time he did, it became a little less weird. He was going to have to get used to knowing his dad and Maverick were fucking. A lot, probably. Like two hot studs would. Dicks and asses everywhere, all hot and sweaty...

Maverick, meanwhile, was still mumbling vague excuses. The pressure against Dylan's lower back hadn't gone away, and in a spurt of overconfidence and horniness, Dylan said, "Is thinking about my Dad making you hard, Mav, or am I just that hot?"

For a second, he feared he'd misjudged the mood, but then the Clydesdale gave a big guffaw and stood up. He adjusted his swollen crotch without a hint of embarrassment and put his hands to his sides. "Yep," he said. "Your Dad's a hot fuck. And you smell a little like him." He winked down at the zebra, and Dylan felt a thrill run through him as he looked up at the stallion, back-lit by the sodium light. He was so handsome, and muscular, and sexy. For a second, he thought he might capitalise on the mood, and reach forward to cup that hefty crotch... but Maverick moved away, and the moment passed.

"Guess we should head home," the stallion said, squinting up at the dark sky.

"Yep." Dylan got to his feet too. They'd been sitting on the ground for ages, and his leg had gone numb. He groaned, rubbing at it until the needles faded. A glow from inside the car caught his attention, and he hobbled over to pull the door open and take out his phone.

"Shit."

Maverick came alongside and peered at it. "Your dad?"

"Mhm." Dylan's father had been trying to get hold of him for almost half an hour, it seemed. They'd been too far from the car to hear it ringing. He quickly tapped out a message, assuring his father he was safe, and on his way home. As the text swept off to the side of the phone, he let the device hang loosely in his fingers, chewing on a lip. The mild euphoria of reconnecting with Maverick dimmed as reality reasserted itself. He'd been such an asshole to his father lately. They hadn't said ten words to one another since that Saturday, and even the request to bring Maverick along had been a written note, slipped under his door like a shameful admission.

The zebra stared down at his phone. "Do you know what my dad thinks about... all this?"

The stallion paused. "He thinks you hate him," he said flatly. "He feels like shit that he lied to you, and he's upset that he didn't know you were gay. I told him you didn't know he was, either, but..." His tone softened. "He misses you a lot. He really loves you, Dylan. More than you can believe." There was a catch to the way he said it which made Dylan look up at him, but his big brown eyes were unreadable.

"I'm gonna have to talk to him," the zebra said, trying to inject confidence he did not feel. Whoever had first been at fault in this mess, he was now equally on the hook for his subsequent behaviour.

His friend patted his shoulder. "Not you. We." He smiled when Dylan looked over at him. "I'm slightly involved too, you know?" he said. His smile went a little taut. "The least I can do is help make it right between you two."

They climbed into the car, and a few minutes later were cruising down the freeway towards the suburbs. Maverick kept glancing across at the zebra, and eventually asked, "Have you talked to him since, uh..." The zebra was actually relieved that the horse couldn't finish the sentence. He was acting like his normal self again.

"Not really." In fact, after Dylan had fled to his room when his father had broken down, that had been the last time they'd really talked about what had happened. His dad had spent hours at the door, begging to speak to him. He had sounded utterly broken, which had only made Dylan feel worse. The zebra hated hearing Dad like that. He'd wanted to pull the door open and fly into his arms, and tell him that he loved him, and hear it in return. They were a team, the two of them. Always had been, always were.

Until that day.

But even as he'd ignored his father, he'd still been able to smell the two of them. The tang of horse and zebra cum had permeated his room. He'd not thought of that when he'd fled there, and then he'd been stuck there. Every breath had carried the reminder of the scene that was burned into his mind. His father: splayed on the bed like a whore, ass gaping, his barely softened cock still drooling cum over his chest. His handsome friend: standing next to him, muscular, sweaty, hung, virile. Dylan hated how it made him feel, even now. He felt like a pervert. He had to fight to ignore the feelings that rose up, the ones that made his breath shorten and his pants grow tight. The feelings usually won.

He'd wanted to fall to his knees and crawl up to Maverick's magnificent body, and take his cock in his maw, and lick it clean for him, stroking his body and tasting that amazing cock. And when that was done, he'd let it fall, and turn to the bed, where his father waited. His beautiful, wonderful father who he loved more than anyone. He wanted to step up to him and take his cock in hand and slide it inside that loose, inviting hole, to hear his dad moan softly with pleasure as his son penetrated him. To feel the joy and wonder of fucking his sire. He wanted to lean forward and kiss his dad as they fucked, to hear him say he loved him, only him, always him, and urge him on, tell him to push deeper, to fuck him harder, fuck me harder, Dylan, fuck your dad, I love you, son, I love you so much...

"Dylan?"

Dylan snapped back to reality. A green traffic light shone ahead, and he accelerated suddenly. "Sorry..."

"Thinking about your dad?"

The zebra's eyes flickered across to the horse at the phrasing. "Yeah, I... things have been kinda... shit... at home..." Because of me. "I kinda brushed him off. He tried to explain, and I just felt so..." He shook his head. "I'll fix it. Tonight. Make it right."

His resolve held steady until they pulled into the driveway. He switched off the car, but did not otherwise move. His legs seem frozen. Maverick's hand pressed against his shoulder, and his voice was confident and clear.

"Come on. It'll be fine. I'll be there."

The zebra snorted. "Oh yeah, having my dad's new fuck-buddy there will definitely smooth things over." But he managed to get out of the vehicle and walk inside, with Maverick trailing behind.

His father was sitting on the couch, headset on, facing the television. The face of another, older zebra could be seen there. As soon as the door opened, Patrick rose, taking in the two young stallions. "Garth," he said into his headset, "I have to go. Speak later? Alright. Bye." Garth was his brother. He pulled the headset off, and the video call ended in the background.

His father's face was tentative, and his eyes flickered between them, asking a silent question. Dylan looked back, unsure of what to say -- and then Maverick's hand fell firmly onto his shoulder.

"We talked, Patrick." So weird hearing his friend use his father's familiar name. "Talked, and cried, and... everything." He smiled warmly at his friend. "I think we're good again. Dylan reminded me that I'm not as smart as I think, and I reminded him it's fine to like cock." Dylan blushed and shook his head. Maverick's confident demeanour was back, it seemed. It was remarkable. He'd switched it on, simple as that. Not just how he spoke, but how he stood, how he looked at you. A sense that he had a good handle on everything, that you could leave yourself in his hands, and you'd be safe. It might be mostly an act, but it was a damn good one.

Dylan's dad was squeezing his fist again, looking at his son, not quite following. He still hadn't said a word, and all the things Dylan had imagined saying to him in the last couple of weeks had vanished from his mind. But they didn't need words, really. They'd been together all their lives. They loved and cared for one another: always had, always would. Even if there'd been a temporary interruption of service.

The young zebra let his keys fall to the ground, hurried forward, and silently wrapped his arms around his father's chest. An explosive sob of relief burst from the older equine, and his arms gripped Dylan back. The young zebra felt tears begin to run again, but at last, they were from relief. "I'm sorry, Dad," he began, but the arms simply grew tighter around him, his father's strong body pressing against him. "I'm really sorry... I was so scared, I thought y-you and Maverick... when we graduated... I thought you'd go, and, and... I thought if I-I said anything..."

"Oh, son," his father replied, in a tone filled with both exquisite pain and absolute relief, "don't apologise. I need to apologise, I'm the moron here. I was so fucking stupid, I should never have lied to you or tricked... I never wanted to hurt you, Dylan, I love you, boy, I love you so much..." His muzzle pressed hard against Dylan's neck, and he kissed him, and tightened his arms even more. "I will never, ever leave you, not for anyone or anything, alright? You're mine, and I'm yours, and that will never change."

"I love you too, Dad," Dylan said, burying his face in the cleft of his father's arm, his scent calming and familiar. The two zebras hugged for a while longer, murmuring apologies and words of affection. Only when Maverick put a hand on both their shoulders did they look up. The stallion nodded his head at the couch. "Can we sit?"

And so, they did, and they talked. It was awkward at first, and a little painful. There was a lot of saying sorry, and halting explanations. They laughed, and cried, and as they pieced together their shattered vase, the evening began to feel normal. The unpleasantness of the last few weeks began to melt away, and continued to vanish as the three of them chatted, and relaxed, and prepared dinner together. Dylan went for a shower to remove the sweat and grime of the afternoon's sport and returned to find his father kissing Maverick. The two lovebirds giggled and separated, and Dylan had to quash a slight feeling of jealousy. He just wasn't sure which of the two he was jealous of.

It definitely felt...interesting to have Maverick eating dinner with them as he had many times before, but to see him looking now at his father with a desirous expression -- and to see his father looking back with an equal one. The two equines did their best not to be overt, but after some beers were opened and drunk--"If either of you tells anyone, I'll kill you"--it was clear they were both becoming more interested in one another than anything else.

Dylan's empty beer bottle dropped onto the table, and he sighed with satisfaction. His father looked at him with a warm smile, and his son smiled back, then pushed himself to his feet. "I think I'm gonna get some sleep," he said. "Long day." And you two clearly want to fuck. His father and friend nodded back at him, and then his father stood up and gave him a hug.

"Love you, son," he said again. He'd been saying it all evening, but Dylan didn't mind. It felt good hearing it again.

"Love you too, Dad," he replied. More than I should. "Have fuuuuun..." He waved at the two of them as he walked away; Maverick waved back, but Patrick was already nuzzling into his young lover's neck.

The young zebra stallion wandered into the rear of the house, going into his room and shutting the door. He sat down on the edge of his bed, taking stock of how he felt. In a word: drained. It had been a physically and emotionally taxing day. Reconnecting with his father and his best friend -- helped by the alcohol -- had been good, but now he was here, and they were... there.

It was impossible not to imagine the scene again. His father, spread-eagled on the bed. This bed. Maverick, confident and beautiful. Two stallions, doing what stallions did. What they were getting ready to do again, down the hall, right now.

The stallion flopped backwards onto the bed, his hand sliding down to his crotch. He felt himself through his pants as he stared at the two equines in his mind. In the privacy of his room, it was easier to be more honest about how he felt. Maverick was a huge stud; that was a fact. The young stallion was physically perfect, so of course Dylan would dream about being fucked by him. But his dad... that was something else. He felt such an upwelling of emotion when he thought about him. He loved him so much. Everything his father had done for him, everything he'd given up, and worked for...the older zebra was his idol. He wanted to show him how he felt, in the most intimate way possible. He'd just never even imagined, until recently, that his dad would have enjoyed it.

But now he knew he did enjoy it, and even how he looked right after enjoying it. That didn't make it any more likely, and Dylan still felt like a pervert thinking about it. But this was fantasy after all. He knew it wouldn't really happen. Couldn't really happen. It was just...nice to think about.

More than nice.

His cock had swollen as he massaged it to the dirty thoughts, and he quickly tugged his pants down, letting his black length flop free of the confining material. He wasn't as long as his dad: the older zebra had a porn star-quality dick. But he wasn't at all unsatisfied with what his father's genes had given him. It was thinner than Maverick's fat monster -- as most anyone would be -- but it flared beautifully at the crown and leaked pre-cum at the slightest provocation. Dylan liked to taste his own pre-cum. It was less salty than his cum -- which he'd tried a few times -- and he liked the way its slipperiness coated his tongue.

He took some of it into his mouth with a finger now, his other hand squeezing the crown to coat itself in the natural lube and beginning to stroke his shaft. Tonight, he was ready for a slow burn. He'd pay barely any attention to his flare: that would get him off too fast. He slid his hand up and down, from his balls to just below the flare, squeezing the entire shaft and enjoying how it felt. He closed his eyes, imagining someone else doing it for him. Imagining his dad.

"Squeeze a bit more, Dad," he whispered to himself. "I like it when you stroke my dick, Dad. It's hot... you're hot..."

He stopped feeding himself pre-cum and slid the hand between his legs to finger himself. He groaned, loving the dual sensation, as always. He wondered if Maverick and his father did this. What did they do together? His dad was the bottom, clearly. Fuck, that was so hot to think about. "Bend for stallion cock, Dad," he murmured, and had to bite his lip to not release a loud groan. "Are you loose enough for Maverick's thick dick, Daddy?" Oh, shit. This was turning him on far more than he'd expected. The brief flicker of guilt at how intensely aroused he was becoming at the thought of his father being fucked like a mare by his best friend was swept away by a torrent of lust. He wished he could see it. He wanted to watch. Ugh... he was such a fucking pervert. But he wanted pictures. He wanted to jerk off over them. He wanted video...

The webcam.

Dylan's body froze with shock at the realisation. Oh, fuck -- could he? His dad had been using it earlier... and he never turned it off properly. He was always saying he couldn't figure out how. And it was connected to the Wi-Fi, and the television was turned off. He could maybe just...

He paused for perhaps a second, then leaned over to grab his laptop. Quivering fingers tapped a few keys, and -- there it was. The webcam was still on, still accessible over the network. Dylan had set it all up years ago. Everything local was fully accessible, so if he simply clicked on it for streaming like so...

The video feed opened instantly, a willing accomplice to his lust. The quality was flawless: Dylan had bought the best webcam he could find after his father kept complaining that his brother couldn't see him properly. Over the local network, there was no delay, either. A perfect, smooth, high-definition view of his father, on his knees, giving a nude Maverick a blowjob.

Dylan's cock jerked, and he felt his heart rate practically double. With a shaking hand -- as if a wrong move might alert the two equines to their voyeur -- he unmuted the stream, and the sound of wet slurps and passionate moans filled his room. He quickly lowered the volume, then took his cock in hand, stroking it with renewed vigour as he watched his father and his best friend having sex.

Patrick was going at it like a pro. Dylan couldn't believe it. He must have sucked guys off before. Perhaps his dad had been a little horny slut in his youth. "Are you a naughty zebra, Daddy?" he whispered, feeling a thrill at saying it to the picture of his father. So much better than his imagination. "Suck Maverick's hot dick, Dad. Suck him clean like a good boy."

Maverick's head was thrown back, his eyes closed. His fingers were curling through his father's mane, pressing the bristles flat and letting them rise up again. One hand slid across to fondle his ear, and the older equine shuddered with delight. He pulled the cock out of his mouth and stroked it with one hand, looking up along Maverick's gorgeous, hard chest.

"Does that feel good, sir?" he said, need painted across the words. His free hand slid up and down Maverick's body, feeling the muscles. "You're so fucking beautiful, stud..."

Dylan slapped a hand to his mouth to hide his grunt of arousal. His father was such a little sub! It meshed so well with his fantasies, it almost seemed too good to be true. Big, dapper police officer by day... horny, greedy cockslut by night. Dylan stroked his penis faster, looking at his father's face. Patrick was looking up at the bigger stallion with an expression of worship. His mouth ajar, he leaned into Maverick's body, sniffing and licking along his Adonis belt and sheath. His hand rose to tease one of Maverick's nipples, making the horse whinny. "I have missed you, stud. I dreamed about this perfect body almost every night..." He put the tip of the horse's cock back into his mouth, sliding it about over his tongue and looking upwards with a submissive look that made Dylan grunt and grip his own cock almost painfully hard. "Will you fuck me, sir?" his father begged.

"Yes," said Dylan at the screen, one hand rising to squeeze at his flare. "I'll fuck you, Dad. I'll fuck you so hard, you fucking beautiful thing..." The stream was one way, but a small part of him wished for something to go wrong, and for his father to hear him.

Maverick's head lowered, his eyes half-lidded, a smirk on his face. Dylan recognised it instantly. That was the cocky Maverick that had caused him so much frustration. So, this was where he'd come from. The Clydesdale slid a hand down to under the zebra's muzzle and seemed to push upward, for his father got to his feet. The zebra was bigger and taller than the Clydesdale, but only physically. Everything in his attitude said he was subservient to the horse, and loved it. Their muzzles met, and they kissed deeply. Maverick's hands slid down to fondle his father's huge cock and balls, and the older zebra huffed and groaned into the kiss. It was fucking hot.

"Fuck him, Maverick," Dylan whispered. He needed to see it. "Fuck my slutty subby dad, fuck his ass, rip him open with that massive cock... do it, stud, fuck him..."

As if he could read his mind, Maverick broke the kiss and made his father turn around. The Clydesdale's cock was rubbing up against the zebra's lower back, and he took it in hand and pushed it down to his tail. His father flagged it high in mating need -- making Dylan grunt again -- and when he felt the horse's flare against him, he gave a moan so guttural and lusty that Dylan nearly came. He was so close now that holding back was agony. He wanted to see them fuck, now, really badly. Needed to see his friend's unparalleled prick sliding into his father's rear... doing for real what the young zebra could only imagine.

Maverick's hand came around to his father's muzzle, gripping it and pushing it upwards, his mouth licking along the side and nibbling at his ear. As he did that, his hips thrust forward, and Dylan heard his father cry out -- not only on the video, but from down the hall, too. He gave a muffled bray in response, imagining how his father was feeling, having that fat cock pushed into him. He loved it. Every sound he made, every motion of his body screamed it. He was pushing back, trying to get more cock inside him. "Oh, Daddy, you're such a horny boy," the young zebra murmured. "Get all of Maverick's dick inside you, Daddy, come on. Be a good slut for him. Let him fuck you as only a stallion can."

Maverick's mouth still teased at his mate's face, licking gently as he held him. Patrick's eyes were screwed shut, lost in a private pleasure world. The horse's hips were moving briskly now, driving his cock in and out rapidly. Dad must have lubed up beforehand, Dylan realised. Like a good sub. Dad was moaning loudly now, begging Maverick to fuck him harder, calling him master, sir, his dom, his owner. Dylan's hands pummelled his own flare, ready to cum now. He couldn't wait. He'd cum as he watched Maverick pump his hot Clydesdale spunk deep inside Dad...

Maverick's head turned, and his eyes locked onto the webcam. He gave a wide grin, and then a single eye winked at the camera as the horse's blunt teeth nipped at Dylan's sire's neck in a mating bite.

Dylan's orgasm rocketed out of him before he could even process what he'd seen. His muscles spasmed, and he convulsed backwards against the bed, his now-gigantic flare spewing cum so powerfully that it missed him and the bed entirely, spraying off to one side, drenching his hockey gear. The zebra felt like his muscles had locked in place, fire running through every vein. Again and again, his muscles pumped and his balls throbbed, squirting the zebra's immense load out of him and over anything nearby. Dylan couldn't focus. He was awash in ecstasy, riding it out, the only picture in his mind that of a grin, and a wink, and a bite. If he hadn't had time to slap a hand to his mouth, the violent scream of pleasure would have woken half the neighbourhood.

His muscles eventually untensed, and the young equine collapsed against his sheets, sweat cooling on his skin. He gasped for air, eyes staring at the ceiling, warm cum drooling from his cock and pooling against his abs. That had been...

Another thought interjected, and his hand flew out and slapped the laptop closed, cutting off the soft moans and wet noises. Oh, shit! How did Maverick know? He'd looked right at the camera. And winked! Oh, fuck...

The zebra lay frozen in bed, fearing a knock at his door. None was forthcoming. Faint sounds of sexual indulgence made it through the walls and thick doors between him and the lounge, but no angry stallion forced his way inside. He gradually relaxed. Perhaps it hadn't been what he thought?

Dylan pushed himself to his feet -- still a little shaky -- and scanned the room. Cum was everywhere. A towel lay next to the bed, ready to be used, but he hadn't expected... that. He grabbed it anyway, doing his best to clean up. At least the hockey gear had taken the brunt of it; it was due for a wash in any case. The zebra peered into the bag and pulled out a pair of white shorts -- now a little creamier, and a lot muskier -- then shoved them back inside and zipped it all shut. He daren't leave his room now, but first thing in the morning, he'd hop over to the laundry.

With the most obvious evidence of his uncontrolled orgasm removed, he washed his face clean of sweat in his bathroom, and finally climbed into bed. There was a little fear that Maverick might materialise at the door and demand answers, but the post-jerkoff guilt was stronger. As he remembered what he'd said, and done, he sighed and buried his face into the pillow.

You fucking pervert.

---

When Dylan woke, it was late morning. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before recalling the events of the night before. Ugh. At least he hadn't awoken to find Maverick -- or, worse, his father -- sitting in the room, wanting to speak to him.

He could hear the two of them in the kitchen, chatting, clattering crockery and frying things. That was good. The zebra quickly got dressed and grabbed his hockey bag, slipping out of his room and down to the laundry before anyone noticed. It only took a few seconds to dump the now intensely musky clothing into the washing machine and pick a spin cycle. As he watched the machine prepare to erase the evidence of his perversions, he could only wish it was as easy to do the same to himself.

He wandered into the kitchen cautiously, eyeing Maverick. His father waved cheerily at him with a spatula, frying up tomatoes on the stove. "Hey, kiddo!" He flipped one over in the air, like a small red pancake. "Sleep well?"

Maverick was off to the side, chopping green peppers on a sideboard, looking at the zebra with a naughty smile. Dylan met his gaze, trying to see any hint of anger. The stallion seemed relaxed... and, surely, if he'd said anything to Dylan's father, the young male wouldn't have received quite as pleasant a greeting. When Maverick gave him another wink, just as lascivious as the one he'd made the night before, Dylan looked away quickly. Well, then. Maverick was going to keep Dylan's dirty little secret to himself, it appeared.

"Yeah, thanks, Dad." Dylan took a seat at the table, where place-mats, cutlery and crockery had been pleasingly arranged. This was quite a step up from their usual breakfast habits: two rushed bowls of cereal and perhaps a coffee. Maverick seemed to read his mind as he looked at the table.

"I'm so used to only cooking for one," the horse said, his knife thunk-ing through the pieces of bell pepper, "that I thought I'd splurge a bit for my two favourite zebras." He paused. "Sometimes it's nice to do things you don't normally do, hey, Dylan?" The zebra didn't answer. "Especially when it involves people you care about."

Now the little fucker was just taunting him. Dylan looked at him, frowning slightly, but the stallion's face was plain and smiling. Had he... enjoyed being watched? It didn't sound like he'd hated it. Maverick flashed Dylan a big smile, then leaned over to scrape the peppers into the frying pan. Dylan's father gave him a quick peck on the lips as he did so, and they giggled at one another. Dylan looked away, thoughtful.

With the peppers done, Maverick walked over with a jug of orange juice, filling Dylan's glass. The zebra looked up at him, trying to get wordless answers to the questions filling his mind. The horse smirked and looked back over his shoulder at Patrick.

"Patrick," he called out, "I really like this teleconferencing setup you have. What model is it?"

The older zebra snorted, eyes fixed on the frying pan. "Oh, fuck knows. The Tele-Magic-A-Thingy Twenty-Five-Thousand? I'm no good with that. Dylan organised it for me. Son, what's the model of the tele-thing?"

Dylan's throat was dry when he tried to answer. "Have some juice, bud," Maverick said in a friendly tone. He'd finished pouring, but still stood there, hands supporting the jug. Dylan did so, but his voice still quavered when he spoke.

"The...RB-98, I think..."

"Oh, cool," said Maverick, blithely. "Does it have that thing where a little light goes on whenever the camera is active?"

Dylan wanted to sink into the earth, and be buried, and whimper his embarrassment into the loam for the rest of time. He nodded. How could he have forgotten that? Fucking horniness, short-circuiting the brain! FUCK!

Maverick gave a huge grin. "Awesome. Can't be too careful with the shit people are pulling these days, huh? Hacking into networks and shit. At least if the light goes on, you can show them what you think about it to their face. Although"--he shrugged--" honestly, if someone was spying on me, I'd just say: go for it." He turned, making sure Dylan could see his crotch, and made his cock jump. "Get your fill. It's understandable. Ogle the stallion stud."

Maverick's one hand slid down to rub at his bulge, his eyes fixed on Dylan. He pressed hard against his cock, outlining the thick flesh -- fuck, he was so thick, even soft -- against his pants. Dylan gulped again, looking at his dad behind them, but he was still focused on his cooking. Maverick kept rubbing himself, pressing the cock to make the flare visible, then finally pushing it down his pants leg. He gave Dylan a big wink, then turned and headed back to where Patrick was cooking. He brushed up behind him deliberately while placing the orange juice back on the counter, and Dylan saw his father gasp, and smile. One of his hands slipped down to grip the stallion, and his smile grew naughty.

Dylan sat awkwardly at the table, unable to stand up for fear of showing the massive wet spot on his pants. Maverick's teasing was unbearable. At the very least, Maverick seemed to think Dylan had only been spying on him. Thank fuck for stallion egos. He had to admit that part of him was jealous of Maverick. No -- of his father. Or? Fuck. He didn't know what he felt. All he knew was that, when he had a moment, he'd have to tell Maverick it had been a once off, and he wouldn't do it again. The stallion might think it was pretty kinky, that his friend had spied on him fucking, but Dylan wasn't sure his father would see it the same way. He wouldn't be like Maverick. He definitely wouldn't walk over, and smile, and rub his own cock, telling his son to get a good, close look...

A plate of bacon, eggs, hash browns and tomatoes plonked down in front of the zebra, and he looked up to see his father looking down at him curiously.

"You all right, son?"

Dylan nodded hurriedly. "Yeah, yeah, Dad. Just hungry." He gave a wan smile and dug into the food to head off any further questions. Patrick chuckled and walked around to his own seat, next to Maverick.

"Growing boys, always hungry."

For cock. The zebra's eyes looked over his plate to his friend, himself digging into the meal. He seemed oblivious to the potential double entendre. Dad's cock. Maverick's cock. Dad's ass. Fuck, I want to fuck you so bad, Daddy, I want to suck your cock, Maverick, you fucking hot stud, I want you to fuck me while I fuck my gorgeous dad...

He grunted as his cock swelled inside his pants, painfully tight. Why was he allowing himself to think this now? But he knew: it was Maverick. The Clydesdale's casually sexual attitude was infectious. He was doing things Dylan would never have thought he'd see happen right here in his own kitchen. Teasing the zebra about spying on him while he fucked. Feeling himself up, then rubbing himself against Patrick. That fucking sexy smirk, and the attitude... now that Dylan wasn't so fucking angry at the horse, he was starting to like it. There was something about the muscled stallion acting like he was in charge that really did it for the zebra.

"Any plans for the day, boys?" his father asked, nibbling a hash brown daintily. Dylan looked at his plate. You'd better eat up, Dad, you'll need your energy for sex with Maverick later. He felt so dirty thinking it, only his skull between his thoughts and his father finding out how he felt. But more than dirty -- much more -- he felt horny. It turned him on so much. I like thinking dirty things about you, Dad. I'm a naughty boy too, just like you.

"Oh, yeah, we do, actually," Maverick said. He pointed his fork at Dylan, a piece of bacon impaled on it. "We're going to go out for a bit. Won't be too long. Dylan's got a present for you, and we need to go pick it up." He grinned and popped the piece of bacon into his mouth. "Don't spoil it, bud. It's got to be a surprise, remember?" The stallion looked across at his lover. "He reminded me about it last night. He's been thinking about it for a while, actually, but he was too shy to go for it. Wasn't sure if you'd like it. But as soon as I found out, I knew he simply had to. You'll love it. It's so... you." He smiled and ate a piece of tomato.

Dylan had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but when his father looked over with a happily surprised expression, he simply nodded and smiled. "Uh... yeah." Maverick, what the shit? "A surprise."

"Aw, son, that's... really sweet." He looked about to tear up again, and Dylan blushed and dug back into his food. His leg kicked out, trying to connect with Maverick, but only knocking a chair aside.

"Oops," he said. What the fuck are you planning, horse? Maverick didn't say another word about it as they all finished eating, and only when the dishes had been cleaned and packed away did he wander up to Dylan.

"Shall we be off, then?" he said, unnecessarily loudly.

Dylan tried to smirk back. "Oh, let's!" he said breezily. The sarcasm seemed to go over the horse's head.

"See you later, Patrick!" the horse called as they headed out the door.

Dylan's father waved cheerily. "Drive safe, you two," he said. "I'm gonna do a little gardening. See you in a while."

As soon as the front door closed, Dylan thrust his face into Maverick's. "What the fuck is going on?" he hissed. Maverick wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"This is going to be the best day of your life, stud," he said, tapping the zebra on the chest. "Trust me." His hand stroked down Dylan's chest. "Nice bod, bro."

Dylan did a double-take at the 'stud'. "Just tell me what's going on!" he retorted. "And -- and stop flirting with me! It's weird! You're with my dad, and..." And I enjoy it too much.

Maverick released his shoulder and patted him on the back. "Am I? I'm fucking your dad, sure. But it's not like we're an item. I'm just playing off the way you acted with me yesterday." He grinned. "Maybe I'm a scientist, running experiments. Experiment one: do cock genes transfer from father to son?"

Dylan blushed and looked away, and Maverick chuckled. "Sorry, bud. It's too fun to tease you." He held up one hand like a Boy Scout."On my word, I'll stop as soon as we've collected your Dad's gift. You just say the word after that, and I'll never tease you again."

The zebra squinted at him as he pulled open his car door. That made no fucking sense. This was so confusing. "Where's this fucking present, then?" he growled, getting into the driver's seat.

The other stallion thumped down alongside him and pulled out his phone, tapping a few times. "Got the map right here. So: go left, and head down Villeneuve..."

About fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a dodgy parking lot next to a run-down shopping arcade. Most of the places seemed shuttered. Only a Chinese takeaway and a greasy-looking porn store -- faded neon ladies flashing their wares above it -- were still open.

Dylan looked across at his friend. "This is it? Classy. Are we getting my dad some sweet-and-sour pork? What's the surprise -- salmonella?"

Maverick smirked, said, "You'll see," and climbed out of the car. Dylan huffed and followed. All this fucking cloak-and-dagger bullshit.

"Just tell me what it is!" he said, but Maverick remained mum. They walked towards the shops, but not the takeaway joint -- the porn store. Dylan's steps faltered momentarily. Just when he thought this morning couldn't get any fucking weirder... they were getting porn for his dad? And not from the Internet like a normal person -- from a fucking brick and mortar?

The zebra threw his hands in the air in surrender and followed Maverick inside.

The inside defied expectations. It was well lit, and smelled clean -- antiseptically clean, really. As if every surface received a regular, intensive wash. Perhaps because they needed it. Gross. Rows of explicit DVD covers advertised every imaginable form of sexual activity, often repeatedly. At the far end, a tall clerk who looked like a mortician stared at some monitors to the side that probably showed the camera feeds. Dylan glanced up to see one watching him, and waved.

Maverick was speaking to Mortician Clerk, and as Dylan got closer, he heard the end of their conversation.

"...E34?"

"That's it." The clerk might as well be stamping letters. "Down the stairs, in the bi section."

Maverick flashed him a smile and turned to Dylan. His eyes were excited. "You're gonna love this," he said, and Dylan stared blankly after him as he hurried over to the small spiral staircase that led below ground. Presumably for the porn too dangerous to be exposed to sunlight. The zebra sighed and trailed after his friend.

It was darker in the floor below, and it soon became clear why. This was where the more fetishy DVDs were kept. The zebra read a few titles as he went along. A gigantic hippopotamus, with folds of flesh overlapping one another like cockle shells, lay on one cover, resting atop the title Hippofuckamus. Two handsome horses with improbably large dicks kissed passionately in Stable Family._A pair of blue eyes, looking terrified, stared out of the face of a leather-covered canine, suspended from a ceiling over the title _Bitchfuck XII: Leather Slut.

Maverick passed them all, moving to a corner area that didn't seem to hold the same sorts of content. The covers looked dated, as did the porn stars on them. The horse ran a finger along the numbers, counting under his breath.

"E30... 31..."

He reached a box, and nickered in delight, pulling it from the shelf and handing it to the zebra triumphantly. Dylan took it cautiously, frowning to make out the details in the dim light. The cover showed a lioness sprawled over a table as the lower half of a zebra fucked her from behind. The title said Black and White and Fucked All Over.

He stared uncomprehendingly at the box, then looked up at his friend who had a massive shit-eating grin on his face. "What's this?"

Maverick stepped behind his friend, sliding his hands over his shoulders. "Something your dad will appreciate."

Dylan didn't see why, and said as much. Maverick's hands quivered on his shoulders, like he was about to explode. "When you walked in on us, Dylan," he all but purred, "I couldn't help noticing that you'd dripped a little into your pants. Did you enjoy the porn we'd been watching?"

Did Maverick have an exhibitionist fetish or something? "Yeah. Sure." Dylan was wary. "It was pretty hot..."

Maverick tapped the DVD. "It was this. How's that zebra's dick, huh? Fucking big."

Dylan looked at the box again. "Yeah..." He was lost. "Mav, I don't... is my dad a fan of this, or something?" He didn't want to bring this home as a present. Hi Dad, here's some porn. Have a nice time. Maybe I'll borrow it, haha.

Maverick's muzzle slid along his shoulder. His voice was suddenly heavy with emotion. "I wanted to make up for my stupidity, Dylan. I wanted to help fix what you and your dad have. It's something wonderful... and it can be so much more." He squeezed Dylan's shoulders. "I didn't know for sure until last night, and then I put it together. Some of the stuff you screamed at me, and what your dad said... it's perfect. You both just never knew."

"Never knew what?" Dylan asked, feeling a little alarmed. "What did my dad say?" Maverick didn't answer him, nodding at the DVD instead.

"Your dad is a fan of that. But he kinda has to be. He's in it."

Dylan stared at the box, feeling stunned. His father was in porn? That... was crazy. The dick, though: now he recognised it. He'd jerked off to it the night before.

It was as if Maverick was in his head. "You jerked off to it last night, stud," he whispered. "Did you enjoy watching your dad?" His voice was sharp with excitement. He knew. Dylan felt panic rising. "Soon as I saw that little light, I knew," the Clydesdale said, hands firm on the zebra's shoulders. Holding him still. "I turned him so you could see all of him. He's got a really big dick, doesn't he? Definitely worthy of a porn star. Not that it matters too much, since he's much better at getting fucked. Seems to have a thing for Clydesdales, huh? First this movie... then me..."

Dylan's skin felt like ants were dancing across it. Maverick's arms slid down and tightened around him. "You want to fuck your dad, Dylan," he murmured, his fingers flexing excitedly against Dylan's skin, "and he wants to be fucked by you."

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Dylan stood frozen, not daring to believe what his friend had just said. A kernel of self-preservation inside railed at him to deny it, to be angry and yell at Maverick and protect himself. Nobody would believe the stallion, it was so patently ridiculous, what kind of pervert was into his own father...?

But the words stayed inside.

"I felt you tense up there, stud," Maverick said. "Don't worry. I'm not just guessing. I know it for a fact. When we were fucking that first time, just before he came...guess who's name he called out?"

Dylan's mind was screaming and he didn't know why. Was he happy? Terrified? Horny? He couldn't separate out any single strain of feeling. He was spinning, spinning...

Maverick breathed the word out slowly."Dyyylaaaan..."

This must be what a lobotomy felt like. A spear of disbelieving light was being thrust right through the centre of his brain. It couldn't be true. It was a lie, a trick. Maverick was fucking with him. He would tell. He was angry with him for spying on him. He wasn't. He must be lying. Maybe not. Maybe...maybe...maybe...

The horse nuzzled into him. "So," he mused, impossibly chipper, "I guess when your dad gets really turned on, he's imagining you fucking him...and when you get turned on, you spy on him getting fucked. How about that?" He pulled away from his friend. "And since we're being all honest: you're just as hot as your dad, stud. I'd fuck you. And, if you want me to... I will." Maverick, every bit the dominant stallion again, took his hand. "Let's go home and tell your dad the good news."

Afterwards, Dylan couldn't recall anything from then until the moment they stopped back at the house. Maverick had driven, apparently, since the zebra snapped back to reality in the passenger seat. He was gripping the DVD like it was keeping him alive; had they bought it? Rented it? He had no idea. Why did they even have it? It hardly mattered now.

Dad...

Maverick opened the door for him, and the two young equines entered the house. Dylan's father was out in the middle of the garden, trimming some shrubs. The young zebra's mind was full of static. He felt lightheaded. Maverick's hand on his back guided him forward, and they stepped out onto the patio.

His dad...

It was another hot day, and his father was wearing his preferred gardening clothes: faded jeans, and a wifebeater. It showed off his arms and his ass. He was so handsome. The older equine glanced across when the two friends walked out, and sat up on his haunches, smiling at them.

"Hey, boys. Get what you needed?"

His dad was...

Dylan's fingers were digging into the plastic of the DVD. He couldn't move. He stared at his father, seeing as if for the first time how his mane curved down his back, the arc of hair accentuating his body's natural size. His face was friendly and open, a few grey hairs on his muzzle only making him look distinguished. His deep chest was damp with sweat, his gut only now developing in late middle age. His thighs were strong, and the bulge between them not much hidden by the denim. He was gorgeous and wonderful, and Dylan lusted for him.

His dad was into him.

He stumbled forward wordlessly, and his father stood up to catch him, looking concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked, and the pathos in his voice was like balm over Dylan's every fear and worry. How could he be scared of this incredible guy? He loved him, and was loved. He pushed his muzzle into the crook of his father's arm and breathed in. Oh, fuck. That wonderful, familiar smell. It made Dylan feel so safe. And when his father reached down to take the DVD out of his hands, and Dylan felt him stiffen, it upset him. Dad was afraid. That wasn't fair. His father should never be afraid when he was around. He'd protect him, love him...

Be with him. Be inside him.

"Dad..." he whispered, lifting his head, and his sire's face looked down at him, eyes wide, not understanding. "Nothing's wrong, Dad. It's all perfect. Don't be scared. I love you, Dad... I really fucking love you..."

His hand came up to tug the taller zebra's face closer, and he met his lips in a kiss that had his father's body stiffen even more in shock... and then melt under him like butter. The DVD fell to the ground, unheeded, and Patrick took his son's muzzle in his hands and held him tightly as their tongues met at last, and Dylan's heart soared with joy. His father tasted incredible: slightly sweet, with a hint of coffee from his breakfast. His mouth was warm, and his tongue soft and eager beneath Dylan's own. The younger zebra stroked along it with the tip of his own, feeling it quiver, and his father's body with it. Two thumbs stroked along his muzzle hair, and he moaned in pleasure, pressing his body forward so that his father could feel the hardness he'd raised in him. He felt a bigger one in return, and groaned in excitement. His porn star father's dick.

The younger zebra's hand slid down his father's chest and gripped his bulge, making the older male gasp into his mouth, a warm puff of air that he pulled into his lungs, breathing in his father. Another squeeze, and his dad nickered and squirmed, pushing against his palm. Dylan stroked along the concealed length, not quite believing what he was doing. His father's cock felt a little thicker than his own -- although still not as fat as Maverick's -- but it was the length that stole the show. It felt like it never ended, until you reached the firm, grapefruit-sized flare. Dylan tried to imagine that inside anyone.

"You're so big, Dad," he whispered into his sire's mouth. "Your dick is incredible. No wonder you did porn." The older zebra whinnied, pulling back and looking into his son's eyes, eyes flicking back and forth. A line of spit ran down one lip, and he licked it off with his tongue, the bright pink contrasting against his black jowls.

"If I'd known it would make you this hard, son," he said, "I'd have done it for free."

The zebras giggled, and Dylan's hands curled together, overwhelmed by happiness and lust and excitement. His heart was pounding a rhythm he'd never felt before. He didn't know what he wanted to do first. He slid his hands up his father's sides and chest, feeling the strength under the thin fabric. He stuck his nose into the cleft of his arm again for another deep sniff, nickering when his father's hands stroked down his back and gripped his ass. "Hockey's been good to you, son," his father said. "You've got such a hot ass." He nuzzled against his son's neck, his cold nose delightful on the hot day. "Ass, and body, and...shit, fucking everything, Dylan. My handsome boy. My sexy stud son."

Dylan shivered to hear that from his father. For a second, his stomach constricted in an illogical panic, and he took a sharp breath. His father pulled back and looked into his eyes with worry. "What's wrong?" he asked again.

The younger equine shook his head. "No... nothing... I just..." He looked up at his father's face. "Dad... is this really real? It's actually happening?"

It wasn't his father that answered, but Maverick. The two zebras had entirely forgotten he was there, lost as they'd been in one another. "It's very real, Dylan," he said. His voice was control, soothing and all-encompassing. "Don't worry. Nothing about this is a dream." He looked Patrick up and down. "Except how fucking hot your dad is."

Patrick blushed at that, glancing at his lover with desire and delight. Maverick smiled, then pointed a lazy finger at him.

"Those clothes are making it hard to see the full effect though, sexy thing. Get them off."

The zebra looked quickly around the garden. "But..."

The horse smirked. "Do you have anything that twenty film crews haven't already seen, bitch?" Dylan's cock jumped at the way his father turned coquettish when Maverick called him a bitch: lowering his hands to his front and looking down bashfully. His friend whisked a finger down his father's body. "Strip." There was no hint of an expectation of refusal. "Show your boy what you got."

Patrick gave a quick nod and stepped back a few paces from Dylan. His son looked on with greedy delight as Maverick came to stand next to him, one hand resting gently on his ass. The older equine tucked his hands under his vest and pulled it up, arms rising to expose his lightly sweaty pits in all their musky glory. The strong smell made Dylan moan, and as he rubbed at himself, Maverick massaged his ass.

"Your dad's got a nice smell, huh?" he said. His hand felt so good on Dylan's rear.

"Yeah," the young zebra replied breathily. It reminded him of the times he'd enter the bathroom after his father had just showered and be lucky enough to find his discarded clothes. He would shut the door, stick his nose into them, and breathe as deeply as he dared. It got him so hard, half the time he'd jerk off there and then, using his father's discarded shirt or underwear as a cum rag. His father thought he always offered to do the laundry out of filial love; in reality, he didn't want him finding his clothes encrusted with evidence of his son's secret lust.

Maverick was looking across at him as the young equine watched his father undoing his belt, and the horse tapped him on the side of the muzzle. "What are you thinking?" he murmured, and when the zebra blushed and looked away, he chuckled. "Dylan... there are no more secrets. Whatever you're imagining, whatever you feel -- tell him."

Patrick had paused to look at the two of them, and Dylan stared back at him. His friend was right. He didn't need to keep any of it to himself anymore. Haltingly, but with more and more confidence as he went on, he told his father about what he used to do with his clothes. His father's eyes grew wider, and his mouth dropped open, and when his son stopped speaking, he gulped. He was shaking a little, and the bulge in his pants had grown noticeably.

Maverick's voice curled into the space between them. "How does that make you feel, slut?" he purred. He squeezed Dylan's ass a little harder. "Your sexy son, rubbing one out from the smell of you."

"It's so fucking hot," the older zebra said, his words faint with desire.

"Yeah, it is," Maverick agreed. He pointed at his lover's underwear, showing above the loosened jeans. "Give those to him now."

The zebra's jeans slid down his legs at terminal velocity. His boxers -- bulging with the curve of hard zebra meat -- followed suit, letting his lengthy cock jump out in front of him, stiff as a branch. Patrick paused, and then tossed the boxers at Dylan, who caught them and immediately pressed them to his nose. They were still warm from his father's body, smelling faintly of sweat -- and heavily of pre-cum. His father dripped as much as he did, it seemed. Half the material was damp with the fluid, and Dylan had to force his lungs to keep working after the first breath in. They all but seized up. It was so strong, so sexual, so fucking male. Dylan wanted to drown in it.

"Look at him, Dylan." Maverick's command took control of Dylan's muscles, and he lowered the boxers to stare at his father. The older zebra stood nude in front of them, a Grecian statue to eroticism. His mane hairs glowed in the sunlight, and his ears stood tall, focused on his son. A 'v' of damp skin sat at his neck, where the wifebeater hadn't covered him, pointing down to the firm chest below. His stripes obscured the slightly bulging belly under that, and then faded to deep black at his crotch. The folds of his sheath were being pulled outward by the incredible length of dick that protruded there, alternately matte and shiny, hanging on top of classically massive testicles. The whole ensemble appeared so large, it seemed the zebra might topple over if he didn't brace properly.

"Oh, Dad..." Dylan said. "Fuuuuuck... you're beautiful."

Patrick beamed at his son's obvious pleasure in his body, and his eyes dropped to his son's midsection as he rubbed his hands along his pecs and belly. "I showed you mine, Dylan..." he said teasingly. "Will you show me yours?"

The younger zebra undressed at light speed, clothes flying about as he kicked them off, left and right. His cock was not quite a match for his sire's, but it did the equine proud nonetheless. Patrick's tongue snaked over his lips as he looked at it, and his tail whisked to either side excitedly. "Gorgeous, son," he said happily, his eyes keen, taking it all in. "You're a stud."

Maverick -- now the only one still clothed -- took a step forward and slapped a hand on Dylan's flat belly. "See -- told you. He's got abs." When the young equine looked at his friend in confusion, he nodded at Patrick. "Your dad asked me if you had abs. I said I was pretty sure you had a four-pack." He fondled his friend's muscles. "But it's actually a six. Good boy." His teeth shone white when he smiled, and Dylan's eyes flickered to his father, who gave a half-smile as he fondled himself, looking at the two young equines.

Dylan huffed, his mind trying to keep up. So much goodness, in such a short time. He looked at Maverick and tried to inject a note of dominance into it. "So, is your work done here? Do you head off into the sunset now, leaving me to fuck my dad in peace?" There was a shuddered sigh of excitement from Patrick as he said that. Maverick's smile didn't waver. He sauntered over to Patrick, pulled the zebra's muzzle towards him, and kissed him deeply. When they stopped, he looked back at Dylan and licked his lips.

"I really did want you two to find one another, Dylan," he said. "But...I also kinda wanted to find whether two horny zebras are twice as fun as just one." He curled a finger at Dylan, and the young zebra floated towards his friend and his father.

Patrick slid an arm across Dylan's shoulders when he got close and kissed his son as deeply as he had the Clydesdale. Maverick took their dicks in hand and stroked them as he watched. Dylan could taste his friend on his father's lips: grass and apples. Only a horse would use a mouthwash like that. His tongue curled around his father's like a snake, their breath and spit mingling, their moans the same. "I love you, Dad," he said, eyes closed, focused on the sensations. "You're so fucking hot, and hung, and sexy, and cute, and hot..." He slid a hand down, under his father's balls, and stroked the hole there. "Are you tight, Daddy?" he breathed into him. Another shiver when he called him Daddy. "Did Maverick loosen you up last night, Daddy?"

He started kissing down his father's neck, across his clavicle and over his pectoral. He sucked on a nipple, and it hardened under him like a little cock. His father's hand stroked his mane as he licked and nibbled and swirled around it. "I watched you two, Daddy. Last night. On the webcam, I spied on Maverick fucking you. It turned me on so much, Daddy. I was jerking off, watching you be Maverick's horny bitch, and I wished it was me. I wanted to be the one standing behind you, filling you with my cock. Giving back what you gave me..."

Patrick was shaking at that revelation. He just repeated "oh, fuck, oh, fuck" in a soft voice as his son spoke. Dylan lifted his head, looking up into his father's eyes. They were bright in the shadows under his brow as he looked back at his son. "You're a real sub, Daddy," he said, and Patrick quivered.

"Yes, son."

"Are you a bottom bitch, Daddy?"

The zebra could barely speak. Dylan felt his hole fluttering under his finger. "Y--yes, son."

"Do you want to be fucked by your son's dick? To be filled with his cum?"

Patrick gave in to his body's trembling, sinking to his haunches in front of his son. He looked up at him in utter adoration and love. "Yes, son. Fuck yes, I fucking want that more than anything. I want you to fuck me and fill me and make me your bitch."

Dylan's heart was jubilant, lust and exhilaration overruling every other feeling. His mind skipped through twenty different things he wanted to do. He couldn't choose. Everything was wonderful. He stared down at his sexy, needy father wordlessly. Maverick had stepped back, pulling out his cock and stroking it as he watched them. Dylan looked at him, remembering what he'd said the night before, and suddenly knowing what he wanted from his father.

The young zebra tried to inject as much dominance into his voice as he could. "Worship me, Daddy." A grunt of approval from Maverick made Dylan flash him a knowing look. "Make me feel as good as Maverick did, before he fucked you so hard my room smelled of sex for days." His hand ran through his sire's mane, as he'd seen Maverick do the night before. "I had to fall asleep with your cum-scent in my muzzle, Daddy. It was torture." Wonderful torture. "Make it better."

Patrick groaned, his head lowering to Dylan's feet, stroking his hooves. "Yes, sir," he murmured. He rubbed his muzzle against Dylan's fetlocks. "What have I ever done in my life," he said in a voice filled with wonder, "to deserve a son as perfect as you?" His mouth kissed up Dylan's leg: soft, tender touches that tickled like butterflies. Dylan moaned breathily, rubbing his father's head as he slowly rose. "I barely know what to say, Dylan," Patrick said as he moved to Dylan's inner leg. His head was pressing up against the underside of his son's cock now, the sable length curving down over his back, dripping pre-cum that ran down the groove of his back. He licked gently against one thigh, and then the other. "You taste like honey," he said, and Dylan smiled. He'd thought the same of his father's smell. "You feel like stone." The tongue lapped along the underside of his balls, and Dylan gasped and gripped his father's mane. "Hard... and smooth... and endless." The young stallion's cock rose and fell as his father's head undulated beneath it.

Patrick's hands oozed up the outside of Dylan's legs, sliding together at the waist to press fingers hard against his abs. They slid up and down his hard belly, catching slightly on the rills between the muscle. "I want to feel you every day," he moaned. "I want to be near you, to love you, to adore you..." The hands rose higher, gripping Dylan's pecs. They weren't as bulky as Maverick's mountains, but their slimness seemed to make Patrick just as happy. The older zebra's mouth opened, and Dylan choked an"Oh, fuck" as his sire's mouth swallowed one of his balls. His suckling was firm, but controlled; he knew exactly how far he could pull the ball back in its leathery sack before he had to release it. The wet pop as it exited his mouth was one of the most sexual noises Dylan had ever heard. Both his testicles received equal attention, one after the other, until they dripped with spit. "Daddy gave you these big balls, son," came the husky words, and Dylan gasped as his father's hands fell down to his ass, gripping the cheeks and squeezing the hard muscle. "Gorgeous, heavy stud nuts that taste like heaven. Full of your hot, athletic cum... Daddy wants every drop." A final lick across both, and then his father's mouth found its way to his cock, slobbering over the loose, slippery tip. "On him," he said between licks of the cock-tip, "and in him, and all around him... being mated not just by a son... but by a master..."

The hands on his butt flexed, twisting Dylan's body around before he knew what was going on. Maverick caught his arms before he fell; his friend's cock hung from his pants below, huge and turgid, and Dylan stared down at it in awe. Then Maverick's hand brought his head up for a kiss, just as his father's mouth started licking around and inside the sensitive doughnut under his tail, and rapturous pleasure flooded Dylan's body. He gripped Maverick's head, kissing him back with lust and desire, and forced his rear into his father's face, making him whimper and press his mouth deeper into his son's secret place. The three equines snuffled and smacked and groaned in their bliss; the slut, the son, and the stud.

Eventually, Maverick broke it off. His face was flushed and Dylan could smell the musk building on him. Pure stallion need. It made him whimper, and Maverick smiled a shark-like smile, then spoke loudly enough for all three to hear.

"So, now that we're all warmed up..."

---

The three equines made their way indoors, a forest of long cocks bouncing ahead of them. No sooner had they moved the coffee table to make space than Maverick ordered Patrick to his knees. The zebra fell instantly, rubbing his hand greedily over the horse's cock and gripping his leg. The stallion looked over at Dylan. "Why don't you join the slut?" he suggested. The young zebra hesitated, but Maverick smiled and pulled off his shirt. His perfect young body, bulging in all the right places, was wordlessly convincing. Dylan sank down, alongside his father, face to dick with Maverick's crotch.

"Your son's a virgin," the horse told Patrick, resting a hand on top of his head. "I don't want to live in a world where a stud like him hasn't fucked a slut like you - or been fucked by me." His other hand took his cock and slapped it against Patrick's muzzle. "So, show your son how it's done." The horny older zebra nodded and worked at the stallion's belt, pulling down his pants and underwear rapidly. As he did, Dylan stared at the massive cock that extended out from his friend's crotch. Shorter than his, or his Dad's, but noticeably thicker. It was hard to tell if the flare would be bigger when fully engorged, but given the zebra couldn't even fit two hands around the shaft, it probably would be. The shaft curved a little to the side, too, and a large white mottled spot covered half of the flesh above the medial ring. Rather than detracting from its beauty, it enhanced it. It looked distinctive, memorable. Dylan would certainly never forget it. When his father leaned in closer, beginning to lick along the shaft, his eyes closed in bliss, Dylan leaned in too, heart pounding, ready to taste his first cock.

Maverick's prick tasted like horse. The young zebra couldn't think of another way to describe it. Just... stallion. Maverick's strength, and his familiar odour, and the subtle tangs and flavours that made horses unique...the zebra could taste all of them, like the notes of a fine wine. Dick was way better than wine, though. He knew that the moment he touched it. Feeling that firm, warm flesh with his sensitive tongue -- even feeling the faint heartbeat through the skin. Knowing that this was another guy's dick, another sexy, virile male's penis, offered to him to taste and experience and serve... fuck, was this how it always was? He felt like more than half of the experience was in his head. Simply knowing what he was doing, and to whom, was turning him on more than any porn he'd ever seen.

That seemed to be true for his father too, who was moaning and slurping along the penis alongside him like he'd won a jackpot. Ding ding ding. Patrick Keevey and his son win a night of fucking one another like horny dirty animals - plus the bonus prize, a studly handsome demigod of a stallion. Dylan looked up, along Maverick's chest to his face. The gorgeous horse was looking down with half-closed eyes, panting and grunting wordlessly whenever the zebras did something he especially liked. His rippling abs looked like smooth cobblestones from this angle, his nipples like peaks on grand rolling hills. It felt really satisfying to be giving pleasure to such a beautiful stallion.

Dylan left his father to attend to the penis, and pressed his muzzle inwards, against Maverick's sheath, licking, nibbling and nosing around the dense folds of skin. When he felt Maverick's hand press down on his head, he smiled and pressed in harder. His tongue lapped up the drops of sweat that had formed between them, their saltiness like a palate cleanser for the rest. Maverick's wonderful smell filled his nostrils as his father's had outside. He soaked himself in it, lapping up as much as he could before breaking off to reach for his father's mouth and kiss him, sharing the taste of their mutual stud with him. His father's hand slid down to fondle his son's cock as they kissed, and the young zebra moaned with delight. As the kiss ended, he reached down to grope his sire's own sable monster, then met his eyes.

"Try it like this, Daddy," he said. His free hand came up to cup the Clydesdale nut closest to him -- not as monstrous as those of the zebras, but easily filling his palm -- and slid his head along the stiff, erect shaft to make out with one side of Maverick's flare. His father matched the actions, and between them, they covered the flare with their mouths, tongues and lips working gently to massage the tender flesh, even as their hands massaged Maverick's balls on one side and one another's endowments on the other, respectively.

The stallion stud didn't seem to have expected such intensive attention, because the hand on top of Dylan's head quavered a little, and the zebra felt the dick shift about as its owner made to move back. He left the flare only long enough to look up and say, "Don't you fucking dare move, stud," before resuming. His hand tightened a little on the fat ball he held, as insurance. Fingers slid all the way around it, stroking the velvet skin and lifting it to feel its weight, then pulling down to feel the skin tug back. He could practically feel the millions of little swimmers inside, champing at the bit to fly free and do their duty. They'd find little enough to impregnate in his throat, though.

Maverick's breathing had grown hoarser, and Dylan's mouth could no longer surround his half of the flare as it swelled, becoming a sexy, bulbous thing, shiny with strained flesh and the promise of a stallion's climax. He sped up his stimulation of his father's penis, and felt the same happen to him. He needed this now. He wanted to orgasm when his friend did, and his dad... all their cum, mixing together, hot and sticky and wonderful...

"Come for me, Maverick," he tried to say through a mouthful of dick. Maverick probably couldn't make it out, but he was too far gone, anyway. When Dylan glanced up, his friend's face was pointed at the ceiling, his hands gripping their manes, muscles straining like sharp outcrops across the geology of his body. Dylan let go of the nut he held, and gripped his friend's fat shaft at the medial ring instead, sliding the loose skin back and forth. "Lemme taste you, Mav," he begged. "Let both of us. Come on, stud, show us what you got in those big fat nuts and this gorgeous cock..."

His father moaned in agreement, and their mouths worked the flare as best they could. It was so swollen now, they couldn't even cover half of it. Dylan could feel the heat of it on his face. The stallion was making haaa, haaa, haaaaaaa sounds, and the zebra pulled back, looking into the eye of the storm, and his father joined him. He gripped the medial hard, feeling the flesh like burning rock, and watching the pendulous balls disappear up into his body. But still, he didn't cum. He was so close. What would it take...?

One of his father's hand slid up Maverick's body, and took a nipple between two fingers, and twisted. Hard.

"FFFFUUUUUUUU...!"

The stallion's trumpeting roar matched the explosion from his cock. Dylan felt it in his hand -- cum slamming up through the dick with a force that made it feel like a steel rod -- a fraction of a second before the flare bulged wide, and opened its wide eye, and shot a massive jet of semen directly into the zebra's face. Its strength caught him unawares: he'd imagined cum splattering over him and his father like soft rain-drops, a pleasant pitter-patter of warm stallion benediction. This was...a flood, an attack. He'd never imagined it was this intense. A second jet filled his gaping mouth, and he swallowed instinctively. Hot, and runny, and wonderful. The power of his gorgeous friend's orgasm -- and his father's continued rapid stroking of his dick -- did for him what the nipple tweak had done for Maverick. With a rapturous scream that earned him another mouthful of his friend's blood-hot semen, his own cock flared and Dylan began emptying his zebra balls.

In that respect, if none other, he had Maverick beat. His cum was as thick as syrup, and it splattered directly into his father's chest -- before his sire jerked his penis up, and had the rest hit his muzzle, shoulders, and mane. Two equine dicks emptied themselves over the older zebra, soaking him to the skin, and he gasped, and moaned, and sighed in happiness. His mouth opened as wide as it could to take in cum from both of them, but most still dribbled out from between his lips. Dylan was still riding a wave of endorphins when he heard his father say, "Kiss me". His head turned, and their lips met.

A mixture of horse and zebra semen -- a lot thicker together than the mouthful of horse offering the young male had just swallowed -- oozed over into his mouth when his father kissed him. It tasted different, too: richer, muskier. Dylan let it coat his mouth, swirled into every corner by his father's eager tongue, and rubbed his hand along his father's face and down his body, feeling the wetness that his own cum had caused. His father was a mess: every inch of his hair was slick with cum, and it dripped from his elbows and his muzzle, making dull plops as it splashed into the veritable sea of whiteness that surrounded them.

Dylan rocked back onto his hooves, his cock satisfied, softening across his thigh. His father knelt before him, rubbing his hands slowly over his hair, and his mane, squeezing the cum between his fingers. And Maverick still stood before them, massive and horny and unsated. If not for the dribble of cum from his rock-hard dick, there'd be no indication at all that he'd just expended himself. Dylan licked his friend's tip clean of cum and smacked his lips, then looked all around them at the mess.

"Well," he said, his voice the only sound over laboured breathing and soft moans, "I think the carpet's fucked."

His father's arm slid over his shoulders, and he stroked Dylan's semi-flaccid cock. "Why does the carpet get fucked before I do, son?" his father asked petulantly. He was stroking himself still as well, and Dylan realised he hadn't felt his father orgasm while holding his dick.

"Did you cum, Daddy?" he asked.

Patrick shook his head. "I'm not eighteen anymore, handsome. I don't have your stamina. I've got to make it really count." He took the shaft in his hand, cum making it slippery. "I'll only finish when this sexy thing is inside me."

Dylan kissed his father again, the flirting all he needed to harden up again. "Ready when you are," he said huskily to his father, then looked up at Maverick's looming form. "Does sir need a break to recover?" he taunted his friend. He obviously didn't; the Clydesdale's cock was every inch as hard as it had been since they started. Maverick took it in hand and patted it against Dylan's face as proof.

"Gosh, I don't know, Dylan," he rumbled. "Does it feel like my dick needs a break?"

Dylan licked at it whenever it got close to his lips. "Hmm, tastes up to scratch... but it's never had a tight end before. Think it can handle it?" He smiled cheekily up at his friend.

"That's football, dumbass," Maverick said with a badly concealed smile. "And you know what they say: fuck one horny slut of a zebra, you've fucked them all." He stroked Patrick's head. "If it can handle your daddy's porn ass, I think it can handle yours juuuust fine." Patrick put his fingers to his lips, smiling, and Maverick chuckled throatily. "We'll soon find out which Keevey's the tightest, either way."

He helped them both to their feet, and Dylan pressed his and his father's body against Maverick, smearing him with cum as well. "Get down in the gutter with the rest of us, stud," he said. Maverick scooped some cum up from his sheath and slipped the fingers into Dylan's mouth.

"No other fucking place I'd rather be right now," he said, smirking appreciatively as Dylan gasped and suckled on his thick fingers. Then he pulled them out and slid them around to the young zebra's rear, pushing them roughly into his ass. "Except here."

Dylan grunted at the sensation of two stallion fingers spreading him open roughly. It felt incredible. Way fucking better than when he did it to himself; he was always slow, and careful. Maverick just forced his way inside, like he owned the hole and all the pleasure it contained. Dylan decided that he could accept that kind of ownership for now, if it felt this fucking good.

The young zebra scooped some congealing cum off of his father's chest, then pulled him closer and put a hand around to his father's rear, sticking his index finger into him in turn. Patrick's face went slack, and he made low, needy noises. "Two horny zebra sluts," Maverick said, looking between them eagerly. "Greedy to get fucked."

"Who you calling a slu_uuuhhhh_..." Dylan's half-hearted response fell apart when Maverick pushed his fingers deeper and tickled a spot somewhere inside him.

"That's a slut's noise," the horse said, probing the spot again. "All proper sluts make it. Try it on yours."

Dylan's fingers had been gently probing his father's hole -- so wonderfully tight -- and now he pushed in more, seeking out the same area in him. "Just there, son," his father whispered, and then lifted his head and cried out. "Fuck! Ah, fuck, son, yes, Dylan, yessss, right there...uhnnn...mmmmhhh..." He devolved into whimpers, his body squirming, trying to press back against the fingers. Dylan was breathing heavily, watching his father wriggle around like a horny, needy sub. It was so fucking hot - and then Maverick's hand slid around the other side and joined him.

They finger-fucked Patrick together, exploring and stretching his asshole with slippery fingers that slid in and out with wet, squelching noises. The older zebra gripped the shoulders of his two paramours for support, alternately squeezing his legs together and moaning for pause, then spreading them wide and begging for more. A throbbing heat was pulsing inside Dylan now, strong and steady; similar to lusts he'd felt many times before, but far hotter. Everything before had been as a quick and furious flame, a burning-off of loose chaff, merely clearing the way for what was to come. Now, he felt like he glowed from within like a fire-worked sword: a deep, white intensity that made him eager to explore his most forbidden fantasy.

"Do you like getting fingered by me, slut?" he asked his father, gazing into his eyes. He felt so turned on, calling his father a slut. Patrick's head swung to the side, eyes lidded, a thin line of happy drool running down one jowl.

"Yes, son," he murmured, and Dylan pressed the button inside him, and make him squeal like a girl.

"Call me sir, slut," he said, and felt Patrick's asshole clench in need and delight.

"Yes, sir," the older equine replied, looking into his son's eyes. "I'm your slut, sir, I want to be used by you..."

"You will be, slut," he growled. He couldn't help it; it just felt right. "I'll use you just like Maverick did. Like all those porn stars did." He paused, imagining the endless train of dicks that had fucked his father before him. "Maverick fucked you so good, Daddy. It was so hot watching you. You're such a subby bitch, Daddy, it makes me so fucking horny. I want to fuck your hole every day, every night, forever..."

"Do it, sir," Patrick begged, hanging on every dirty word his son said. "I'm yours, sir, to fuck and use forever... I need you, sir... son, I need to feel your cock in me..."

Dylan pulled his father right next to him and kissed him roughly. "Beg for my cock, you hot fucking sub bitch," he snarled. "Beg for your sexy boy to fuck you, Daddy."

He pushed his father backwards, and Patrick fell onto the couch. Deprived of his fingering, the zebra reached between his legs with his own hands, desperately trying to push his digits as deeply as the two young studs had managed to. He splayed his legs as wide as possible, and his hard dick lay across his belly, drooling pre-cum.

"Fuck me, sir," he pleaded. Two fingers were inside him, and he forced a third in greedily. His eyes begged. "I need a breeding, sir, and I want it to be you. I'm your slut, Dylan. Breed your daddy, make him scream with pleasure with your cock in him." He whimpered. "Now, sir, please, fuck me now, fuck your daddy-slut..."

Dylan stood between his father's legs, holding his cock out, watching his father's eyes slide between it and his face. He looked like neediness personified. It made Dylan feel fantastic. Having his gorgeous father lying before him, to be used as he wished. If he'd stroked himself just a little, he might have cum on the spot. Spraying his load all across that hot body. Fuck... now he wanted to do that. But, no... there was no rush. He could explore all his fantasies in time.

So, to start...

Dylan slapped his father's hands away from his ass and dropped to his knees, sticking his muzzle in the place of the fingers. He felt his father's thighs clench around his head as his son's breath tickled his skin, and the older male's hands gripped his mane, pulling him forward as Patrick screamed with lust. He let it happen. His father's asshole was well-loosened already, and he could taste the cum they'd been using to lubricate it. Musky zebra and intense horse flavours, blending wonderfully with his father's own unique zest. Dylan's lips massaged the puffy ring as his tongue dove deeper. Patrick screamed again, legs tightening further and hands pulling hard on Dylan's mane, trying to force him deeper, trying to fuck himself with his son's long tongue. Dylan closed his eyes, blissfully happy in the warm, tight embrace of his father's thighs -- and the warmer, tastier embrace of his inner muscles. His tongue became a hummingbird, zipping left and right, probing here and there, each touch setting off a different cascade of groans and whimpers and oaths from his father. Patrick was beside himself with pleasure, and Dylan could feel the couch bounce as he thrashed his head from side to side, the feelings too intense to express otherwise. His father's unbridled ecstasy was heavenly to experience. The young zebra did not think he had ever been happier.

Dylan did not know how much time had passed in that warm, wet heaven before he heard Maverick speak. He heard him speak, but hadn't heard what he said: Patrick's legs were wrapped so tightly around his son's head, he couldn't hear properly. The young zebra almost had to pry them apart, and his father gave a sad cry when he felt the tongue withdraw. Dylan lifted his head to see Maverick standing next to him, his cock huge and beautiful.

"I want to fuck, Dylan," the stallion repeated.

The zebra took his proffered member in one hand and sucked the tip, looking up at his friend. The big Clydesdale smiled down at him, stroking his head. "Good boy. Getting it wet for your hole?" Dylan nodded, slurping and licking. When Maverick pulled away and gestured for him to stand, he did, and his friend pointed at Patrick. "I think he might die if you don't give him what he wants first."

Patrick tucked his arms under his thighs, pulling his legs wide. His dark, swollen hole was shining with spit and cum, and flexing open and shut like a geisha's fluttering fan. His face was beatific, eyes wide and excited, waiting patiently with the sure knowledge that his lover, his son, would give him what they both desired. Dylan stared down at him with wondering eyes, and then stepped between his open legs, placing his flare at his father's hole. He pressed ever so gently against it, just firmly enough to keep it in position. He paused, staring down at his father's face. So handsome. So beloved. The big hazel eyes of his sire looked back up at him with adoration, shining with simple, happy tears.

"I love you, Dylan," his father said, voice choking with emotion. Dylan put his hands against his sides, stroking him.

"I love you too, Dad," he said, kissing one elevated knee. "So much..."

His flare squeezed through his father's muscled ring, and the zebra's cock pressed inwards, eager to discover the secrets within.

Their moans were equally soft, as if loud cries would spoil the moment. Patrick's eyes closed entirely, his chest rising and falling in long, slow breaths. Dylan's eyes remained wide; he didn't want to miss a second of his father's expression. Heat and pressure welcomed every additional inch of coal-black zebra dick that slid inside his father, wrapping around the prick like it was trying to turn it into diamond. The young male grunted and pressed in more fiercely, as his flare reached depths his tongue hadn't. "Fuuuck... you're so tight, Daddy," he whispered. It felt unbelievable. He kept pushing in, drinking in the sight of his father's face as he felt his son opening him up. Blissful, purely happy. There was nothing in the world but Dylan and he, no feelings but those their bodies gave to one another. The zebras mated with a slow passion that belied their proclivity for rapid, filthy rutting. Dylan wanted to make this last as long as possible.

His sheath eventually pressed up against his father's skin. Their balls mated, the fertile orbs resting gently against one another. Dylan reached forward to cup the side of his father's face, and his sire strained upward, permitting them a ghost of a kiss. He fell backwards with an 'oof', and Dylan chuckled.

"Careful," he said lovingly.

His father snorted, squeezing his ass tight around the cock inside him. "Don't you worry. I'm not that fragile. I was fucking dicks bigger than yours when you were still in diapers... sir." He winked, and Dylan could not help the grin that covered his face. He adored this wonderful zebra so much, it made his chest hurt.

"Speaking of getting railed by a runaway train of a dick," his father continued, "are you just going to stand there batting those pretty eyes at me, or are you ready to show Maverick how a real equine fucks?" He looked up, behind Dylan, and the young zebra felt his friend step up right behind him. His tremendous cock slipped in between Dylan's ass-cheeks, and a hand lifted his tail high, making the zebra whinny and flatten his ears. Holy fuck... the Clydesdale was so big. Could he really take all of that...?

Maverick read his body language and rumbled in amusement. "Too late now, buddy," he said, slowly frotting his cock against the zebra. "You ever played with toys before?" Dylan nodded.

"Were they pretty big?" Maverick asked. "Thick, and long?"

"Fuck yeah. Probably even bigger than you," the zebra lied.

"That's good," the tall stallion rumbled. "Then this won't hurt much." One hand slid around Dylan's chest, as he'd done to his father the night before, and the other rested on his shoulder, bending him ever so slightly forward as the horse leaned back, lining up his cock. A few fingers slopped some lukewarm cum onto and into his hole, and then...

The penetration hurt. How could it not? Dylan gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax. He could do this. He wanted this. Fuck yeah, he did! His fucking huge, hung, stud Clydesdale friend was shoving his fantastic prick into him. Half of his fantasies for two years had been about this. He closed his eyes, remembering all those long nights and secret desires. The things he'd whispered to Maverick in the dark, imagining him there. Well -- he was here, now. And he'd told Dylan he enjoyed the things his father had said about his body. So...

"You're such a muscle stud, Maverick," he said, eyes shut, head resting back against the stud's shoulder. "Your dick is incredible. Uhhh... it's so big..."

Maverick's breathing was already rapid, but it sped up as Dylan spoke. "Bigger than your toys, bitch?" he asked, all dominance and power.

"Yes, sir," Dylan said. The pain began to fade. "I lied, sir. You're bigger than all of them." He took short breaths as the cock sank in. "I love looking at your dick, sir. I love watching you shower. Seeing the water streaming off your muscles, your mane... those fat low hangers... that massive fuckbeast... you're fucking perfect, sir." Right here, right now, he was. A nameless god of sex, bridging the gap between fantasy and need. Dylan could feel his friend's dick sliding inside him, pushing and stretching as it went. His belly distended a little when the flare pressed against it, and he felt it with one hand, disbelieving. "So thick, sir... so wonderful..." It was beyond wonderful. The pleasure of that unending fleshy snake pressing into him was drowning out the last grumbles of pain, and when he felt Maverick's balls touching the back of his legs, he groaned. The three equines were still for a few moments, savouring one another. Then Maverick leaned closer to Dylan, and licked his neck.

"It's time to fuck your Daddy, slut," he whispered. And Dylan pulled out of his father for the first time, and pushed back in.

Maverick kept pace with his motions. Dylan would slide backwards, and so would the horse. When Dylan thrust inwards, the horse would pause for a second, then follow suit. Dylan tried to separate the chaotic feelings, but couldn't. It was too overwhelming. His father's ass was flawless: years of experience being brought to bear on his son's cock. His length meant his flare never left the tight tunnel; only dark, lubed shaft slid in and out. The older zebra had stopped holding his legs apart with his hands, and was gripping the couch behind him: leverage he used to push himself towards his son on each inward thrust. He grunted and whinnied and snorted and brayed, animalistic noises for an animalistic fuck. The rawness of it drove Dylan crazy, and made him try to fuck his father even harder, gripping his sire's hocks for leverage.

Behind him, Maverick's dick had turned his lower body into a half-numb orb of pleasure. Dylan hardly felt the cock itself, except when it made his abs bulge. It was a constant current of electric feeling, originating at one special spot deep within, and radiating outwards like a spider web. The thrilling tendrils reached as far as his own cock, making it twitch and spurt pre-cum into his father, which squirted back out wetly each time he withdrew and oozed down his taint, soaking first into his tail hairs and then the sofa cushions. The smell permeated the room, floating in the air like incense, coiling around the three equines as they fucked one another's brains out.

Dylan barely noticed when Maverick hilted within him and held it there, arms gripping him tightly. The stallion began moving in concert with the zebra, his bulk and strength adding extra power to the zebra's fucks. Patrick noticed instantly, his wordless cries going up an octave, and then becoming horny, begging entreaties.

"Fuck, son, fuck, uhhhh... fuck, that feels so good, boy, oh fuck, never stop fucking Daddy, son... I never want to stop... mmmhhhnn..." His hands gripped the cushions so hard they went white. "Harder, boy, rut me harder, you sexy fuck, I wanna be full of your cock, son, your beautiful cock, oh fuck you're such a stud, boy, fuck me like a stallion, son, fuck your daddy's bitch hole, you hot fucking stud... come on, Dylan, fuck me harder, make me never forget the first time you fucked your Dad..."

Maverick's hips felt fused to Dylan's. They moved as a single unit, all dick and mass and sexual energy. Dylan's hips made smacking sounds every time he hilted in his father, and he felt his flare growing fatter as Patrick's ass clenched down on it. The older zebra had put one hand on his cock, and Dylan's lust-addled mind found a way to make some basic words. "No... no, Dad..." He pulled the hand away and grabbed his father's cock himself, holding it upright as his friend fucked his father through him, squeezing and pawing at it. It was so long, he could lean forward and lick the flare every time Maverick pushed them forward. His father's pre-cum was delicious. He squeezed it harder, like a fruit, trying to extract more. Dad's huge cock, Daddy's porn star pride. He would cum, he'd make his father cum, and he'd swallow every drop of seed he provided. He'd taste the inimitable flavour of the zebra that made him, and it would be perfect.

It was Maverick that took them all the final few steps, speaking hoarsely over Dylan's shoulder. He had to pause every few words to take a breath. "You're being fucked by your son, slut. Just what you... always wanted." Snort. "He's a sexy fuck, too. His ass is... amazing, but I think yours is better. Maybe..." A grunt, his flare growing inside. "Maybe I'll take it for another try once Dylan's unloaded his hot white spunk inside you. I bet zebra cum makes... the best fucking lube." He kissed Dylan roughly on the neck, his teeth scraping over his skin. "Say to your boy what you said to me when I fucked you, slut. Say the words that led to all this."

Afterwards, Dylan wondered how many times Patrick had thought those words, because they fell from his lips without pause, like little treasures. "Fuck me, Dylan..." he moaned, every inch the slut, existing only to be rutted and filled and used again. "Fuck me, Dylan... yes, son, fuck me... breed me, breed your father, boy, fuck his ass full of your cum... ffffuuuuuuuhhhHHHH...!"

Like dominoes falling, the equines climaxed. Patrick's flare, still held upright by his son, ballooned and then seemed to burst with cum, the powerful blasts shooting high into the air and splattering back down over the three of them. His ass contracted like a vise, trying to expel the zebra cock that filled it. Dylan screamed, and Maverick gave a final huge thrust, driving his friend as deep as possible inside his father right before his own orgasm. The young zebra's mind went blank, every sense overloaded with pleasure, but the horny reptile part of him remembered to pull his father's cock towards him and open his mouth.

The porn star's orgasms had always been powerful, but he'd been teased out for ages that day, and this one exceeded his regular performance. The creamy liquid thumped into the back of Dylan's mouth like a shotgun blast, and he swallowed instinctively, first tasting his father's hot semen, and then feeling it warm him, all the way down to his belly. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, and as Patrick's jizz continued to splatter over him and his father's ass gave his dick the massage of a lifetime, he reached his own climax.

The young zebra cried out with each blast of seed from his electrified dick, deep within his sire; wordless exultations that echoed off the rafters and mingled with the zebra cum raining down on them. His ass was squeezing down on the broad tree-trunk of flesh within himself, but it was only when Maverick's grunting penetrated his mind that he became aware of the other hot, runny feeling inside him as his friend's balls emptied themselves for the second time that day, completing their libidinous trinity.

Shivering, exhausted muscles slumped, and voices lowered from squeals, to moans, to heavy, satisfied breathing. Dylan cried out just once more, when Maverick pulled out of him: his flare was still gigantic, and it stretched his ring like a rubber band as it popped out. But the stallion's cum followed it out at once, soothing the pain and soaking his legs. Warm, and wonderful. His cock still buried deep inside his father, Dylan lay forward and met him in a long, deep kiss. Zebra cum covered them both and mingled with the kiss like spice. Neither tried to say anything. Words could add nothing to this moment. They were joined, at last, as they had both wanted for so long. They had loved one another in public and in secret, and now their love was consummated. Patrick's penis -- still drooling the dregs of his orgasm -- shifted about loosely as they kissed, sliding on the now-slippery flesh. If one had peered into the space between them, the thin line of semen it left behind might almost have seemed to mark out the symbol of a heart.

Much later, after they'd kissed some more, and started cleaning up, and Patrick had given both Maverick and his son another blowjob, and they'd continued cleaning up, and Maverick had frotted Patrick while the older zebra made out with his son, and then they'd finished cleaning up, they rested. Maverick and Patrick sat on the couch, watching television and drinking a beer. Dylan slept on the couch next to them, his head resting in his father's lap. The young zebra had passed out; overwhelmed, drained, and extremely happy. Patrick absently stroked his son's mane as the television told them breathlessly about the latest developments in solar technology. One hoof was up on the coffee table, and he turned it to one side, noticing a smear of cum on it.

"We really need to stop fucking in our living room," he said with a sigh. "I don't think the carpet can be salvaged, either. Fuck knows what I'll tell the cleaners."

Maverick nodded, then paused, beer bottle halfway to his mouth. "Our living room?"

Patrick blushed. "Well, I mean..." He fiddled with the bottle in his hands. "If you want..."

Maverick grinned, turning to his lover. "Are you asking me to move in?"

The zebra shrugged. "Yeah... I mean, your place is tiny, and you're all alone... and you and Dylan really enjoy one another's company. And..." His voice trailed off.

"...and that way we can fuck a lot more," Maverick supplied. His grin almost bisected his face. "You can say it. It's fine. I want that too, porn dad." He giggled when Patrick batted at his ear. "We can be a cute little family together. I'll get a job next year, after school, and support you and the little one--"

"--he's older than you by three days, and I already have a job--"

"--and at night we can all cuddle into a nice, warm... sticky... mmmh... fuckpile..." Maverick's eyes twinkled. "Just a regular little family. Of three guys. Who fuck like..."

"...studs?" Patrick smiled at him. "Firstly, I'll believe you getting a job when I see it. Secondly..." He leaned over and kissed the stallion. "That sounds pretty great to me."

Maverick clinked his beer bottle against Patrick's and smiled. "To the Studs, then."

Patrick grinned back at him. "Stud Family."