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"Alright, I'm recording."

On that cue your, surprisingly burly for an arctic fox father, started kneeling to the ground beside the beast standing on four legs before you both. Snap, crackles, and pops sounded from his joints to show his more advanced age, having a good 30 years on you. Yet even in his 50s he's trying to prove his youth and about to be be bred all the different ways a feral stallion can find to breed a man. It wouldn't be his first time with an animal either, nor his first time being recorded, as he would often rope you into it with the promise of sloppy seconds, thirds, fourths, this one time even fifths, after the animals got done having their way with him. Sometimes he fancied being the breeder, inviting you to eat out all the loads he shoots from whatever lucky beast he picks that day while he films you instead. More often than not it's dogs, and you've eaten enough fortune cookies to give any takeout restaurant a run for their money, but you've had your share of ewe and mare pussy too. Ewe's your favorite personally, which might sound weird for an otherwise perfectly gay fox.

This would be your first time recording him with a horse though, and honestly maybe your last if he wants to do it in the stables next time. You're not the biggest fan of the smell.

With a grunt, dad rests himself on his knees and starts to reach up and towards his chosen stud. Patsy, you think you remember Steve mentioning, was his name. A huge quarter horse that towered over your own frame and just about matches your dad's. He was already dropping, probably being used to (and enjoyed) visitors from all over trying to have some fun with him. He was far from the only horse here, but "a great one if you're looking for a good reaming, but nothin' that'll kill ya," as the ranch owner put it. He said it with a chuckle but you knew there was some truth to the second part. You've seen this one other canine father and son duo play with the biggest stud this ranch has, named Clyde if you recall correctly, a couple times actually, and it always floors you how much that other boy can pack away. Three feet and some inches of horse dick he had, they measured it before the son's first ever round with him, and it all got put away. You can still hear the squeals and screams he made, the sound his cum made as it hit the ground underneath the mount. You wonder if your dad's is .be the same.

"Thaaat's it, gimme that dick you big boy." Dropping further and further, your dad worshipped it all, gently massaging the head and medial ring and watching as it grew harder and harder, eventually needing to be let go so it can slap up against the huge belly hanging over his head. On the downswing, the man swooped in to grab it between his lips, letting the head into his maw before it could flare too big. The goal for this quiet and chilly night was for it to end up in his belly, after all. Either way it had to get there.

The sounds of your dad's gentle and surprisingly sloppy suction on the horse's cock head could be heard, and were helpfully recorded for all to hear later. It's a shame they wouldn't get to experience the unique scent of you and your dad's mixed arousal. Yours starting as soon as he started kissing at the stallion's dick while your remaining hand wandered down to grope yourself, and his just now making itself known to the world, steadily peeking and growing out of his sheath through the open fly on his jeans. He reaches down with one paw, forcing his knot out into the open air before it can get stuck, moaning around the shaft in his mouth as he does. You know first hand how good his paws are around a swollen knot, your own history with your father dating back just after your 18th birthday, where just minutes after the clock struck midnight you had your dad's paws wrapped around your swollen sheath wrapped knot, coaxing you to watery climax. Maybe the show started half an hour before and you'd been teasing each other the whole day, leaving you both a drippy mess in your briefs just ready for the other's touch, but who's asking?

Working himself down deeper, the man gives a slight gag as the head nears the entrance to his throat. This wasn't how he was going to get his way anyway, but it was a great show for the eventual audience. And you.

He pulls off the stallion's flaring prick with a pop and you can see his progress on it, a light sheen showing on the horse's mottled and veined length where his lips and tongue were able to reach. He's panting now, taking in the sight before looking back to the camera to give his thumbs up. With some more crackles and pops and huffs and grunts he finally stands back up, satisfied with his work, and strips down to his own undies, fully freeing his bits to increasingly musky air. Stepping out of his jeans he motions for you and Patsy to follow, wandering over to where the hay bales were. You couldn't imagine they were that comfy, you never having experience on them as you didn't, ahem, partake in activities with the horses of this ranch. The stallions, anyway, unless it was after the fact and you were putting your own load where a stallion's has just gone.

Your only real experience with taking a critter was with one of the farm dogs, a border collie not much taller than your hip. He was fast and knotted you roughly, leaving you breathless and in pain, and you decided taking it from animals wasn't your thing. Taking it from anyone wasn't necessarily your thing, though you did it from time to time when the mood struck you. Mostly when your dad was feeling a particular way and you felt like obliging him. Make no mistake about your dad being a huge bottom the vast majority of the time, though.

In the time it took your inner monologue to finally be written, your old man put himself on his back atop one of the stacks of hay bales, seemingly curated for the perfect height to align his throat with a horse's crotch. "Hey, lead him over, please."

You do so, grabbing Patsy's lead and showing him what's up, leading him over to where your dad had readied himself. All it takes is a, "Alright, mount up boy. C'mon," from the man and Patsy's mounted up over the bale, forelegs hooked around a conveniently placed hanging bar. This really is the most perverted stable to ever exist, if someone were to inspect this place surely someone would get put away for certain laws. Regardless, you proceed with helping your father get his throat fucked by a horse. A feral one, at least. You'd watch him and hookups he found get on with it before, a few were horses. At first, he struggled, even an anthro horse's cock being bigger than a great dane's or a bernese's, but more and more often he ended up hanging off the edge of a bed just like he's doing now until the select horse blew a load into his throat, him all over himself, and you all over your paw.

And once again, he's all lined up. And it's just about time for you both to relive the experience, just now on four legs. "Make sure you get my neck. Lord fucking knows how far he's gonna bulge it." You're pretty sure he's going to be bulging more than just your dad's neck, if his flare doesn't open up just below his rips you'd be surprised. As your dad takes hold of the hanging horsecock, opens his maw, sticks out his tongue, and leads Patsy the rest of the way there, you're even more sure. The size difference is insane, and your dad's a big man. A big man about to get his throat fucked and his stomach inflated by a fucking horse, to boot. You make sure you have the best angle for what's about to go down.

As lips and tongue touch slightly flared, bulbous cock head, Patsy thrusts. Patsy thrusts, sending inch after inch of horse cock breaching your father's throat. And he gags. Oh boy does he fucking gag. "Hrrrk, glk, ohk gawd, he'sh igm," your dad struggles to say with a horse occupying his throat, but the message is clear. If the same horse currently bulging out his neck wasn't already something to go by, he's well into unknown territory. None of the two legged horses your dad's been with could compare, none of them able to get as deep as the feral beast on top of him now. You can't see much detail other than when the flare passes by when Patsy pulls back only to thrust in deeper, but even that's not reliable as it stops getting pulled up that far. Your dad's lips meet the medial ring and he lets out another gag, not even trying to suck anymore as the horse's doing all the work now, and it won't be long until he's done. The horse's grunts only get more frequent from here on out.

Deeper and deeper he plunges, each one accentuated with a loud gag and whinny and a throb from your dad's dick, shooting another rope of watery fox seed across his abs and chest that each land with a soft paff against his sweat soaked skin and fur_,_ when he doesn't miss and hit the wooden floor of the stables that is. The smell of foxmusk is becoming almost overwhelming, mixed with the usual telltale scent of vulpine (or canine) cum. As well as, newly, the strong scent of a stallion in rut. Diluted with your dad's spit if you had to guess, the horse's pre still carried a hint of something musky and a little bit earthy, and it only grew as more and more of it got spit up through the horsecock down a throat. You can't even begin to imagine what the stretch must feel like, how it must be to take a horse's part into your own body, purely for the beast's own pleasure. You can't imagine how your dad must get off to this.

With only a few more thrusts and a step forward, Patsy fully sheaths his cock down your dad's throat and flares, big time, straight inside your dad's stomach. You swear you could hear the skin stretch, the fur being displaced by the mass inside him, before the slosh of horse cum being deposited makes itself barely audible. It's a cacophony in the stable tonight, a gagging and struggling fox being pumped full of various stages of horse cum, the horse itself whinnying and crying out into the night as it empties what is most likely it's several dozenth load into a willing two legger, and the same fox's son letting out pants and moans as he openly strokes himself in the middle of it all. The sounds, the smells, the sight, it's all almost too much for the poor you as you cry out, shooting your own load onto your old man's face. Sure, why not add more for him to deal with afterwards? He probably appreciates it anyway.

You're sure he does, actually, as with a final grunt and a muffled yell, he spurts his own, much bigger than yours, load across his matted belly. Now belly, and no longer defined-enough abs, as he's been so completely stuffed with horse cum he looks 9 months pregnant. Not a drop of it made it back out as soon as Patsy had himself in your dad's stomach, there was simply no chance for it to. Nothing could get past the seal, but as Patsy finishes his load and draws back, it's a different story. Retching, your dad helps him unsheath his cock, horse cum spurting out any orifice it can find its way out of. The bulge of the flare travels back up your father's stomach, past his ribs, past his collar bones, up his throat, and finally back through his wildly stretched lips and muzzle, ending with a fountain of horse cum you can't wait to use on your own once he takes it up the other end.

Hacking and coughing, you dad tries his best to clear his throat and sinuses of horse jizz, though it doesn't sound like it's much help. Sitting him up and giving him a few good whacks on the back, you manage to help him dislodge enough of it to speak, though it's barely more than a hoarse whisper considering what just happened.

"Go... Huff, go grab Clyde. Please."