FSE

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Warning: 18+ Naughty Stuff

The warm air blowing through the barracks of Ansthoss caused a line of irritated, but very quiet groans throughout the fort. There were rows after rows of young equine studs standing there, trying to remain absolutely still and at attention. It was a ritual that the soldiers of their people had to endure for a very long time. The one soldier named Jon had to refrain from scratching his thighs, his body still new, not a scar on him. Amongst his people, there was a difference between farm muscle...and soldier muscle. He had farm muscle. The officer walking among the lines...he had soldier muscles, lots of them.

The officer stopped, tilting his head at the seven month recruit two rows ahead of Jon. Jon could see the recruit flicking his tail. Immediately he thought, "Don't flick your tail!" It was a cruel humiliation as the officer held out his dark hand, pointing at the recruit, "You!" Jon saw the recruit's knee buckle with shame, but very slowly; he hobbled to the gates that lead to the female's quarters.

Stroking over the brown fur on his thigh, Jon took in a deep breath as one of the officer's passed behind him. His hands became solid, his hoof tips digging into his sides. He used the pain to restrain himself. "No movements! None whatsoever!" he thought to himself. When the officer was well past him, he sighed, lowering his ear from their standing point.

Then there was another warm breeze, just as the officer further towards the front stopped in front of a very wily looking male who probably should have been a scout rather than a grunt. As the officer's gaze fell upon him, he immediately lost all focus. As if the gods were breaking him themselves, he started to flap his lips and he gripped his thighs as his pride started to swell in its sheath. Snorting a warm gust with a look of agitation and disappointment, the officer pointed towards the female quarters, "You! Go!" The male gasped and shook his head, a look of fear in his eyes. "GO!" Again, the grunt refused. Stepping back and pointing at the male, "Take him and throw him out! Soldier, you are no longer a man of the royal army! You have disgraced yourself and you will be cast out!"

Two well developed studs bound in casual light armor approached the male and pulled him out of line like an undisciplined child. His hooves dug into the mud in front of him as he struggled, realizing too late that he should have performed the tasks ordered of him. To be tossed out of the military was a disgrace not only on one's self, but one's entire family. As he was dragged past the wooden gate of the fort, he was cast into the mud outside. Before he could stand, they immediately began to kick and beat him. He yelped and whimpered, desperately trying to block their repeated attempts to bruise him. When they were done and he was covered in hoof slashes and bruises, they lifted him to his hooves and shoved him towards the nearest road. Bruised, disgraced, and naked, he wandered off, dragging himself. He had a long walk to think about what had happened to him because the nearest town was a great deal ways away.

Jon suddenly jumped when he felt a gasp of warm breath hit his shoulder. The whole time he was watching the disgrace of the other male, the grunt was caught off guard by the officer that had snuck up on him. The sweat was building up on Jon's forehead; he didn't have time to restrain himself. He could feel the mighty stud's girth grinding against his arse through the male's leather codpiece.

His heart pounded in his chest, the knot tied in his throat. Hands shaking, Jon desperately tried not to look. But after endless moments of the officer gazing over his shoulder, he couldn't help but cock his head, his ear twitching, and his tail flicked. His grunt was caught in his throat and he gagged on his own tongue as he was pushed out of line and directed towards the female's quarters. Knowing his duties, Jon stood up tall, his shoulders back, chest out as he trudged through the mud. He would not disrespect himself or his family by being sluggish. Placing his big hand on the wet, wooden door, he would go to his destiny with pride.

As he pushed through the door, Jon was instantly welcomed by a female officer, her hands crossed behind her back. Jon brought his right hand to his left shoulder, saluting the solid, busty figure. She had an odd gaze of both authority, yet joy, like she was hiding some family pride she had for the stallion. "Welcome soldier, I suppose you know what is expected of and what you are to sacrifice in the upcoming days?"

Standing as to show his pride once more, he nodded, "Yes, M'am."

She smiled, impressed by his demeanor, "Very well. Stand at ease, Jon. You will now choose your barer." As she swayed her arm towards the last door at the end of a long row of wooden doors, a row of strong looking, trained women showed themselves. There were a total of five in all, but only one caught his eye immediately. There, standing second from the right was Baerta the blacksmith!

"Oh gods...Baerta the blacksmith!" Jon thought to himself. He had to restrain himself, even far better than outside in the yard as he gazed upon the strong beauty without humiliating himself. Baerta had mostly chocolate brown body fur covering every feminine muscle except for that which covered her snout and eyes. She kept her brown mane short so that it did not singe in the fires. It was said that the very fires of her forge burned the ash into her fur, turning it a grayish white. It was also said that it was very rare for Baerta to look at a male without a distasteful gaze. Of course, the chance that she even appeared in the line was rare, for it was a female's choice whether to become a barer. This was most certainly a gift from the gods to Jon. When he was sure he was calm, the grunt moved forward, standing only a few feet from the smith mare and respectfully bowed his head and kept it low as he said as manly as possible, "I choose Baerta the blacksmith to be my barer."

The other women amongst Baerta's ranks did not seem offended when the new stallion chose her. They actually brandished looks of pity for him. Each one of them gave a feminine chuckle as Baerta eyed him, bowing her in return. Their looks broke his confidence as they left, leaving only him and Baerta. Going against everything he was accustomed to or taught, Baerta stood at his side, taking him by the shoulder and leading him towards one of the wooden doors. The officer who welcomed Jon had a look of shock as the woman led the grunt into the room.

The room was filled with mahogany and red drapes and banners, the colors of nobility in their lands. When soldiers sacrificed as much as Jon was going to, they were to be treated as nobles when the sacrifice was to be made. The stallion's heart pounded, his insides aching as he watched this beautiful mare removed her leather straps and the cloth they kept close to her body. Others may have found the minor burns and cuts along random parts of her body distracting, but Jon found them absolutely alluring. She was a female of strength and endurance. She was also a woman of caution, a blade sheathed in the leather strap on her thigh.

She sized the young stallion with experienced, strong brown eyes. The size of his pride and sac were not what made him, it would be how he treated and respected her. She would also judge him by his brains. And right away she noticed he was wise. As he fell to his knees before her, he gazed upon her as if she were a goddess, leaning forward to press his forehead against her solid stomach, brushing his fingertips along the back of her naturally curved legs. He didn't dare rush her like some needy dog, though his length was beginning to strain between his legs.

Taking him by the shoulders, she brought him up so that they were eye level. He whinnied appreciatively as she turned her back to him, raising one leg and locking her hoof around the back of his, his throbbing member standing tall between her thighs. He kept his head down, his forehead brushing against her strong, naked back as he supported her other legs with his thigh. With guidance from her, the crown of his length found its way between her tight folds. He quietly moaned, raising his head only to gently nip at her shoulder. She gasped, reaching back as he fondled at her firm breast with his free hand. Only when she tugged at his trimmed mane and pushed down at the back of his head, did he dare to bite harder.

She put all her trust in him as her fully weight was upon him. He would not dare drop her. Maneuvering his hips, he thrust in and out of her tight slit, thick gusts of warm breath leaving his round equine snout, striking her breasts. She started to favor this young stud as the fondling of her breasts turned to a few light strokes, his hand falling to her hips to aid in his thrusts. She moaned lovingly in his ear when his full length finally entered her, striking her insides and sending an overwhelming sensation throughout her body.

As her hooves touched the stone floor, she guided him onto the bed, her parted slit dripping amongst her thighs. Lying with her, he entered her once more, his fingertips wrapped around her shoulders. She cried out, now feeling the full force of his strong hips. Taking him by the cheek, Jon surprisingly heard the unsheathing of her blade as she brought it to his cheek. There was surprise in his eyes yet no fear as it was put to the other cheek. Furrowing his brows, he grunted strongly as the blade was pulled down to his jaw line, his blood only flowing moments after the sharp blade tore into his flesh. The cut was thin enough that the blood remained in place, forming a fine red line.

When she took him by the neck and pulled him in, he knew it was a demand to go on making love to her. He nipped at her neck. He now only wanted to hear her moan, knowing that he could satisfy such a beautiful creature, his barer to be. She still remained in control, turning him over, biting at him as well, grasping at the raw muscle on his chest. She moved her hips, grinding hard with his length pulsing inside her, his crown flaring against her walls. There was a light shimmer as her fluids joined with his, running down his thrusting member.

As Baerta nipped at his ear and ran her tongue along the inside while stroking the other ear with her rough, blacksmith hand, Jon felt himself pushed closer to climax. She quickly reminded him that he was still an inexperienced boy as he gasped, bucking his hips. She moaned in his ear, lovingly and wickedly smiling at him after manipulating him so easily. He was almost breathless as he took hold of her back with one strong hand and brushed along her short, feathery mane with the other, his powerful tool thrusting spastically in and out of her damp slit as he filled her with his fresh stallion seed. When it soon came to an end, she gently brushed a knee against his hip, patiently waiting until he was ready to do it all again...then again...and all throughout the night, willingly out of respect for her new found love and mate.

The next day, Jon walked with his barer by his side, wearing only a cloth over his pride, drunk, a bottle of heavy wine in his grip. There was no need for military formalities that day. Lost in a drunken haze, he had what he wanted since the beginning of the ritual; the fact that he had no idea where he was or what was going on.

Laid upon the curved table, he could not feel the harnesses being placed around his waist nor the metal ring tightened around the base of his hanging sac. As Baerda the blacksmith stood there, fondling him until he stood with pride, he lay there, worshipping her with his eyes like the first time he had ever seen her undressed. He did not see the contraption placed over his sac as she tilted his head back, his arms falling behind him, floating as though he lay upon a cloud. She continued to stroke him as the doctor place his hands on the levers of the device. Jon groaned, feeling himself growing close...and then there was a loud metallic SHINK! As a single, loud thud hit the ground between the stallion's legs, he threw his head back in release, feeling the last of his seed spill out over the crown of his length, feeling little pain and great pleasure as it flowed over the torn spot where strands of cut flesh now blew in the warm winds.

Years after the ritual was performed, Jon still stroked the scar between his legs, beneath his presently limp length, it being the second impressive scar he ever received in his life. Whenever he returned home, the gelding captain would receive another mark upon his cheek, always willing to satisfy Baerta in bed, though she would no longer carry more of his seed.

One day, as he followed her through the market, still breaking tradition, one of the nearby grunts was bold enough to call him out. "Captain, do you find pride in following your wife?" When the grunt was tossed to the ground, his wrists broken and some of his teeth missing, Jon leaned over his body, "No, I take pride in watching my wife kick your arse..." As they continued on, their two sons and Baerta's proud, bastard son following while laughing at the grunt, Jon was happy to have her leading him amongst amused, staring eyes.

End.