Man of the House
I'm glad the water's cold. He's leaning on the side of the pool with the light playing in ribbons off of his chest. I've been watching him for ten minutes.
We don't get many rhinos in Wisconsin, so he stands out from the yipping and splashing of the other furs. A couple of cougars in bikinis pass him by and give him some very friendly greetings. He flashes them a rather shy, close-lipped smile and stays where he is. Not that I blame them for trying.
He can't be much older than I am, but he's solid, with thick arms and thighs that swell out beautifully from beneath his tight black trunks. Just a hint of abs - the valley and the frame, but his pecs are round and full from top to bottom. To my high school mind, that labels him a jock. Except that a jock would have one of those gorgeous big arms wrapped around the waists of each of those cougars by now.
He catches sight of me. I can't help it. My nostrils flare and my equine ears stand erect, a prey's readiness response to flee. His smile to me is more genuine than to the bikini twins. He waves.
I glance around, as if guilty for wading into the deeper water to get closer. Trying to play the cool kid for the newcomer, I copy his stance against the poolside.
"You should have gone after them," I say, nodding at the swaying hips of the bikini twins. "Every guy in school tries to at some point."
His smile widens into a chuckle.
"Ah, I've seen plenty of girls like that back home. You ain't missing all that much."
His accent is light, a slight southern drawl that rolls pleasantly against your eardrum.
"Where are you from?" I ask.
"Georgia. My daddy and I just moved in couple days ago. He's got his cooshy retirement fund and government money on top of it."
He snorts in amusement.
"You should see the place he picked out. And I thought our house in Jesup was big."
He turns to me and offers a thick-fingered gray hand.
"Name's Adrien, by the way."
"Shet," I say quietly.
I've always hated my name, even if it's a good pony name. It's French. If I'm going to be gay, I don't want my name to scream it.
"What year are you in?" I ask.
"Well, I was a senior. Graduated just last May."
I smile wide.
"Me, too! I don't suppose you have any clue what you're going to do now."
He laughs and shakes his head.
"Got my name on a couple of scholarships and stuff, but they'll probably give it to some poorer kid who's valedictorian or something, knowing my luck."
"Well, you're big enough. You could always lay the smack down on them."
I pretend to wash water through my cream-colored mane to hide the blush that saying that gives me. He blinks at me.
"You a wrestling fan?"
I hadn't been thinking of where I got the phrase from, but it's true. I look at him in surprise.
"Huge," I answer.
"Aw, get outta here!"
He's beaming now, showing teeth as white and blunt as my own. He stands up to face me full on. God, he's got a nice V-shape.
"You see the match they had on this last Sunday? Our TV wasn't hooked up yet and I missed it."
I stare at him.
"You missed it? Adrien, you probably missed the biggest upset since Bjorn the Bear's fall in 94! It was this new guy - they just call him the Wolf. He's huge, with full claws on his hands that he says are lethally sharp and abs you could grate cheese on! Spiked leather arm bands and an awesome black muscle shirt with his logo on it in silver."
"Who'd they pit him against?"
"The King himself, Adrien. Leo Scarzotti."
Now it's Adrien's turn to stare at me.
"You're tellin' me he took down the KING on his first match?"
"Took him down? Shit, Adrien, the lion could barely walk out of the ring!"
Adrien swears a blue streak and slaps the side of the pool. Tina, the voluptuous otter life guard, blows her whistle at him in warning. He doesn't seem to notice. A sudden thought comes to him.
"Say, they'd probably have a rerun on one of the channels up here, wouldn't they?"
Why didn't I think of that? I beam at him.
"Probably."
"Well, what're we waiting for? My house is just across the park from here!" Adrien says.
He steps out of the pool, streaming water off his rump and tail. I try not to notice the way the light catches and shows off his tight cheeks. With a calming breath, I follow him.
Adrien moves well for a bulky kid. I'm guessing he must be in football. All that mass can't be just his species. He must weigh close to 200 lbs. He gets more looks, the kind of looks I want to give him, as he walks into the changing rooms. I follow him like his equine shadow.
As I pad into the changing room, I hear a wet slap and see his trunks hit the floor behind one of the plastic shower curtains. The curtain is closed. I can't peek in without it being obvious. I pick the stall next to him and shower quickly. Icy cold water is my only hope. Ponies share the reputation of horses when it comes to manhood. The last thing I want is a ten inch pole proceeding me into the locker room.
I rub myself down vigorously with the towel, wrap it around my waist, and half run to the lockers. Adrien is already pulling on his tee-shirt. I get one last glimpse of his belly and then it's hidden.
"Come on!" he urges.
I nod and exchange my towel for my boxers. Is he looking? Does he notice the way my sheath has irised open?
I yank on my boxers and follow with the rest of my clothes.
Adrien drives a massive pickup truck, the kind you see in commercials for hauling industrial piping or lumber. It has to be his dad's. Even he has to use the step to get in. The seats dwarf me as I buckle up, black plush interior with a slick synthetic leather covering.
Adrien's house, when we pull up, is no less impressive. It's two story, with white siding and black shutters. There's a separate garage diagonally across the back yard that's meant to be a tool shed, not car storage. The place must cost close to half a million dollars.
Adrien wastes no time on a tour. He unlocks the front door and bursts into the spacious living room without taking off his shoes. Their television is a good 32 inches wide, high-def, with a matching sound system. I wonder what his dad did for a living before he retired.
Adrien is flipping stations while I let my eyes wander around the room. There's a wooden staircase with beige carpeting leading upstairs, and a door that I guess leads to the basement next to the black and white tiled kitchen. The living room walls are light-colored wood paneling, with heavy-looking furniture that must be mostly heirlooms. They have an antique, antebellum look to them.
"I'm not finding it, and I've hit almost all the sports channels," Adrien mutters.
"It might not run until this evening," I say.
Adrien shuts his eyes and smacks his forehead with the remote.
"No doubt," he agrees. "It's all baseball and soaps right now. I dunno why I thought it'd be different from Georgia."
Then a new voice speaks up. It buzzes the furniture and I can feel it like a subwoofer in my stomach.
"Whatcha lookin' for, son?"
Adrien turns and smiles casually over his shoulder.
"Wrestling, sir. Shet here says we missed quite a show on Sunday."
"Did we, now? You make friends real fast, boy."
I turn around and have to grab the sofa cushion not to fall over.
Adrien's dad is, in a word, gigantic. I don't know how he's managed to squeeze through the front door, since his shoulders are a good half foot wider than the doorway. He towers over both of us, holding a laughably tiny tool case in one gigantic, thick-knuckled hand, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt with the fingers of his other hand. I can see stray chest hairs, black as pitch, poking out. His chest thrusts out against his white shirt, and I can see the powerful muscles of his shoulders and biceps roll even through the sleeves. His gray jeans leave even less to the imagination, especially around the.....
I whip my eyes away, turning around and squeezing them shut. Adrien taps my shoulder.
"Hey, you okay, Shet?"
"I'm...just surprised, that's all," I manage to say in a quavering voice.
The floor trembles as Adrien's father steps around the couch.
"Sorry, didn't catch your name, boy," he rumbles.
I force my eyes open.
"Shet..um...sir."
He smiles warmly, his thick lips curling up in a way that I've only see rare flowers do. Adrien sports a crew cut. His father is bald, but from the shadow on his scalp and the way it's polished, I guess it's by choice rather than age. He has a thick patch of black hair expertly trimmed around his chin and jaw line that runs up to meet his lower lip. He holds out his huge hand.
"Glad t'meechya, Shet. I'm Mr. Joun. Deon Joun."
I take his hand. It devours mine completely in its warm depths, squeezing just enough to let me know that Deon is just as strong as he looks. I can't pretend my cock isn't poking from it's sheath by this time, but it's still small enough that it only tents my boxers. If I sit just right, it's not visible.
"So, you a wrestlin' fan too, Shet?"
God, I can't get over the drawl. Added to that godly bass voice, it's like having an ocean of sound roll over my body. It's not that of a redneck at all, it's the cultured version you hear from plantation owners in Civil War films.
"Uh, yes, sir. There's a new guy on the show that you and your son should really check out."
"Says he took down the King on his first run in the ring," Adrien adds.
Deon's eyebrows arch.
"Is that a fact! Sounds like my kinda guy."
He chuckles. My bones shiver. I run a quick hand through my mane. Whoa, boy.
Adrien pops off the couch.
"Can Shet stay for supper, dad? We could all watch the rerun together!"
Deon laughs, shaking the windows. He drops his tool case on the end table next to the remote.
"You're all psyched up for it already, aren't ya, boy?"
He chuckles.
"You better take care o' them wet clothes before supper. Do Shet's, too, if he's stayin' over."
Adrien slides off the couch, takes my swim bag from me, and heads upstairs. Deon watches him ascend with a soft smile and then plunks down on the couch with a big sigh. He puts his huge arm along the back, his skin nearly touching my mane. I shiver involuntarily and ball my hands into fists under my rump.
"So," he says, "whattya do 'round here, Shet?"
"Work, mostly. Well, in the summer, anyway."
I glance down at his thick leg and talk to it.
"I'm still looking right now."
"Ah, hell, boy. You can come work for me if you live close."
I look up at him.
"Doing what?"
He shrugs, making those boulder-sized shoulders roll and flex.
"I've got enough construction and yard work to last ya until fall, if you're willin'. You're a pony, aren't ya? Good, honest labor'll be good for ya, then. And I'll pay ya decent for a decent day's work."
I have no doubt he would. Probably more than I could get at a fast food drive-thru. My mouth moves before I realize what I'm saying.
"Sure, sounds great."
He chuckles and claps my shoulder playfully. I nearly crumple to the floor from the force of it.
"Deal, then. I'll see ya 'round eight tomorrow mornin'."
It's becoming too much. Even from this far away, I can catch a faint whiff of the sweat still lingering on his skin through the shirt, thick and salty. I stand.
"I'm sorry. I can't stay. I..my mom wants me home for chores."
"Aw, too bad. You need a ride?"
"No, no," I say quickly. "It's just a couple of blocks."
"Go on up and say goodbye to Adrien, then. I'll see ya tomorrow."
I climb the steps, thankful that the railing hides an erection that is by now all too obvious. As I do, my face is burning. What the hell is wrong with me? He's got to be at least in his late thirties. I mean, sure, he's big...soo wonderfully BIG...but he's also almost twice my age and he has a son who just might be my next best friend. Get a fucking grip, pony!
I knock on the door to Adrien's room.
"Come on in, Shet."
He's topless, typing away on his computer. I leave the door slightly open.
"I can't stay for supper, Adrien. I'm sorry."
He nods and clicks the computer off. He stands and stretches against the back of his chair. I watch the way his gray skin moves over those fledgling muscles.
He smiles and eyes his arms.
"I'm thinking of taking up boxing in college."
"Oh. Cool," I say.
His dark eyes meet mine.
"Mind if I ask you something, Shet?"
"What?"
He's coming closer. Oh God, he's going to see my huge hard-on and he's going to think it's because of him! I'm about to get my ass pounded!
"You got a girlfriend?"
I lick my lips. Should I lie?
"Not yet."
His hand touches my waist.
"Uh..Adrien?"
"Girls don't interest me," he says softly.
His hand tightens on my belt loop. His head tilts and moves forward, lips parting. As he moves to kiss me, I realize that my cock has started to soften. It's not him I want.
I feel like I'm going to throw up. I put a hand on his bare chest and shake my head. He stops.
"You can't be straight, Shet. I saw the way you were looking at me in the pool."
I blush hard and look down.
"I..I know. But...I just...I don't feel like that. With you. You're very handsome, but I.."
He blinks and drops the hand from my jeans. How do I tell him? How CAN I tell him?
"It's okay," he says. "Really, Shet. It's all right."
I risk a look at his face.
"We're still friends, right?"
He nods and says nothing.
On the way home, I make a decision. I'll come back tomorrow morning and tell Deon that I can't work for him. It's the only way I can avoid these feelings. Even as I resolve to cut the deal, they're coiling inside me. Already, I have images in my minds' eye, images of Deon that I know are impossible, are wrong on so many levels I'd need a psychology degree to name them all. I break into a run. At least I'm good at that. I jog home and lock myself in my own room. It's smaller than Adrien's, more cluttered. The paint on the walls is cracked and faded and there's no window.
My mother knocks on the door at supper time. I tell her I'm not feeling well. It's not exactly a lie. My face is still smoldering and if I did try to eat something, I know I wouldn't keep it down long. I have to break this off tomorrow, or I won't be able to resist him.
I'm up at six. I've never had to get up this early, not even for school. I wash my face with cold water and pull on what I hope are some good clothes for construction work - rugged jeans, a button-down long-sleeved shirt that breaths well. I spend a good half hour with my mane before I throw down the brush in disgust. It's not a fucking date. I deliberately muss the front of my mane with a hand.
Mom, bless her, saved me some leftovers. I munch it down while preparing a sandwich for lunch, add a glass of orange juice, and write my mom a note explaining about the job. She'll be proud I have one so quickly, no doubt.
My legs are shaking by the time I reach Deon's house. I no longer think of it as Adrien's house. It takes three tries for me to ring the bell.
"Shet, that you?"
The deep, rumbling bass is already getting to my loins. I've never even imagined a voice that was so manly.
"Yeah," I call back.
He's waiting for me in the back yard. I round the house. He's wearing similar work clothes to those from yesterday. The shirt's pale blue instead of white.
"Glad you could make it," he says with a wide smile.
"Thanks," I say. "Look, Mr. Joun-"
"-no time for talk now, boy. We've got too much work to do. Here," he hands me a hammer.
"I've got plans for this garage. You and I are gonna expand it into a full-blown home gym area where me and m'boy can train together. He tell you he's gonna be a boxer?"
"Yes, sir, but-"
"And I aim to make him the best damn boxer this state's ever seen. Now, what I want you to do is get on up on that roof and start replace'n them loose shingles. Not too hard, really. I'll be down here workin' on a decent concrete driveway connectin' the garage to the street."
"But, Mr. Joun-"
"Shet."
His tone's changed. It makes me freeze instantly. He's giving me a stern look, a look that makes me feel about the size of an ant, with him towering over me. He points at me with one finger.
"I'm countin' on you to do your job and do it well. You may be just eighteen, but I'm gonna treat you like a man, and I expect you to act like a man, that clear?"
"Y..yes, sir," I say in nearly a whisper.
"Good. Because I don't pay boys to do men's work. So I don't want one more protest or complaint outta you. You got a problem, you deal with it to the best of your ability. That's what men do. You hear?"
I gulp and nod.
"Ladder's in the garage. I'll be right down here. Holler if you need something."
What can I do? No one's ever expected so much of me. My mom treats me like I'm still fourteen. Deon respects me, and not just as a kid. As a MAN. He's actually putting me in the same category as himself. So I fetch the ladder and start working.
It isn't too hard, really. Take out all the old roof shingles and then hammer in new ones. The sun rises higher, turning the pink sky into a brilliant gold that starts to burn away the dew. It's a beautiful view from the roof. I can see over the houses all the way to the high school on one side and to the pool on the other. Around late morning, the heat starts to seep into my shirt. It's getting soaked with sweat from my work, and my hands are starting to develop blisters.
I'm not a sissy boy who's going to complain or demand band-aids. The pain from the blisters isn't so bad if I focus on the work. I strip off my shirt and keep going. I glance once down at Deon.
The huge rhino has shirt off, too. He's got black hair on his back, a thin forest of it spread in a beautiful inverted triangle across his massive shoulder blades that tapers down his spine. Even standing relaxed, his muscles bulge thicker than my entire face. I watch the way they swell and contract as he swings a sledge hammer - one handed - down again and again at the old concrete, shattering it into chunks and tossing them with his other hand into a wheelbarrow. Sweat makes his back gleam in the sunlight.
My swelling crotch starts to rub the rough tile through my jeans. I hike myself up onto my feet and hammer away furiously, extra nails gripped grimly between my lips. I'm so focused on not looking at Deon that I rap my knuckles hard enough to scab before I realize the hammer's slipped.
I glance around. There it is, not ten paces from where Deon is grunting and pounding away. I debate what to do. It's obvious I have to climb down and fetch it, or call out. That's the problem. I've got a circus pole stuck between my legs and it's not about to go down any time soon.
In the end, I cross the shingles to the ladder. I try to make as little noise as possible on the way down. Deon is still going like a living machine of sweat and muscle. Grunt, pound, grunt, pound, a primitive rhythm that doesn't help my cause. I focus on the hammer. It gleams dully in the sunlight.
I turn my body so that my rump is to Deon, bend over, and grip the handle. I'm suddenly in shadow. I pause for just a second, then force myself to stand straight. There's a warm, living wall inches from my back. It's breathing in hard, deep huffs that stir the base of my mane. I don't move. I don't even blink.
An arm curls around my body. The big knuckled hand is in a fist and presents itself to me. My lips pucker involuntarily.
"Shet, I'm sweatin' so much I can't read the damn time."
I shift my gaze to the face of his Rolex.
"12:30, sir."
"Ah, shit."
The hand vanishes. I picture him wiping his brow as he sucks in a deep breath and blows it out, forcing me to flex my legs slightly or be blown over.
"What say we take a lunch break?"
I nod mutely. The shadow leaves me in peace. I can turn, now. I drop the hammer to the dirt and follow Deon inside. With every step he takes, the window panes give a slight blur, and he has to almost waddle his upper body back and forth because his lats and biceps are so huge they're competing for space. He smiles, holding the door for me. His big hand is pressed casually against the top corner, which forces me to walk under his huge arm. I can do it without even ducking, though the lower edge of his bicep is a hairsbreadth from my ears. My nostrils twitch as I walk through an invisible veil of raw man smell. I swear I can smell the testosterone dripping from him. My cock is a painful, hard cone, half numb from chafing against my pants. I know if I were to touch my balls right now, they'd be feverishly hot. In the summer heat, they hang low and wobble slightly against my inner legs as I walk to the fridge and take out my sandwich.
I do it slow, and not just because of the tempest south of my belly button. Everything is sore. My neck, my arms, my legs. I peel open my sandwich with the strength of a filly.
Deon rests a huge hand on my bare back. It sits there, so heavy and warm. There's a slight film of sweat on the palm that I know will make it gently suck at my skin when he takes it away.
"How's it feel so far?"
"It feels...good," I say, surprised at my own answer.
It does feel good. There's something about clean physical labor, out in the open sunshine, that feels right to me. The sweat drying on my hide doesn't feel dirty, it feels like I've cleansed something.
His hand leaves. I can't help the sharp intake of air. The sucking of his skin was almost like a kiss. I finish my sandwich in three bites. It's woefully inadequate.
I'm not going to say anything, but my stomach betrays me. Deon shakes his head.
"You'll never get anything done on somethin' like that, boy. Here."
He unloads his fridge onto the kitchen counter. Huge amounts of food - salads, piles of prewrapped organic sandwiches, protein smoothies, eggs, stacks of ribs. He gestures at it in invitation. We both rip into it. I manage to finish off an entire salad, but Deon's still going. I can't believe how much he eats. A dozen eggs, two full ribs, five sandwiches and two protein shakes to wash it all down.
"Ahhhhhh..." he says, wiping his upper lip with his knuckles. "We'll head back out in an hour or so. It's gettin' damn hot out there, even for up north."
I settle down more comfortably on the kitchen stool, mostly to hide the tent. It's lowered some.
"You want a drink, Shet?"
I start and look at him.
"A drink? You mean. alcohol?"
He smirks and holds up a six pack of beers.
"You're doin' a man's work up there, boy. Might as well treat you like a man, eh?"
"Mr. Joun, that's illegal."
He snorts derisively and waves it away.
"I was drinkin' beer by the time I hit puberty, boy. Besides, I'm not talkin' about gettin' you soused. One good chug won't hurt you none."
He cracks open a can, downs a huge gulp, and pass it to me. I can see a thin line of his saliva along the upper rim. In a flood, all the temptations I've been fighting come roaring back. I press the can to my lips. My tongue tastes his spit. I shut my eyes and drink to cover the moan that escapes my throat.
I slam the empty can down and hack, coughing hard. Deon laughs.
"Welcome to a man's world, boy!"
"Fuck.." I croak.
I look at Deon, expecting a reprimand, but he doesn't even bat an eye. That makes me feel good. I'm a man, God damn it, I can curse like one! I grin at him.
"Fuckin' good shit, sir."
Deon chortles and slams the table with his open palm, making it and everything on it rattle.
"Knew you'd like it, boy!"
The beer taste is turning sour in my mouth. I need a drink of water badly. I slide off the stool and try to move quickly to the sink to cover my bulge, but all I do is grip the table and groan, barely moving six inches.
Deon moves around the table.
"You'll never finish a day's work in your condition. Drink up, then put your hands on the sink."
I obey. The water tastes good. It raises the aftertaste of the beer up in my nostrils sharply. I set the glass down in the sink and hug its edge with my fingers.
Deon's hands make contact with my shoulder blades. Both of them, palms softly pushing into my flesh. This time I do more than groan.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you how to stretch?" he asks softly.
I don't answer. I can't answer. His big, thick fingers are kneading my body as if it were clay. They move to my traps. I lower my neck and whicker as he squeezes and relaxes, over and over.
I hardly notice how close he's moved until his hands slide up my neck. I lift my head up and back, eyes shut, while his fingers caress and coil, big meaty palms gentle as a mare's muzzle.
"There now, that's better, isn't it?"
His voice is close, almost next to my ears. I lower my head, eyes still shut, nodding. The thick knuckle on his index finger runs from between my ears down my spine.
"You sure got a pretty mane, boy," he murmurs.
"Thank you, sir," I whisper.
His fingers roll my soft golden locks between them. They press it back and brush upward, the wrong way, bunching it against the creases in his hands until the tips of his fingers rub up the backs of my ears.
I gasp. I think my pants are about to rip. It's so hard now it's painful. I'm wincing, baring my blunt teeth. My cockhead is flared and bumping the underside of the sink.
And then I feel it. Deon's bulge. Just the tip, but it's touching my lower back, just above my tail. And throbbing like a living thing. Of course, I never imagine it small, but I come from an equine family, and this thing is still obscene. Not much longer than mine, but it could swallow mine in one gulp. It's hard to measure something like that when it's nuzzling your coccyx, but he's got to be close to half a foot in girth.
My lips move. They try to form words. My drool spills over my lower lip and I suck it back in with a trembling, wet slurp.
"Tell the truth now, boy," Deon says.
"I'm...I'm gay" I whisper.
He chuckles. He's leaning casually against the sink behind me, his huge hands covering mine. Dwarfing them.
"Shet, I knew that yesterday. Any straight guy'dve stood up off the couch when I put my arm across it like that. Way too close for their comfort. But you didn't."
My fatal mistake. I'm about to be ground into horsemeat by 400 pounds of homophobic southern Baptist rhino. I feel tears pricking my eyes and I could make omelets between my eyebrows. I can't look at anything. My fingers are gripping the sink in panic.
I hear him crack another beer. He gulps deeply, three times, sighs, and gently presses the lip of the can against mine. I suckle it as he slowly tilts it for me. This time I don't cough, and I don't mind the heat any more. Or his slowly twitching manhood that's begun to slide gently flatter against me as he moves even closer.
"Adrien's adopted. I never told him. But you might've noticed there's no Mrs. Joun 'round here."
There is no way in hell I can keep back a soft moan from an announcement like that. I can hear the smug smile in his voice.
"So, you've got a choice, boy. If you like, we can end this here today. I'll pay you in full for a good six hours, and that'll be that. But now that we both know, you might find it's less of a burden on ya. You think you could stick it out?"
I almost wish he'd gotten furious and told me never to come back. That would have been easier. This is a choice I never expected. But here, again, is the same respect. Deon talking to me, man to man, not adult to child. I'm not going to walk away from someone who treats me like that.
I nod. His fingers rub against my cheek, and this time I lean into them, allowing myself to relish the rough texture of his callouses. He backs up. He doesn't need to ask me. I know I'm supposed to turn around and show him what I've been trying to hide.
He's leaning against the table, hands flat to the antique, stained wood, one big leg crossed casually over the other so that the toe of his boot punches the floor. I can clearly see the outline of the hungry monster in his jeans and it confirms my initial impression. My mouth floods.
I look up. I'm transfixed by his chest, now that my feelings are in a strange sort of limbo. Each pectoral muscle is as wide as a college fridge and nearly as thick. He has black hair covering it, too, with a deep, thick patch of it right over the center. But the real heavy fur lies in the treasure trail running down his flat gut. He doesn't have visible abs, only the frame of them and some stunning obloquies. But then, at his size, he doesn't need them to be imposing. I wonder what his nipples taste like.
He reaches out. A single finger points at the base of my cock where it joins my balls and presses in. Then it runs up the underside of my tent until it reaches the tip and stops. He pinches the fabric of my jeans between his thumb and his finger and slowly rubs it back and forth. My crotch is wet, now.
He smiles that orchid smile again and his nostrils twitch. He can smell me. Smell my rut. His deep black eyes meet mine.
His hand leaves my crotch and presses full against my bare belly. As it rubs upward, he pushes me slowly back. I let myself be guided like a dancer. I feel the sharp cool of the metal sink against my spine. The back of my skull sits on the faucet as his fingers curl slowly in on my chest and he runs his hand back down until his fingers disappear below my belt line.
I grab the sink hard and open my mouth.
"Ohhhh...OHHHHHHH!!!"
Behind my squeezed eyelids, I can picture his huge hand distending the crotch of my jeans as his fingers invade my boxers. That giant hand completely engulfs my cock and balls. It's not rubbing. It's not even caressing. What he's doing down there is something I have no name for.
My legs are spread so wide the inner tendons are protesting, my rump cheeks touching the tops of my knuckles. I'm shaking. I'm his. I'll do anything he asks me to. Anything.
His hand vacates my pants and I whimper.
"Awwww...now don't be sad, lil' pony. Daddy's got big plans for you."
He cups the end of my snout with the hand that was just down my crotch. I smell a mixture of my own salty precum and his sweat. His scent. My lips part and I kiss his palm. At his soft murr of approval, my lips open wider and the tip of my tongue tastes the love line of his palm.
"Come on down, now," he drawls.
I open my eyes. I can barely move. He has to help me onto the floor and he chuckles in honest humor as I slip. His hands tighten and prevent me from falling. We're heading for the doorway.
"This ain't your first, is it?" he asks.
It's full confession time for the pony.
"Sir.." it doesn't feel right to use his name for some reason, "I've never even seen real porn."
He chuckles again, only this time it gives me gooseflesh.
"Well, now. Isn't that somethin'. Seems someone's been neglectin' your education, boy."
We're at the foot of the stairs, now. I take the first step. His hand is on my back, the other around my waist. He could scoop me up like a toy any minute.
"It's just me and my mom at home, sir. I..I never knew my own dad, and I'm an only child."
"Well, don't you worry..."
His lips brush my ear and his voice..his VOICE is the halter around my muzzle and the bit in my mouth.
"...daddy's gonna make a man outta you by supper time."
MOOOOAAAAN.
"Say it, boy."
"OHHHH!!!"
"Say it, now!"
"Daddy!"
"Lemme hear you!"
"Daddy! DADDY!"
He sweeps me into his arms halfway up to the master bedroom. I only know what it's supposed to look like from movies. So I wrap my arms around his watermelon thick neck and let him do the rest.
He's a white rhino. His lips are broad, flat, square. We're both cud-chewing species, which means are lips are exponentially more flexible than your average fox. He's a master. His lips guide mine, instructing even as they pleasure. I learn quickly. My fingers tighten on his neck and I thrust my head forward, only to have him thrust back even harder. We kiss in a way that, if there was a God, would send fire and brimstone down on us like Sodom and Gomorrah.
I can feel the stiff bristles of his goatee brushing my chin. Then he brings his tongue into play. My nails dig into his tough gray hide. I whinny down his throat until he plugs me silent. Oh GOD...I can feel the underside of his massive tongue slurping so gently into my throat I don't even feel the urge to gag. He's fucking invading me. Tears are rolling down my cheeks from the intensity of it. I scream.
My cock leaps forward so hard that it snaps the button off my fly and my pants are flooded with pony cum. He doesn't let up, doesn't let go. He sucks my orgasmic shrieks into his huge body like food. We're at the entrance to the bedroom. I feel like weeping. I sniff wetly, panting at the alien feeling of open air in my throat.
"I'm sorry, sir," I blubber.
"Sorry for what, boy?"
I look up at him. The answer is so obvious it's dripping out the bottom of my pant leg. But he's got a devilish smirk on his face that tells me there's something I don't know.
"Do you know how often a wild stallion breeds in a day?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"Well, I can't prove it. But I hear tell it's around six to eight times. I'm just gettin' ya warmed up, boy."
He sets be back on my feet and I'm surprised I can stand. I've wanked myself off plenty of times, but nothing as intense as what he's just given me. He deliberately brushes me as he struts into the room, making the floor creak. I watch that gorgeous, thick rump flex in his jeans. I'm hard again.
"Take it off, boy," he commands, not bothering to turn around. "All of it."
My fingers shake as they undo my pants. My boxer's follow. I stare down at my own needy ponyhood, my modest crotch fuzz sticky with cum. A dull thud makes me look up. He's undoing his boots. The second one drops to the floor. He flexes his big toes in their socks before bending down and slowly stripping them off his feet.
His feet are twin massive slabs with perfectly formed, rounded ankle bones and thick veins that crisscross above his toes. Each toe is perfect, not crowded or with noticeable gaps between them, the nails trimmed close and neat. He has a sparse prairie of hair covering the tops of them.
Deon moves to a big overstuffed chair and turns on a reading lamp. He slowly sits in it like a throne and spreads open his huge legs. I walk toward him. I can feel his heat lingering in his socks as I pass them on the floor. Deon's eyes feast on my body. It makes my cock twitch again, knowing that I'm naked in front of another man. A man old enough to have sired me.
Deon smiles softly. His hand moves to his belt. Fingers flex, and with a soft snapping through the loops of his pants, his thick black belt comes free. I get the sudden image of him bending me over his huge leg and whipping my puny pony ass. It sends a small river of fresh precum out my cocktip.
"Ohh, you want me bad, don't you, boy?" he murrs, chuckling.
"Yes, daddy."
"I figured you outghta appreciate me before I...do the honors. Would you like that, boy?"
"Yes. Ohhh yes, yes, daddy."
"On your knees, then."
I fall to my knees before him. He wraps his belt around his left arm and slowly pumps his bicep. The leather belt protests with soft, rapid popping sounds as his bulging muscle squeezes it between bicep and shoulder. There's a vein running along the head that's as thick as my thumb.
He points to it. I walk on my knees, closer...closer. I'm between his thighs. His heat is all around me, now. He smiles wider and leans down, making the chair creak, presenting his arm to me.
I shut my eyes, open my lips, and kiss. My forehead creases as another moan rips through my body.
His hand runs down my mane, steadying me.
"Easy, boy. Take it slow."
"Yes, sir," I whisper to his incredible muscle.
I taste it with my tongue. How to describe it. It's smooth, like licking the rounded top of an ice cream cone. There are little hairs that catch in my mouth and are slicked flat by my spit. The taste...the taste is unlike anything I've ever had before. I'm actually tasting the skin of another man. It's coated in a light layer of dried sweat like a salt lick. Delicious. He flexes it, and I can feel it bulge and roll under his skin, against my lips.
My head moves down. I send a chain of slow kisses down the middle of his thick forearm. My tongue tip traces the delta of veins there that seem to pop through his hide like jungle vines. He clenches his fist, curls it slowly one way and the other. I grip his wrist with one hand, open my mouth wider, and clamp down, trying to suck as much of it into my mouth as I can.
"C'mon, boy," he urges softly, "work it."
I whicker, groan, kneading his forearm with my lips and using my blunt pony teeth. He rumbles in pleasure and strokes my mane again, as if I were a feral pony out to pasture.
He takes the back of my head, gently guiding me. I see his huge fist, the big knuckles, the tendons running back toward his wrist. I smile and gaze up into his eyes as I part my lips and kiss them.
His expression is so gentle, so open, so welcoming. My heart burns in my chest. My throat is dry. I try to clear it, wet it with spit I don't have. He understands. His hands close around my bare rump cheeks. He lifts me up to kneel in his lap. My knees press down on his tabletop thighs.
We kiss again. He gives me the moisture I need. I let his spit roll into my mouth, over my tongue, my hands rubbing over those thick, hairy pecs, fingers brushing the nipples. His fingers keep squeezing my rump cheeks.
"Oh Lord, you got a fuckin' nice ass, boy," he whispers to my ear.
I smirk and begin to live my fantasies.
"It's all yours, daddy."
He chuckles deeply and kisses my cheek.
"I dunno if you'd be able to handle me, boy. You've felt how thick it is. And you bein' a virgin and all, I'm not sure it'd be a good idea."
"What if I promise to be a good boy?"
Our eyes meet. He grins down at me. Now he knows I was fantasizing about him in bed.
"Well, now. If you're a real good boy, I suppose. But you've gotta promise to do what daddy tells you. You wouldn't wanna end up in the hospital on your first ride."
"I promise daddy," I say. "I'll be a good boy."
He puts his hands on the arm rests of the chair. He leans back and begins to flex his pecs. I've only seen wrestlers on television do that, and beat them like gorillas after winning a match. I've always loved it when they did.
I'm hypnotized, watching the way he can just roll that muscle as if it were thickening batter being turned by an invisible spoon. He turns his body slightly, presenting his nipple. It's buried in the black chest hair. I wet my lips and dive in.
He grunts, and then gives a deep moan of his own at what I'm doing. I guess he must like his nipples pleasured. Not really sure what to do, but letting my infant instincts guide me, I suckle on his nipple like a teat. I'm careful to curl my lips back over my teeth as I do it. I flick my tongue across the end and am rewarded by another of his wonderful moans.
My nostrils are rubbing into his chest hair. I sniff. Ohhhhhhhh...yeah. What a smell. Deon's like a farm animal, rich and musky. I trace the outer rim of his nipple with my tongue. He loves it, or at least his cock does. I can feel it leaping up and down in response even trapped in his jeans, brushing my inner thighs.
"Mmm...daddy..." I whicker.
"Fuck, boy," he pants. "That's some tongue you've got."
I smirk and get an idea. I press my face between his massive pecs and start to lick him. He murrs and slowly brings his elbows in, making his pecs bulge. As long as they're flexed, I can't pull my head out. I moan at my own helplessness and keep licking harder. He tastes different here than on his bicep. But still delicious. A massive banquet of man.
He relaxes his pecs. I move up, kissing and licking up over his collar bones, up the underside of his neck. My tongue meats the goatee and I wash it, lips just under his. I can feel his smile. He turns his head. We share mouths again.
We part with a wet smack and he nuzzles my ear.
"Lower, boy."
I shudder and do as I'm told. I move my head down, preparing my mouth with more spit, wetting my tongue up. He sits there like a king as I bend my back and move my face to his treasure trail.
His belly is firm, but pliant. And all that hair, thick as an uncut lawn. It takes a lot of spit and licking to get it all flat, but he rubs my back as I do it, so I know it's what he wants. My chin brushes the tip of his tent.
"Mmmm...you ready, boy? You wanna see it?"
I've never seen another man's penis. Not up close and personal, to say nothing of touching one. I nod.
His hands come down. They undo his pants. The zipper lowers and his engorged member does the rest. He sighs with relief as it rises out of its confines, striking me with another tantalizing whiff of man scent, this time laced with faint traces of pre.
It's huge. Thick. Uncut. Veins branch up and down the gray shaft, and I can see the details of his underside, where the flesh rises upward into a low plateau around the center.
"It's beautiful," I whisper.
I slide lower on his thighs, which are big enough I can use them to lie on as my head reaches the level of his open pants. I inch forward and kiss it. His hand holds the back my head to guide me once more.
This time, he presses me down into the depths of his pants, down between his thighs, so that my lips make contact with the base of the monster, and I can get a good idea of the size of his balls.
They're like ripe oranges, fantastic and heavy, covered in snarls of black hair. And the scent is dark, rich, salty, exotic. I can't get enough of it. I part my lips and taste it with my tongue. He tells me to lick it again. I lick it again.
He spreads his thighs, smirks over me and points to his cockhead. I take a huge, calming breath. I wrap the fingers of both my hands around his shaft, and still they don't meat. He's that thick. I stare down at the soft pink of his cumslit, now visible under the gray foreskin.
I remember his advice and take it slow. I take just the tip between my lips. It's like trying to fit your mouth around a coke can. I suck, and as he starts to deeply murr, I experimentally extend my tongue and touch his cumslit.
"Yeeeaaaaaahhh...boy."
Mental note: ask him to return the favor to me, if he's willing. This must feel fantastic for him to sound like that. I'm drooling openly by now. I suck some of it back into my mouth and shut my eyes.
"Daddy..help me."
I open my jaws and lips as wide as I can and push down. I feel his hand flat on the back of my skull, beginning to press. Slowly, it works its way past my teeth, forcing my jaws painfully wide, but it's not too bad. And now he's inside me. I have to breathe through my nose, but it's worth it. Daddy's meat's in my little maw.
He keeps pushing. He can't be subtle any more. I take him for a good three inches before I can't go any further. His cock gets even wider lower down, and if I try to take all of him, he'll split me in half.
"Now..." he pants, "suck hard as you pull up."
I do. Taste floods my mouth. I thought he tasted good before. But THIS...I moan as I savor it, pulling upward until just his cockhead is inside. Then I push back down, making sure to pucker my lips for added resistance. Told you I learn fast.
His hands slam into the chair rests and grip them so hard I can hear the wood creaking under the pressure. He makes a sound halfway between a deep-throated growl and the lowing of a bull. It's easier this time, now that his shaft is lubed with my saliva.
I begin to bob slowly. It's impossible to go fast. But my hands move into his pants and begin to cup his warm, heavy balls, one in each of my palms. But this detracts from my main job. I need leverage to wedge my mouth onto his pride.
I grip the base of his shaft hard. Now I can really push down. My neck muscles work, and so do my cheeks. My lungs inflate and exhale in time to my thrusting face. My whole body gets into it, and soon I can feel his hips bucking slightly on the down thrust, nearly fucking my face as I blow him.
"Good boy! Good boy! Fffuck...fuck...that's hot, boy! Oh Shet!"
The use of my name is punctuated by a squirt of precum into my throat. I wasn't expecting so much, though I should have. He doesn't do anything small. It nearly runs out my nose, but I swallow and keep going.
It's slimy, yes. And the taste is incredibly pungent, a mixture of bitter and salty, almost like mucus. Gross? You bet. But it's my daddy's gift to me, and I'm not about to spit it out.
His head slams back into the chair, lifting the front legs up off the ground for a bit. I snort, trying to keep my balance. He taps my back. I carefully work myself off his shaft, which has grown in length to a size that rivals my own. It slaps wetly against his belly, twitching and gleaming under the lamp light.
For a few seconds, all Deon does is lie there with his eyes shut, his giant chest and belly rising and falling as he regains control. Then his eyes crack open. His hands push his pants all the way off his giant thighs. I glance down at them.
The corded muscle stands out against the skin, even relaxed. And there are more veins, small, like little creeks that vanish and reappear within the cuts. I feel his thigh. It's warm and smooth. His pubic hair is a jungle that spreads out from his cock to cover his entire crotch and join with the treasure trail. I can't even see his navel.
"Shet," he says softly.
I look up at him.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you still want to try?"
I stare down at his gargantuan cock. But I nod.
He slides open a drawer of the end table and pulls out a bottle of K-Y. It spatters sharply as it squirts a towering column of clear jell into his hand. He hands me the bottle.
"Rub some o' that against your pucker. It'd help if you lubed up a finger and shoved it 'round your hole a little, too."
I blush despite being naked in the lap of a giant. Hearing such specific, lewd commands from a deep, thunderous voice takes some getting used to.
The stuff is cold, and slicker than anything I've felt before. But it feels good as I rub it around the entrance to my anus. I try to push my lubed finger inside, and when I do get it right, I squeal.
He barks a laugh.
"What's the matter, boy?"
"Just...never thought of fingering myself, sir. I wish I had sooner than now."
I watch as he smears that big wad of lube up and down his cock. It squishes as it spreads into an even, clear layer, like a second skin.
"Now, wrap your legs around my waist and raise yourself up a bit."
I hug his love handles with my knees and use my hands against his loins to lift myself up as high as I can. He grips his cock and begins to aim it at my rump.
"Lift your tail, boy. And above all, relax."
I raise my tail. I feel his cockhead pushing between my rump cheeks. Like a torpedo into its loading bay, ready to fire. It kisses my lubed pucker. The feeling sends a spike of raw pleasure to my core. I want it. I want it now.
"Please...daddy...please..."
I press my face to his treasure trail, begging.
"One. Two. Three."
Until I die, I will always remember this. For a minute, I think maybe I have died. Someone's screaming. My throat's gone raw from my whinny. I pant at the ceiling while Deon's hands rub my back, soothing.
"You okay, boy?"
"Is it.."
"It's in, yep. Or at least my head is."
"ohhhhh.." I whimper.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not anymore, daddy."
"You want me to stop?"
I shake my head vehemently. I'm lost in the haze of my rut so deeply I've lost all track of time. I barely know who I am. All of my memories and thoughts are locked off, inaccessible. There is only the thick, hard presence of Deon inside me.
"There's gonna be a little more pain, boy. Get ready."
He presses down on my shoulders and tells me to sit. I make a sitting motion as he gives a slow, hard thrust upward. I cry out again, not as loud this time. His cockhead violates my second anal ring. I didn't even know I had one. It plunges onward, deeper, deeper, the rest of his shaft widening as it enters. He strikes my prostate for the first time.
I nearly cum again. It's impossible to stay quiet. I can't form coherent words, all that comes out are loud, high-pitched equine noises. The noises of breeding. I feel his huge hairy balls pressed to my rump cheeks. I've taken him all.
"How...does it feel...sir?" I gasp.
Deon's barely speaking. He has his head down, eyes shut, mouth open and panting. He slowly raises his head, tilts it back, and lets out a deep rumbling moan.
"Ohhhhhhh...JESUS!" he groans. His hands are groping the chair's arms like he's trying to rip them off. He has his big feet locked around the front legs.
I sit there, thighs spread as wide as I can, cock and balls pressed hot against his lower belly, resting back on a spear of meat that's slowly pulsing and twitching. For a while, we both just rest, getting used to the intensity of the feeling. The smallest movements send incredible spasms of sensation through our bodies, and we want to make it last. Eight times or not, I want every orgasm to count.
"Shouldn't we be doing this in the bed?" I ask.
He's calmer now. He can open his eyes and smirk down at me.
"That what you want, boy? Wanna feel your huge muscle daddy's body riding your ass?"
I shiver. Violently. It's almost a seizure. One of my most secret fantasies is to have a truly huge man lie on top of me, crushing me into the mattress. I look at Deon. They don't get any bigger than this.
I lean forward and slowly roll my own throbbing dick around his hard, hairy belly. Deon huffs and grins, leaning back, with his hands behind his head as he soaks up my worship.
"Spank me," I whisper.
His little rhino ears flick forward in surprise, but a sly smile creeps up one side of his face.
"Oh, I get it. You wanna play bad boy, do ya?"
I shudder and nip him hard.
"Grrrr! Watch it, boy!" he snarls with a surprised jerk. I ignore it.
I instantly follow the nip with slow, wet suckling of the spot I bit, running my tongue in the receding indentations of my teeth.
"Now you have a reason to punish me," I say and give him a naughty smile.
His hand whips down. The slap echoes like a gun shot. My left rump is instantly numb, and then it fills with a kind of tingling heat. But oh, the way it jerked my body into him, especially with his cock that deep in me.
"Oh fuck!" I whinny.
He slaps me again, the other cheek, humping his hips slightly so his cock wags in my ass. I let loose another equine cry.
"I think you're ready," he rumbles.
I'm more than ready. I'm cocked and loaded.
Slowly, Deon stands, holding me to him with those wonderful, strong arms of his. I hug him with my entire body, whimpering in delight, sniffing and kissing his body. His strides grind his huge cock against my anal walls and a river of my precum dribbles down into Deon's pubic fur.
He sets me on the bed, lying on my back, head cushioned by the pillow. In the faded sunlight coming in from the curtained windows, his body looks even more incredible. We look into each other's eyes and see the hunger, the want there. A silent vow is exchanged - no more foreplay. No more pretending. We both want the same thing: hard, wet, pure rutting.
I hug his lower back as he gets ready. His warm hands run down between my back and the mattress and hug my rump. He starts out gently. Just pulses, little rocking motions that nevertheless leave me breathless. I start giving out low whickers in time to his movements. He gives a deep, rolling sigh. He's enjoying this, too. And that makes me feel warmer than his body around mine. The fact that I, small as I am, can give this rhino titan enjoyment seals my resolve. I am going to make him cum. I don't care what it takes.
"Give it to me, daddy," I whisper.
"You ready for more?"
I shove my face against his massive pecs and close my lips around his nipple. Giddyup, rhino. He does. I can picture the muscles of his back rolling as he starts to push in and out, dragging that huge pole nearly out of me before plugging me again, each time a little harder, a little faster.
His motions pull me into his chest and then away, so that I'm pulling on his nipple with my lips. I suck hard each time his body recedes. His moans fill my ears. My moans rise with his.
He doubles the intensity after perhaps ten minutes. I love how he lets me get used to it just enough that when he turns up the heat, I'm slightly unprepared. Now I'm groaning in rhythm, loud "oohs" that I can't help or even try to stop. Its the only way I can deal with so much stimulation. My nerves are in overdrive, sending a storm of pleasure signals into my brain in a tide that's slowly rising to hurricane force.
I give up trying to reciprocate. I can't concentrate on his body. All I can do is ride. I grip his body tight. Our breaths pant in unison, sweat soaks the sheets and lubricates our skin. It drips from his chest and neck onto my face.
"Boy.." he pants, deep and loud.
"Yes, daddy."
"You ready to get a fuckin?"
"Yesssss...daddy."
"Then SAY it!"
"Fuck me, daddy. Oohhhhhh...fuck me! FUCK me!"
A thunderbolt up my ass nearly splits my body apart. I scream, but there's no pain in it. I thought I knew the power of this rhino. I was wrong. Horribly wrong. Because as much as I want to ride longer, as much as I want to hang on until he cums, I can't. He a pile-driver, a cannon, and I'm instantly overloaded.
My cum sprays out hard with every slam of his hips. My mane flies wildly, sweat spraying in a shower. My nails dig white canals in his tough hide.
"UNNNGGH! UNNNNNGHHH! UNNGGGHH!"
He's bellowing, now. He's close. I feel it in the way he no longer cars if he's hurting me, in the way his muscles are tensing as if to receive a blow.
His orgasm yell deafens me. I hug his vibrating body, eyes squeezed shut. His seed hits. It's hot. He thrusts and bellows again, the stream turning into an explosion. I can feel it rolling out of my ass. I let loose a single, long, ever growing moan that rises into a shriek. Here comes number three for me. So close on number two, it's slightly painful. But the pain spikes the pleasure deliciously.
Deon yanks his hands free and props them against the headboard, heaving breaths that caress me. I lie back, vision whirling. My throat is bone dry and raw. My nerves are half dead, jangling, my cock sparking and twitching like an animal in its death throes. I'm completely drenched in a mixture of sweat and semen. Some of it is mine, some of it his.
Deon moves to pull out and I put a hand on his sweat-slick rump to stop him. He smiles and stays in.
"Deon," I moan in a whisper.
"Shet," he murmurs.
"Oh, Deon. Oh sir. Oh daddy..."
He smiles softly and presses his lips to mine. I cup the back of his head and this time I let my tongue explore his mouth. It's so wonderfully warm and wet, and his lips seal the entrance until I'm ready to leave. I can taste a hint of barbeque from the ribs he ate for lunch.
I part, and he sucks softly on my lower lip. I gaze up at that big, manly face and run my fingers through the hair lining his jaw. His cock has grown soft, so it's no fun inside me any more. He pulls it out and rolls slowly onto his side.
I lie there on my back, the summer air cool after the jungle heat of Deon's body, the sweat and cum starting to dry.
He lays his arm across the bed, and I snuggle into the cavity it forms, resting my head on his broad chest, feeling his chin on my scalp.
"How do you feel?" he asks me.
"Wonderful," I say.
He murrs and kisses my mane.
"We should get ya cleaned up."
I nod. Neither of us moves.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, boy?"
"Am..am I a real man, now?"
Deon chuckles and squeezes me a little tighter.
"I do believe you are, Shet."