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The two coaches looked at each other with a long suffering frown. They hadn't even got around to addressing the group yet and things were already going pear shaped. It wouldn't have been so bad, except they had predicted this before it happened, over a barbecue that afternoon. Sometimes being right is not an enjoyable experience.

"Right you two...can you hold off the chat for a moment at least?"

The two in question looked hurt and offended, in between sending each other looks of pure macho contempt.

"He fucking started it!"

"The fuck I did!"

They looked about to go at it again, but their erstwhile teammates managed to pull them apart. The head coach sighed a sigh that came from the depths of the big ram's hooves and ran his fingers over his horns.

Horses...fucking horses.

"Right...welcome all, to our first training session as a club. Now, I want to emphasise, this is a new day. Both clubs had their own history, their own traditions, but we are starting afresh in all ways. From now on, we decide, how we train, how we play, and how we are as a club. And anyone could get any role, play any position, based on merit. I won't be playing favourites. Got that?"

The assembled players mostly looked bored, or at most vaguely interested. One equine looked angrier now though, if that were possible, and the other looked triumphant.

"You can't tell me this gluefactory reject is going to get my spot..." the speaker was a big stallion, no question. In fact, he was the biggest player in the squad, at 30 years old a towering mass of equine testosterone and muscle standing over seven feet. He was a Friesian, with coal black coat and black feathering, a well trimmed mane, and a mean disposition. And he was not happy.

He was silenced by a look of pure malice from the ram.

"Going to make you grovel at my hooves fleabag..." his little sally got it's response, this time from the other stallion, an only marginally smaller specimen at exactly seven feet. This one was younger, just on 20, and a little less bulky, an Arabian with a deep chestnut coat and black mane and tail, worn long and fluffy as if to emphasise his difference, but what he lacked in size he more than made up for in sheer cocksure arrogance.

The ram gave him a withering stare too, and the second horse shut his muzzle. But he knew it was a temporary respite. He studied his notes and wondered just what the fuck they were going to do.

The two clubs from neighbouring suburbs had been playing in the same competition for 83 years. Their histories were storied and diverse, one working class, one more affluent, both generally successful. Until recent times that is, when dwindling numbers had brought both to the brink of closure. The boards of both had gotten together one night, and come up with a plan that seemed insane on the face of it and possibly the product of too much single malt, according to one wag in the know. But the ram knew it was the right way forward, once he was let into their confidence. He also knew it was not going to be plain sailing.

He just wasn't prepared for how rough the waves would turn out to be.

Given their proximity and different backgrounds, the two clubs had built up something of a rivalry. Actually, they hated each others guts, to put it mildly, and for both clubs it had become a tradition to save their best for their neighbourhood rivals, and often those matches involved an all-in brawl for added spice. The tradition of mutual loathing made the task of bringing the two together in a merger a tricky one. The ram, former coach of the working class East Harding Rebels, and his assistant, a buck, and former coach of the West Harding Scorpions, believed they could do it though. And so was born Harding United Giants.

It was easier inventing a name and a logo though. Getting the two playing groups to gel was proving a tougher ask. And as anticipated, the biggest problem was a certain two horses.

Each club had a stallion as their ruckman, and the two had already shown their extreme distaste for the other last season, the first full season for the younger and more hot headed Jarrod Kane at the West Harding Scorpions. In their first encounter, he got sent off for a head high tackle on his opponent, Brody Watts, and in their second encounter he got suspended for triggering an all-in brawl after a scuffle with the Friesian. The umpires had missed the constant bickering between the two all match, which had set off the young stallion, and he maintained the older ruck had started it, but it was clear the youngster intended to finish it right before the remaining players joined the fray.

So it wasn't entirely surprising they were at it already. It was just frustrating for the ram. He gave them a last glance, and went into his impassioned plea for unity and purpose. But throughout the address, he saw the two horses looking at each other with intent.

****

The players were set up for a match simulation, and the ram barked instructions. Into the centre square went two sets of midfielders, the ruck rovers set to take the tap from their ruckmen, the centres looking for an opening, the rovers ready to tackle. And the two rucks lined up on opposite sides of the square, hooves stamping the ground, nostrils flaring, ears pointed forward, eyes wide.

The buck sidled over to his senior and nudged the ram in his ribs.

"Our rucks look like they are taking this a bit seriously..."

He shrugged. "Training hard is good...train like you mean to play I always say..."

"Yeah...let's hope they make it to the season proper..."

Their umpire, a scrawny ferret, seemed to sense the impending danger. He looked around as if wanting to escape, but as he had the ball in his paws there wasn't really anything much else to do. Instead, he ran forward daintily, lifted his arms, and bounced the ball into the turf before backing out at a rate of knots.

Two towering equines charged towards each other, and the ball, leaping high at the same moment like they were re-enacting scenes from 300. At the last second, the Arabian lifted his knee and collided with the bigger horse, with his knee impacting his opponent in the stomach and his hoof flicking forward to smack into his leg. The youngster managed to make use of the distraction to get his arm up higher and tap the ball to his own ruck rover and away they went.

The ram blew his whistle, and they reset. In the centre square, one cocky young stud grinned at his older opponent and flexed a well defined bicep.

"Gotta have some leap to get off the ground big fella. All that extra bulk isn't helping you."

The Friesian grunted and narrowed his eyes. "Going to be useful when I smack your useless hide into the turf hotshot."

"Oh yeah? Pity you're so fat. You might have been a challenge."

The Friesian gave his own lopsided grin and patted his musclegut. "Fat? Well, it's kind of your fault if I am...after all, whenever I fuck your mom, she bakes me a carrot cake..."

They had to be separated by their midfielders, who looked a little surprised at the level of intent shown by their two equine teammates. The ferret eyed up the ram and showed him the ball as if to enquire if the coach wanted to take over. He just shook his head.

The buck next to him sighed. "Two stallions in the one paddock. It never works out."

"It will work...it will work..."

The ferret shuffled forward and bounced again. The midfielders set themselves to the tap. The two equines ran at each other and the ball with furious intent...and it was a split second too late that the ram realised neither was watching the ball.

It took most of the combined team to get the two stallions apart, by which stage the Arabian had landed a nice left hook on his opponent's muzzle and the Friesian had some of the youngster's floofy mane in his teeth. Blood flowed liberally, and the ram hauled the team together for a dressing down followed by sending the two stallions to the showers. Separately. With an escort.

Over a beer, the coach and his offsider debated what to do. The buck seemed out of answers.

"I dunno Ray. It's a horse thing. Two stallions, one has to assert his dominance over the other. It's a complete bastard but it's there, no matter how far they are from their feral ancestors. And I don't know how to get them to the point they can get over this shit and work together."

The ram downed his beer and nodded. The buck was usually right, and he knew the answer if he thought about it. He called the two horses, and gave them his ultimatum. Sort this shit out, or both of them were gone. He would use his fucking midget of a housecat rover as his ruck if he had to, but the horse war was over, as of now.

Both got the message, with differing levels of whining and special pleading. Unbeknownst to the coach, his phonecall was followed by another, from a certain Friesian to a certain Arabian.

****

Back at the merged clubrooms, the Friesian waited for his opponent. As agreed, he was in his footy shorts and nothing else. Part of him secretly hoped the cocky cunt would bottle it, and he wandered into the gym idly wondering how the little mare would justify his absence. Hoof injury? Sprained a fetlock? Case of the sniffles?

He had to admit he felt a little intimidated in here. He had entered the main gym of his new clubroom, and it rankled a little. His own club never had the money, being from a poorer area, and his own gym was a little lacking in equipment. It was now in the process of being turned into an office block, as the merged club had sold off his clubhouse to clear it's debts. This one was spick, he had to admit, with plenty of weights and plenty of machines and nice fresh mats with plenty of padding. He didn't like it though.

Fucking silver spoon wannabes...

"Ha. Thought you would bunk off fatso."

Brody turned to the entrance, and the sight of his opponent. The younger stud stood casually in the doorway, head bowed so he could fit in the door, with that same shiteating grin plastered on his muzzle that made the older stallion want to smash his muzzle across the floor. He was also wearing just his footy shorts, and the bigger stud had to admit he looked good. Not an ounce of fat, with defined abs and chest, he was impressive. For a pony.

"Funny, thought you would be the gutless one, princess."

Two equines stared at each other, their ears signalling to anyone stupid enough to be around. Shit was about to get real.

"So...how are we going to do this?"

The Friesian frowned. "I'm the better ruck, you know it, I know it. Just fucking admit it, and we can move on. You can be my relief, I will take first spot, and you can shine my hooves..."

The Arabian whinnied, and it was an impressive sound in the enclosed space of the gym. His eyes widened, and his nostrils flared, and he took several steps forward and stopped about a yard from the bigger stallion.

"Bollocks. I'm better at centre bounces..."

"And I'm better at throw ins. You are too light little pony, I can ragdoll you like a kitten..."

"Fine...let's see who is the better stud then...is it on fatso?"

"Oh, it's on...princess..."

The two let out loud whinnies and lunged. Arms flailed, and the Friesian collected the Arab right under his left eye. It didn't stop the big stud though, who gripped the lighter stallion around the waist and bodyslammed him onto the mat. Their cries and curses echoed in the room along with grunts, and gasping breaths, as the two broke apart and sized each other up.

"Not bad fleabag, might even be worth mounting..."

The Friesian narrowed his eyes at the youngster, but also took in the muscled form under a shining chestnut coat, and the very delectable muzzle even bearing it's hostile grin.

"Going to be like that is it princess?"

"You up for it stud, or going to chicken out..."

"Well, after fucking your mom, I guess mounting you will just complete the set. Let's see who screams the best when they cum and...ooof!"

The Arabian seemed a little sensitive on that topic, after all, and Brody had to use all his strength to fend off the charge from an enraged stallion before they ended up back on their hooves bumping chests and grappling. The grunts were back, and he looked into a pair of red wild Arabian eyes, while Jarrod used all his strength to try and wrestle the stallion to the mat.

They held there in an unstable equilibrium for a while, all that energy and testosterone going into perverse immobility, and the Friesian was just getting the upper hand when Jarrod managed to use one long leg to hook round the bigger stallion's fetlock and bring them both down with a thud.

The Friesian proved remarkably agile though, Jarrod had to admit with a flash of grudging admiration. One second he was on top of the big stud, body on body, chest on chest, and the next he felt himself flipped and pinned, his arm drawn back and up, and a heavy horse sitting on the small of his back. And the Friesian was not being gentle, twisting his arm enough to send pain right through to the shoulder.

"Ahhh fuck ok!"

"What was that pony?"

"I said ok!"

"I didn't heeeeear you!"

"You win stud, you win."

"Get those ears down then princess. I want to see you submit!"

Jarrod fought, and he writhed, but one more twist in his arm proved sufficient. He flattened his ears, and relaxed. And part of him felt almost a sense of anticipation, though he wondered also how the Friesian would handle the next part.

He felt the bigger stallion lie on him, body on body, the pounding in his chest felt through the youngster's back. He felt the sweat, the heat, between them, and the bigger stud rubbed his chest over his back, rubbing sweat all over his coat. Then he felt a pair of bulky thighs between his, and a pair of fetlocks, and suddenly his own were spread wide, gently but firmly.

"Must admit I liked watching your ass last season colt..."

"Probably why you kept missing marks fatso..."

"Yeah maybe...let's see what I was missing..."

Jarrod tried to hold on, but the feel of the big stud nuzzling his neck made him moan and push back into the bulky body against his own. Big flexible lips nipped and sucked, and he felt a deep throated nicker from the Friesian run through him like honey. Then the bigger stud licked his mane, and nipped his ears, and he kept them down, trying to ignore the growing erection in his footy shorts.

Hands found his shoulders, rubbing, then gripping tight, and the incredible muzzle made an agonizingly slow journey down his back, right the length of his spine, and all he could do was writhe and nicker in response, until the stud reached his dock and the waistband of his footy shorts.

"Such a fluffy tail. Like a fucking mare..."

"Just jealous."

"Maybe...or maybe I like it like that."

Jarrod felt fingers wrapped in his tail. It had been a long time, way too long. He knew he needed this; and had to admit he secretly wanted it the moment he saw the stud at training.

The muzzle licked under his dock now, and he lifted his hips a little, no longer fighting it. The Friesian chuckled at the change in his opponent, and shook his head. That ass...he couldn't believe he was about to get a shot at that ass. Two perfect mounds of pony muscle, he had spent far too much time last season chasing that way too fast ass and admiring the curve of his butt as the Arabian always seemed just out of reach. Not tonight...oh definitely, not tonight.

One hand suddenly hooked into Jarrod's waistband, and pulled his shorts down to his knees. The other pulled his tail high, stretching his taint and the sensitive ring of his pucker.

"Ahhh! Gentle!"

"Hehe...is that begging pony?"

"Fucking hamfisted...ohhhhhhh"

Jarrod's complaint was cut short by a deep satisfied sigh. The muzzle had completed it's journey, at last. He felt the torrent of warm breath on his pucker, then on his soft perineum, and then on his scrotum. Where first...

"Ahhhh!"

Jarrod loved nothing more than some stud worshipping his balls. He had a huge set, the biggest in his school he liked to boast. Even bigger than his mate Declan the bull, and that took something. A big fat pair of stallion orbs in a leathery black sac, and now the Friesian was lapping at them and suckling and he felt rough hands spread his ass cheeks and fingers slide along the sensitive skin of his crevice to find...

"Ohhhfuck!"

One fingerhoof found his pucker, the poor sensitive little ring not used to rough handling. It would have to get used to it quick, he realised, as the big stallion didn't wait and instead spread his muscled ring with the tip then slid inside to the knuckle as he hissed in discomfort. Just as he was about to complain though he felt his left nut sucked completely into the stud's muzzle and he was too busy moaning to complain.

A second finger joined the first, then a third, sawing into his anus and spreading the needy sphincter expertly. His straining tunnel burned, in need as well as pain, but he pushed back demanding more as his cock sprung finally to complete erection and unloaded a long spurt of precum onto the mat.

"Hehe...needy mare aren't you..."

"Fuck you!"

"You wish colt."

Jarrod had to bite his tongue to stop himself letting out a whinny of complaint that would give the game away when he felt those insistent horse fingers suddenly slide from his ass. He needn't have worried though; the Friesian could smell his need anyway. It was kind of hard to miss.

The muzzle was back, and sniffing. He felt the soft skin of a stallion muzzle, and the little rough hairs on his chin, rub against his perineum. It made him scream out a whinny, the sensation incongruously intense for one so soft. Then the same on his winking anus, and then on his scrotum, then under, on his sheath.

A hand next, gripping his cock. He abandoned all pretense now; after all, when a guy has your dripping cock in his hands, it's a little hard to pretend you aren't into it.

"Get on with it..."

"What's that mare?"

"I said get on...aahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Tongue. On his taint, lapping, harder, then on his pucker, licking around the ring of muscle, pressing on the centre, then forcing a path inside him and he suddenly felt his tunnel slick with stallion spit and felt the warm throbbing mass of a stallion tongue eating him out. And the hand remained, roughly jacking him and stroking his flare which was swelling and twitching and...

"Oh fuck...oh fuck...oh fuck...OH FUCK!"

Jarrod unloaded, too aroused to be embarrassed, when the questing tongue found his prostate. The strong hand of his conqueror took the brunt of it, still wrapped round his flare, as a wild river of stallion seed gushed over it and onto the pristine exercise mat now drenched in horse semen.

Panting, and on all fours, he waited for whatever was next. Hoping.

The sounds of slick wet cock stroking came from behind, and he realised the stallion was using his own cum to lube up his cock. Jarrod turned his head, ears now up but respectful, and watched the erotic act, admiring the thickness of the Friesians stallionhood. Shorter than his own, he thought with a smile. But ohh so fucking thick.

"Ready pony?"

"Please..."

Brody rested his flare against the clenching pucker of the younger stallion. The incredible heat hit him, the warmth and aching beauty of that stallion hole. He had felt it on his tongue and on his fingers, he had scented it, the wild musk of a young stud in heat. Now he was going to savour it; and the cocky cunt had better hold on tight.

"Ahhh!"

He let the Arabian have just the tip, at first. It wasn't to be gentle either. He loved feeling just his flare inside a guy's ass, and this incredibly tight hole was perfect. One clench, and relax. A second, and a moan as he rocked his hips forward just a little and drove an inch of thick horseflesh into the helpless stallion. Then back, until the pucker almost released him...

"AHHHH!"

It was a loud whinny, and deep, befitting the response to suddenly having six inches of thick stallion cock driven into an inexperienced ass. Then Brody waited again. And this time, he was being gentle.

Jarrod felt the burn inside and the aching fullness and fear gripped him for a moment. But the pain stopped as the stud waited with only the first few inches inside him. Then he felt the rub of a big chest and belly on his back, and hands gripping his, as the stud leaned over him and covered his body with the bigger mass of a Friesian. And he felt the muzzle now at his ear.

"Are you ok stallion?"

"Just...slow, ok?"

And it was. Long slow minutes, rocking forward and back, kissing the youngster's neck and nibbling his mane, until finally Brody was buried to the hilt in his conquest and the youngster was dripping again from a cock rising and falling with his heartbeat.

"Ready stud?"

"Of course...after all, it's a horse thing."

"Definitely."

The slap of muscled hips hitting muscled ass echoed across the room, as the Friesian built his pace and the intensity of his fuck. And the Arabian pushed back and took it as good as it was given, his head back and eyes wide in passion, with the big stud biting into his shoulder as he felt the sudden tightening of a now well lubricated stallion anus that told of impending delight.

A wild whinny and a rhythmic pulse against his cock told him his fellow stud had reached an ending, as did the wild scent of ripe stallion cum that assailed his nostrils. He rested on the sweat covered back of the younger stud and chuckled into his ear.

"Fucking hell fatso. Do you ever cum?"

"Ever hear the story of the old stud and the young stud?"

"No..."

"A young stud comes up to an old stud and says, 'hey, the farmer left the gate open. How about we run into the next paddock and fuck a few of those mares?'"

"Yeah?"

"And the old stud says, 'nah sonny. Let's walk into the paddock, and fuck all of them'. Patience pony...let a real stud show you how it's done."

And so Jarrod found himself looking up at the Friesian's eyes as he was taken on his back, with his hooves over a pair of broad shoulders, and the stallion's feathered forearms entwined with his. They bent into a long kiss, heated and content, and he felt the stallion give himself completely to the fuck, body moving with such heat, only wanting the perfect ending, which came finally just as the pain in Jarrod's raw tailhole reached fever pitch and was soothed by a torrent of Friesian seed that warmed his insides and dripped out to coat his red sore pucker just as his own orgasm took him.

As they lay panting and covered in sweat and cum, Jarrod looked over to the Friesian's groin, a little horrified to see the stud was still hard, his flare pulsing to his heartbeat and ejecting occasional gobs of spent seed. The big stud seemed to read his mind.

"A little sore are we?"

"Um...yeah..."

"Hows your muzzle?"

The Arabian flicked his ears a little, and then twisted his muzzle into a grin.

"Pretty good."

"Better than mine. Nice punch by the way...time to make up for it...just like on the field. Just sit there nice and easy, and I'll put it right down your throat..."

Jarrod did manage it too, though he was out of practice, but he had to cheat. As the big stallion muzzlefucked him with a hand wrapped lovingly in his long flowing mane, he realised the stud was holding back to prolong it. Being impatient as only a young stud can be, he decided to take matters into his own hands, or fingers. It only took two, slid under a bulging Friesian scrotum and into Brody's tight ass to do the trick. He wasn't gentle, but he didn't think the stud would like it gentle anyway, and as he rubbed the swollen prostate deep inside the Friesian he was rewarded with a gush of thick stallion cream and a satisfied whinny from his conqueror.

"Guess we should clean this up eh?"

They made a decent fist of removing the evidence, but unfortunately one long string of Jarrod's cum had made it to the bench press when it passed his head. It had been a particularly intense cum, just as the Friesian unloaded in his ass, and he was too busy watching the look of transported bliss on the stallion's face to notice he had shot his first gusher a long way past them both. It hung there, dripping across the vinyl, but not for too long.

After they had left, a lone figure padded out of a storage cupboard at one end of the room. His shorts had a fairly obvious wet patch at the crotch, and he was still hard judging by the bulge.

Jessie had been working in the bar at the attached social club until closing. He had gone into the gym to store some equipment when he heard the arrival of the first stallion. Intrigued, he had decided to watch, wondering what was up, and when the second arrived, he knew he had made the right choice. He always wondered how the studs decided who was boss, and he was going to find out.

The small housecat was not quite prepared for what he saw. He felt it would probably be in his mind, and in his dreams, forever. Still, the quiet rover had to admit, the horses had a good way of doing it. And it made for better entertainment than football...

He was about to leave when he saw the line of horse spoo, tell-tale evidence of the contest just completed. He toyed with leaving it there, but had a better idea. He bent to the bench, and extended his tongue. The taste of raw stallion, and the scent, filled his senses. He let out a deep meowl, and unloaded one more time in his shorts.

****

The training session was going well, the ram had to admit. And it was largely due to the horses, which made him both happy and suspicious, especially given how they looked on arrival.

They had arrived looking more happy than last time. They also looked terrible.

"What the actual fuck..." the ram swore under his breath when he saw them.

He gave both his ruckmen the onceover. The big Friesian had a black eye and bruised muzzle, and a scratch under his left eye. The Arabian had more mane missing, scratches on his face, and was walking really funny. In fact both were.

"Got something wrong with your hooves Jarrod?"

"No coach!"

"Funny...you seem like you are trotting on molten lava or something. Problem with your groin?"

"Just a little pain around...er...there, coach..."

"And you Brody. What the fuck happened?"

"You should see the other guy..."

"You are walking like a fucking geriatric. What gives?"

"Errr...my hip coach. Bit of stiffness, I guess I haven't used it like that in way too long..."

He caught some embarrassed glances between the two stallions. He didn't like it when he thought his team were holding something over him, but for the life of him he couldn't work out what it was.

"So...I take it you had round two after our little..chat..."

"Um yeah...but we sorted it."

Now the ram was astonished, but felt the first tingling of hope.

"Really?"

The Friesian took the lead. "Yeah, you see, I'm better round the ground, and princess here..."

"...hey, same to you fatso!..."

"...ponyfeatures is better at centre bounces. So I thought, he could take those, then move forward, and I can do most of the rough stuff round the ground. Twin ruck strategy...what do you say?"

The ram blinked and nodded. It did make sense, and he knew Jarrod was a decent kick for goal, but still...

"So you two sorted your differences. You can work together?"

The chorused together. "Yes coach!" and gave each other a punch on the shoulder for good measure. The ram still scowled.

"Fucking horses. Maniacs. Beating the shit out of each other just to see who is the main stallion...so can I ask who won?"

Both stallions looked scandalised then. Brody shook his head.

"Can't coach. It's a horse thing. Trust me."

He felt his assistant nudge him in the side, the buck grinning like a maniac.

"See! I told you mate!"

He made the whole squad run laps anyway but secretly he was pleased. There was one last moment of oddness though. When they set up for some ruck drills, the centre square groups took their places, at least grateful they weren't about to see their ruckmen trying to kill each other. The Friesian looked down at his rover, a slightly built cat called Jessie he seemed to remember, and whispered out the side of his muzzle.

"Hey you...catboy...when I go up, go left. Just sit there nice and easy, and I will put it right down your throat..."

The cat suddenly fell over laughing, much to everyone's surprise. The two ruckmen looked on, a bit baffled.

"Maybe it's a cat thing?" suggested Jarrod.

The ram pulled off his whistle and threw it as far as he could, but only managed to hit his assistant the buck on his antlers.

Not for the first time, he thought longingly about coaching netball for a change.

****

The night after the first match of the newly formed Harding United when the players had all headed home after a few beers and a lot of singing, everything seemed to be going well. Brody was home having a shower, letting the warm water soothe some of the pain in his muscles. At his age it wasn't easy, he had to admit, and it took him a while to recover, but a win made it all worthwhile.

He was surprised to hear the doorbell ring. He was looking forward to a quiet night in, some feed, and a kip. If this was a fucking door to door electricity salesman...

The figure at the door surprised him even more.

"Well played today by the way fatso."

He nickered and opened the door, allowing the tall Arabian to enter.

"Nice place you got here...not bad."

Brody headed for the fridge. Something was up, he could see, the young stallion was all on edge, his ears twitching, eyes not able to hold his. He tossed the stallion a beer and took up a seat on the sofa. The younger stud gratefully slid into an armchair.

"It's ok. Only me though, so it gets lonely."

"Yeah..." Jarrod managed a shy smile then, and sucked down most of his beer as the older stud waggled a finger.

"Remember what I told you about patience and taking your time over things pony."

His response was another grin, and a monumental burp. The Arabian wiped his muzzle with one big hand, removing a liberal coating of froth, and regretfully crushed the can.

"So...don't want to go home?"

The youngster hid a little behind his forelock, and Brody wondered, not for the first time.

"Your mom..."

That drew a whinny now, and a slight angry nicker. Brody was wise enough to back off.

"Ok ok. Well, what do you want to do then?"

The grin was back. "Err well...I kind of...fancy a rematch. Best of three?"

"Really princess."

"Really fatso."

If someone close by had listened in, they might have thought the occupants of the small cottage on Drake street were trying to kill each other. The sound of grunts, whinnies, and occasional thumps and on one occasion, shattering furniture, certainly gave that impression. But if they had patience had waited, they would also have heard different whinnies, moans, cries, and the sound of muscle slapping muscle and a voice demanding more, harder, and then screaming yes. And then again. And then again.

If surprised by this, they need only have found a certain housecat and asked his opinion. And he would have been able to smile and tell them it was just a horse thing. And if they were lucky, and they heard it again, they should probably take the opportunity to peek through the window.

If they had, they would have seen late that night one Arabian stallion in bed, embraced in the arms of a bigger older Friesian, who ran fingers through his younger companion's mane and nuzzled his neck as they basked in the aftermath of their playful ways and enjoyed the company of each other. For that was just a horse thing too.

Just as Brody was drifting off to a beautiful sleep, he felt a hand on his semi hard cock. It stroked with purpose, and then another hand cupped his scrotum and squeezed. He let out a mock groan and rolled his eyes, even as he spread his legs and let the insatiable youngster at it. Then a muzzle nosed his ear.

"You know fatso...we could always make it best of five..."