1000 Words: Painting Horses
#3 of 1000 Words: Picture Stories
This story belongs to my new series: 1000 Words: Picture Stories. If a picture is worth a thousand words, can I paint a scene with the same limitation? The stories in this folder are self-contained, and not interrelated, other than the requirement that they contain exactly 1000 words.
It is dark out this time, and his handlers have put blinders on him again. The powerful stallion knows that they are trying to confuse him, but he won't cooperate. For days they had lead him out to the fences, across from the mare they wanted bred. She is beautiful, her white coat covered in brown splashes of fur, just like his, and she is in heat, but he will have nothing to do with her. His eyes are reserved for another...
He is lead to the enclosure, bucking and rearing his head as he pulls against his lead. The humans are persistent, and force the stallion into the pen. He had made it clear which mare he wanted, but still they show him the paint horse. He would refuse once more, and there would be angry arguments among his handlers and the humans that always appeared around this new mare.
There is another horse in the pen, but he has to look twice to make sure his eyes are not lying to him. It is her, finally! His dark brown pony, he is sure of it, even with the blinders on. He smells her scent, and she is in heat. He nickers to her, and she nickers back playfully. Are they letting him breed her at long last?
Growing up, she had always been there, larger than him at first. They ran through the open fields, inseparable. Grazing, playing, and running together, he grew and matured, eventually overtaking her in size. They are friends for life, but now, as the young stallion is old enough to breed, his handlers keep her away. He is frustrated and angry, knowing that she is in heat and that she wants him. But the humans keep presenting the paint horse instead.
He wastes no time approaching her, tossing his head and standing alongside her, thrilled to be with her once again. She is no thoroughbred like he, but she is a large pony, her dark fur almost invisible against the night sky. Their noses touch, sharing each others' hot breath. Their barrels brush against each other, every hair along his body tingling against her. He nickers gently at his friend.
Soon to be his first mate, he thinks. He had saved himself for her, and finally it is time. He moves behind the mare, nipping gently. She nickers eagerly, and she is more than ready. In the darkness he can see that she is being held immobile against the gate. When he tries to mount, he feels a tug against his neck, and he is pulled aside with a firm, "Not yet, boy."
He approaches her again, more slowly this time, and his handlers finally stop him when he is just in range to sniff at her. The smell is amazing. He exhales hot air against her winking labia, and she snorts and raises her tail. Her hind legs tremble and she spreads them for him, looking over her shoulder as she whinnies. He had never been more aroused than he is now, his massive erection stiff and swaying beneath him.
He tries again to mount, but the humans pull him sideways and back, and he hears the click of the gate. He is desperate to mate his beloved mare but now fears they are taking her away. When he turns to face her again, he is relieved to see her there, her tail raised and waiting for him. He smells her heat, overwhelming all other scents.
This time when he tries to mount her beautiful, brown back, they don't pull him away. He is on her! His forelegs press against her beautiful barrel as he quickly lines himself up, thrusting wildly. She whinnies in anticipation as he tries to find his mark, grunting and straining.
He hears squealing from the next pen, and knows it must be the paint horse, eager to be serviced. They must hope he will breed her once finished with his love, but he wants no one but his pony. With a triumphant scream, he plunges into her, his firm erection spreading her folds apart. She neighs in ecstasy as he pushes deep into her, thrusting slowly until he is ready. He flares within her, lifting his tail as he erupts, moaning. There is no greater feeling in his short life than filling his love with his seed. Soon she would be heavy with foal.
With a satisfied grunt, he pulls himself off of her, white fluid spilling out of her now glistening vulva. Still he hears the squeals of the desperate paint horse. He turns to look at the other mare, his blinders still restricting his peripheral vision.
It is her, his brown companion, squealing in the next pen over. But she is in here with him! He turns back to the mare he had just bred, focusing his eyes in the dark. There she is again, her tail up, painted with his fluids. How could she be in two places at once? Then the horse he had so eagerly mated changed. Her handlers pulled the dark brown blanket that had been covering her back free, revealing a coat that was white with brown spots.
They had switched his love out for the paint horse! He had been too intoxicated to notice in the dark with his blinders. Instead of breeding the pony he loved, he had mated with another, right in front of her. The squeals had been hers the whole time, as she helplessly watched him service the wrong horse.
The paint horse is lead away, her tail up revealing her soiled rump, showing him that she is now painted in more ways than one. She gives him a contented, mocking look before entering her trailer, finally serviced by the reluctant stallion. And now they lead his true love away, still in heat and unsatisfied, and he knows in the pit of his belly a growing hopelessness. They will never let him breed her.