The Stallion's Suitor
by J.L. Atwood

Dvan (the) Carpenter meandered down the hard-packed path that served as a street though the middle of the commune, leading from the outlying fields to the storage barns at the other. Between the two lay the low slung dwellings of he and his ‘brothers’, the young and weaker outcasts of the society they were a part of. His hooves clopped pleasantly as he picked his way along, his gray-dappled coat still gleaming from the fresh grooming he’d given himself not an hour ago. In this small town, there was but one reason to put one’s appearance in order, and the others he passed greeted him with an abbreviated nod, or ignored his passage all-together. There was little chance for privacy here, and little need… what little there was to be had was found only in the civility of others.

     The need that drove him to this length of care was an urgent one, of course. One that nagged at him with every step, a deep churning inside his body, and a fire that threatened to race up his spine and sear his hide away. For this, here, there was just one true cure, and the proprietor of that service was particular to say the least. Dvan went to pay a visit on Zeldir.

     Zel’s shop and home, unlike the rest, was set a good twenty stride back from the main path and shielded with bushes and space on all sides. Discrete, tasteful. Zel was particular, but his services were unarguably of the highest caliber and worth the extras he was granted. One did not visit him with the dust of the fields and the stench of sweat in one’s coat.

     As the gate swung shut behind him the young bay stallion could be seen bent double, pulling weeds from his beloved beds; beds of herbs with properties that kept the young healthy and added spice to grains. Mixed, liberally of course, with flowers and other ornamental plants. Beauty, where there might otherwise be none. None, that is, besides Zel himself. The lad heard the tick of hooves on the pathstones that lead to his home, and straitened up. Beautiful, indeed, was not the word for him.

     His horsecoat was a rich bloodbay that fell into black stockings, paired with a coal-black mane and tail. His build beneath that perpetually glossy coat was sleekly rippling, delicate through the legs and loin. His human half, tanned darkly as they all were by hot summer and a disdain for clothing, was equally slender and met his equine with a waist that could almost be called narrow. His very way of standing was graceful, artful… many of the others said he was more beautiful than most mares they’ve seen. From Dvan’s limited experience, that could very well be true. It made his --their— task much, much easier.

     "Hello!" Zel greeted with his usual enthusiasm, and invited the other in with a jerk of the head. "What service might I offer today to you, Carpenter?" A reasonable question, indeed, as there was more to the bay’s services than the one that Dvan sought, "I’ve made up some packages of the spices you favor for your meals…? Very reasonable prices, I guarantee!" Dvan shook his head, negating the offer.

     "No, Zel… I was, ah, wondering…" He began, somewhat awkwardly. After all, he hadn’t sought this more than twice before. "If you had a free afternoon…?" He let the question hang, the proper connotations layered in his voice, the proper offer made. Now, if Zel…

     Zel would, "I think so, if you feel like visiting a while." The response was proper, and the bay shoved open the door to his domicile with a small smile. Dvan had to wonder though, for while the attitude was friendly and he smiled… no humor showed in his eyes. They seemed, almost tired. He entered, though, and wandered to the small sideroom that served as many things… workroom, dining room, and… more. Zel snagged from the kitchen –a sign of wealth all it’s own—and offered a graincake held together with thick honey. Water appeared as well, to wash it down. As they were built as they were, seats were not needed and not offered. Casual conversation rose; the influx and outflux of cents into the commune, and who was having a hard time settling into their roles here. The room’s walls were lined with jars and canisters of all types, and drop cloths covered many items to protect them from dust. Dvan knew what some of those items were...

     As such things must, conversation wound down, and Zel cleared away the cups and plates. While he was away, Dvan took up what was needed to initiate the second half of his visit and partake of Zel’s special services. Zel, unlike the rest of them who did so when they must, preferred the company of males to mares… and he was very good at it. The closest thing to a mare, to a physical companion, Zel was a precious thing. As Dvan fitted the soft length of cloth over his eyes, the rumor came to his mind… whispered in his ear by his closest friend… that some males went to Zel without the blindfold, and mounted him like a mare. The young man’s touch was so good, they threw their seed over his flanks, clasping themselves to him… A ripple went over his skin, a shiver of erotic lust at that thought and he started. What was he thinking? No… blindfold? No… illusion?

     His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of hooves on wood, and he turned his head towards the sound… A murmur of approval came from Zel, and Dvan could hear him move to the shelving, and the slight noise of the removal of a jar from it. Towards him, Zel came, a friendly hand coming to his shoulder, then to his chin to hold it still. Friendly, but not too friendly yet… Zel new better than to begin, yet. The jar’s cap rattles, slides… a moment, and then his jaw is grasped. But, already Dvan draws a deep breath, hunting for the elusive scent. The next moment, he’s plunged into a word of sensation as a dab of cream is smeared on his upper lip, beneath his nose. Convulsively he breathes, drawing deep into his lungs the wonder of a mare’s musky heat-scent. From his lungs, a tingle races along his spine, spilling along his body and setting his skin on fire.. flaring to burning until the electric shock reached his loins. As his cock spills from it’s sheath and thickens in raw reaction, a raw moan escapes his throat. Dimly, he’s aware of the indrawn breath beside him and a secondary moan, quietly choked. Any care Dvan may have had over the other’s reaction is washed from his mind with each breath.

     Zel drew up beside him, the warm silk of his skin radiating heat against his own. The other reaches first, slipping its arms about his waist, stroking his body with nimble fingers. Teeth find his shoulder, followed by soft lips. In turn, he reaches, encircling his…her?… waist with his arms and sidling hard against the warm body. Belatedly, he kills the half-hop that would have sent himself rearing back to mount, and settles instead for thrusting his tongue into the others mouth, hungrily kissing. The other’s breathing grows ragged, becoming aroused in turn… something he dimly remembered not happening before. Not that he could care…

     The wait was hard… his cock burned between his legs, aching to bury itself into something. But, he’d indicated he’d wanted something drawn out, draining, in the beginning exchange, and Zel would stick to that request. The two equine bodies rubbed against one another, flank brushing flank. The skin beneath his hands was sleek and smooth… be it coated or bare… and oh so soft. The mouth that kissed his was sweet and responsive, showing signs of playfulness restrained… what would it take, to get that released? Gods, above, below, and beyond….

     Zel released his mouth, and pulled away, fumbling for something… Dvan followed, ardent while his lover was distracted and determined to make whatever task was at hand a true chore. Finally hands pushed at him, and he released, breathing deeply and shivering with his own excitement. A hand slipped down his body, hovering on his haunch and realization struck. Another groan slipped from his lips, and he stands, taunt in muscle and shaft, for him. Something cool touched his shaft, ice when compared to his fire. The chill vanished, blown away as the fingers spread the slickening goo on the shaft. Compulsively, his hips thrust. The hands are removed until he stills, and then they return, teasing him deeper into his delirium. Surrounding him, tracing the flare, arousing him until he was certain he’d spill on the floor before retreating a moment to leave him a shivering and aching mass, straining for their return. Well slickened and more, Zel’s presence vanishes a moment, and Dvan reaches to find him elusive. Cloth is heard, drawn aside… then a hand finds his and pulls.

     Led as an obedient stud by the trusted touch, he steps forward eagerly. The grip loosens, and he slows until his chest nudges something rounded and covered with soft and slick leather. Another hand finds his other, and he is pulled forward. Rocking back, he rises up to land atop the false-mare, mounting. His slickened cock meets slick leather and again he thrusts blindly, setting his shivers racing anew. A hand releases his, and appears around his cock. He back off, and the hand guides him to the recessed opening. His forelegs clasp the leather-clad, padded cylinder that is the false mare and he thrusts his cock deep inside the opening with a guttural grunt. His lover presses close beside him, his hands on his body, urging him on in his efforts. His sweat-slick skin slides along Dvan’s, embracing as his thrusts grow more frenzied, more desperate for the release that boils within. The pressure builds, until it spills out, rivulets of cum splattering the inside of the leathery mare. He screams in release, until his lover steals it from his throat with a smothering kiss….

     The last jets escape, and he drops from the mount, dazedly reeling and feeling blissful. His lover escapes his grasp, to return with a towel and a wet cloth. The cream is by now mostly sweated from his lips, and faint… the wet cloth makes it fainter yet. As his body cools, he reaches up to remove the blindfold… to be greeted by the true sight of Zel, who is in turn sweaty and agitated and trying to conceal both and succeeding at neither. Suprising, most of all, is the bay’s own erection and the trail of pre that drools from the agitated flare to the floor in a thread-like stream. Fascinated by the sight, he stares a moment, until he catches the bay’s eyes and saw the dejectedness there, and the embarrassment. Not to mention the raw look of passion that blazed there. Ducking his head in understanding, Dvan made for the door.

     Once exited, he lingered, listening to the scrape of hoof and the heavy rhythmic creak of the stand as the bay threw himself at the false-mare. The yelp that sounded as Zel in turn emptied himself made up Dvan’s mind. Next time, Zel would not waste himself on a false lover, left alone and untended in his own passions while he had so selflessly tended his brothers with nothing given in return. Next time, there would be no blindfold… and next time would be soon. Dvan licked his lips. Very soon, he would see to that.