Stud Farm

This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.

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Stud Farm

There is nothing like dawn over a stable yard.

Sure, 'business', as they said, picked up during the day, but those initial moments of weak winter sunshine creeping over the hills were the most serene. Consisting of barn, feed room, tack room and lower stable block, the yard buildings were modest and immaculately kept, nestled in the arms of the hills. The countryside stretched for miles upon miles around and one could walk or ride all day if they so desired, sweeping across the hillsides at canter with not a soul to caution or restrain. There were hillier, wilder, places, of course, in the country as a whole, but this particular patchwork of fields and barns was perfectly secluded from mundane life. Even better, the stud farm was privately owned and the owner, perhaps one with more money than sense, frequently left the yard manager in charge of the day to day operations for weeks at a time.

The quiet, however, meant that all the work that was to be done was to be done alone. There was little time for mucking about, only mucking out, and the yard manager was busy. Despite the majority of the native breeds living out throughout the winter months, fluffy coats and rugs freckled with frost, the stretch of stalls still needed to be spotless by lunchtime. And then there was training to be undertaken, youngsters to be schooled. There was no rest for the wicked upon a breeding yard.

The bay equine snorted, slinging a pristine red head collar over his shoulder. Bare hoofed, his fetlocks were caked with mud and his tired eyes bore witness to the fact that he had been up for hours already, taking care of his charges on the yard. He could have done with more sleep and yet his steps were lively, ears pricked and head constantly turning to take stock of his surroundings. Though the work was hard, Pulley would not have had it any other way. What more could a stallion want than to trot up to the fields on a sharp, winter morning to bring in the youngsters? To see a foal take his first steps and take care of the stallions as they flicked up their heels? He chuckled to himself, mirth disappearing into the quiet. He could want for many things, most of all a short break or two or three, yet he never would. Later in the day he would have assistance from the new stable hand, someone he had hired part-time. It was good that the owner trusted him to hire at his discretion: it lightened the load just enough to keep him smiling.

It did not hurt that the bull he had hired was not bad looking either, he mused as he swung open the gate to the 'top strip' of field, whistling softly. It was always amusing to see if the youngsters had heard him approaching or not. Some days, they would be clustered around the gate, keen for a bucket and breakfast, but mostly they were to be found at the far end, bothering the neighbour's goats. The bull, a strong, black fellow with nicely curved grey horns had seemed impressed with the breeding facility and Pulley had the feeling that he would fit in very well over time.

If only he could get the bovine to relax. Mark was drawn as taught as the lead rope on a nervous colt, dashing from task to task with a kind of nervous energy that the stallion found exhausting after a time. Fair enough, he could not complain that the bull had not gotten all of his tasks done during the few afternoons that he had worked so far, but it would be nice to have some conversation too. It got lonely on the yard sometimes. Was it too much to ask for another voice?

The stallion rolled his eyes, leaned against the metal barred gate and whistled again for the youngsters: no doubt they were getting into trouble. His mind was on the bull, imagining his strong, able body, how the musculature of his body appeared when hard at work, strong arms sweeping in a firm line as he curry combed a piebald mare. That had been the day before and the memory was too fresh and sharp for comfort. Cursing himself, Pulley shifted his weight to the other hoof, the tightness in his jodhpurs both uncomfortable and decidedly pleasant. He was always half-dropped, the outline difficult to hide in the close fitting stable wear. Perhaps the bull had noticed. Damn it! He shook his head, overcome with images better suited to action than contemplation. Did Mark not know how hot he looked? While the two bays and single chestnut ambled their way down the length of the field, taking their sweet time, Pulley drifted into thought. He had time to kill, after all.

"What are you looking at?"

Pulley started and dropped the bucket with a loud clatter. It rolled across the paved slabs and came to a halt at a pair of dark grey cloven hooves.

Bemused, the bull bent at the waist to collect the wayward bucket and offered it to the stallion by the handle. He cleared his throat and took it as if nothing had happened, holding it beneath the end of the hosepipe so that a steady stream of water trickled in. The tap was broken, again, so it was a slow process. Much like talking to the bull. The sweaty equine they were waiting on pricked his ears attentively, eager for a drink after a hard training session. Even on the lunge, the horses could be worked to thirst.

"Sorry," he chuckled, feigning innocence. "Must have zoned out there for a second. Seems like there's too much to do today, can't stop thinking about it."

Mark looked for a second and shrugged, taking a step back. The equine cleared his throat, tail swishing anxiously against his legs, the long boots reaching his calves. Despite the jodhpurs showing every carved muscle, the spatters of mud did not add any elegance to the look, only an air of long hours and dirty work.

He hoped the bull would prove some companionship on the quiet days when nothing much but conversations with the four-legged equines took place, routine and non-routine rolling into one another like a bale of hay.

"You been around horses for long then?" Pulley braved the silence, paw shaking lightly on the handle of the bucket.

The bull tilted his head fractionally to the left, only enough for the attentive to notice, brown eyes curious.

"You asked me that already," Mark said. He was almost too softly spoken to be heard.

Pulley laughed, brushing off the embarrassment the best he could. He could not help but be tongue-tied around the bull, but he'd be damned if he showed it.

"Well," he smiled, hoping it conveyed a sense of reassurance, though he feared his nerves shone through. "Have you?"

Mark rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

"Kinda."

"Kind of?" Pulley pressed for more information.

"Yeah."

The lack of words hung awkwardly between the duo and Mark rubbed his forearm, dirty nails scratching through his short coat in a low rasping. Stifling a snort, the stallion busied himself with the grooming kit and slung a stuffed hay net over his shoulder, allowing the weight to settle.

So much for conversation, he thought. Like getting blood from a stone. That would be easier.

The bull shifted his weight and stepped back, eyes darting from tool to tool as he not so subtly sought an escape route that would not be so glaringly obvious.

"Let me know if you need anything else doing," he said as he retreated, walking backwards with a sheepish smile on his muzzle. "I'll be skipping out the barn."

As the bull near fled the scene, Pulley looked down at the bucket in his paw and pretended that it was not his arousal, an obvious bulge through the too-tight fabric of his jodhpurs, that had scared off his charge. He dropped the bucket with a thud, sloshing water over the rim, and brushed his forelock back, smiling with cheeky guilt that he could not really feel bad for. He was a stallion - he could not help it. He would not want to help it. As for Mark seeing... The four-legged horse had been between them, right? He had not seen, right?

If he had seen... Pulley's ears pricked. Then was he interested?

Pulley shook himself. A car pulled up on the top yard and crunched to a halt, startling him rudely from his musing. The beaten up black BMW whined as the engine sputtered out and the horse winced, half-raising a paw to his muzzle. What a dreadful sound. Mark should really let him have a look at that car. It was on its last legs, to say the least, if nothing was done for it. Poor car, even if it was a BMW.

Late to the party, his forehead furrowed and he dug in the pocket of his jacket for his mobile, checking the time. He did not often wear a watch and a phone did the job adequately enough as it was never away from his paws for too long. Ten-thirty and Mark was not due to start until two.

Early? The stallion raised an eyebrow. Though Mark was a hard worker, he had not once arrived early for the job. On the contrary, he always arrived exactly on time, exactly when he intended to.

But not this time.

The bull stumbled out of his car, hooves catching against each other in his haste - what was the rush? - and Mark, dressed appropriately for the day in a thick, green coat and black jodhpurs, raised his paw in greeting. Bemused, Pulley did the same, shuffling closer to the stable block to slide home the bottom bolt on the nearest half-door, lest the occupant pull a cheeky escape.

"Good morning," he said as the bull drew near enough for words, leaning back against the wooden door as an equine head appeared over his shoulder. "What brings you down so early?"

"Hey," Mark glanced down at his hooves, the pause audible. "Figured I could get some maintenance work done if I grabbed a couple more hours here," he continued pleasantly enough, smile reaching and warming his eyes. "Didn't you get the message?"

"What message?" Pulley blinked.

"I spoke to John earlier," Mark explained, ducking his muzzle, deferent. "I need a bit of extra money and I know there's things that need to be fixed around here, fencing and stuff. I thought I could do it. There's a lot to be done and John agreed with me..."

Mark trailed off, looking down between his hooves. The horse licked his lips thoughtfully.

Mark was on a first name basis with the owner? The stallion took a moment to digest this information, stroking the black head resting comfortably on his shoulder, curved cheek bone digging into his shoulder, though he would not push the mare away. Pulley did not know whether he should be offended that the owner did not let him know about the change of plans - did he think the stallion was not capable of maintenance work? There was no time! - or pleased that Mark had unexpectedly shown up early. Even though he was not the best at making casual conversation, to say the very least of his attitude, it was good to have him about the yard. The work did need to be done, after all, and there really were not enough hours in the day.

"Fair enough," he said, a little short. "Guess you know what to be getting on with then?"

Mark flinched.

"Yeah," he coughed. "Yeah, I'll do that."

He regretted his abruptness as soon as the bull had turned his back, but he was right - there was a lot to be done and he would hate to delay work for anything other than very good reasons. The stallion sighed, mentally running through the remaining tasks for the day. Yes, there was very much plenty to be getting on with. He would make amends with the bull later. Out in the field, one of the yearlings whinnied, a shrill, wild pitch reverberating across the fields. He was answered with neighs and like whinnies, jolting Pulley into action.

Yet he could not shake the feeling that much would happen later, though what indeed?

*

With the stalls mucked out and all immediate work completed for the day, Pulley took a long draught of water from the bottle he kept with him as he worked, liquid dripping down his chin. He sat down heavily on a square of straw, still tied with orange twine, and took another drink. It was much needed.

Raising his head, he glanced towards the block of stables to his right, the space beyond leading to the upper yard where Mark worked, whistling all the while. Apart from the occasional car rumbling past the stables on the road, the bull was the only two-legged sign of life in the vicinity. He tilted his head, studying the nearest stable door, left half-ajar, its charge out in the field causing his usual trouble. Hadn't Mark worked on something in that stable? The O-ring fixing by the hay rack? Something like that. He could not help himself. Curiously, he checked that Mark was out of sight. Of course, he did not have to justify looking at Mark's work, but it felt wrong to be so openly nosy.

Slipping into the stable, he let the door swing to at his heels, the straw bed groomed perfectly with a strip of floor at the front where the water bucket rested, filled to the brim. He glowed with satisfaction. It was good to be on top of the day's work. Reminding himself of the immediate task, he inspect the hay rack and adjacent O-ring. Earlier that day, the ring had hung loose from the wall, held on by a single bolt in the stone. The stable's occupant liked to be a little rough with his surroundings and, truth be told, it was a miracle that it had lasted this long. Now, however, it had been moved a few inches higher to an undamaged stretch of wall, still close enough to the hay rack to provide equine entertainment while grooming was being undertaken but away from the damaged, chipped stone. He ran his fingers over the cool metal, shivering lightly at the chill. The bull had even polished it.

Hm...not bad.

He could not fault Mark's work. It would be useful to have a safer spot to tie up Jasper when he was being groomed or saddled - the younger horse was quite fidgety in adjusting to handling and needed to be tethered for most tasks. Pulley smiled and stepped away from the rack, hooves scuffing up some of the neatly laid straw, though no one would notice a wisp or two out of place. Absently, he rubbed his thigh, bumped the hay rack with his shoulder, and let his thoughts wander.

On the top yard, Mark whistled.

As he was want to do when alone, the stallion shifted uncomfortably from hoof to hoof, body demanding attention that he did not always have the time to give. Groaning, he looked down, black forelock flopping over his eyes, as the bulge in his jodhpurs swelled noticeably. There was no way he could go out on the yard looking like that. Desperately, the horse huffed out hot air through his nostrils, trying to think of anything and everything that would calm him down, allow him to go back to work, what he should be doing. Mark's whistling constantly reclaimed his attention, despite his best efforts, and all he could think of doing was bending the sexy bull over the wrapped hay bales and feeling that warm, sweet muzzle around his cock.

The stallion moaned lowly, paws dropping to his straining sheath like a colt scenting his first mare. Always horny, he did not often have the chance to satisfy himself as much as he needed and fantasies were so alluring, calling to him with sweet words and whispered promises. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his ears pricked, attentive to the smallest sound.

Work was sorted for the time being so...why not?

To hell with it. Leaning back against the stone wall with a mischievous grin, the stallion unhooked his jodhpurs, letting the zip slide down as his hard-on swelled, pressing eagerly against his undergarments. He rubbed his palm lightly over the bulge, suppressing a moan the best he could, and pulled down his underwear in turn, eager to be sated and feel that oh so exquisite, raw pleasure. One of their stallions out at grass whinnied loudly, reminding him of exactly what he was doing, where he was. He could be caught at any moment. The revelation sent and excited, shivering thrill down his spine. As soon as his boxer-briefs were tugged down far enough to cup his heavy balls and expose the sheath, his shaft grew rapidly, standing up proudly from his crotch. Biting his lower lip, the stallion let out a low groan and wrapped his paw around his length.

Why did it have to feel so damn good every time? His paw slowly moved up and down his length, pumping in long strokes that made his tail flag in anticipation, mimicking the act of breeding. Closing his eyes, he imagined Mark lowering himself to his knees, the big bull suddenly devoid of any semblance of clothing, nuzzling and lipping sensuously at his overfull balls. The stallion's head tipped back against the wall and he snorted, hips thrusting out fantasy and real life. In his mind, the bull looked up at him, brown eyes brimming with lust, and lapped along the underside of his sizeable, enough to intimidate a lesser fur. But not his bull.

His breathing quickened in time with his strokes and his fantasy bull plunged his muzzle down over the head of his shaft, lips forming a tight 'O' to contain his girth. It was a struggle but Mark somehow managed it, thrusting his head down until the flatter tip of Pulley's cock pushed into the back of the bull's throat. The horse's tail flicked restlessly and he pushed the waistband of his underwear down further, rubbing and rolling his balls gently in one large paw as the other drew the quietest whinny of pleasure that he could muster from his lips.

"The fuck?"

Pulley's eyes flew open and he bolted upright, shoving himself off the wall with a panicked nicker. Of all the times to walk in! Mark stood in the entrance to the stable - he had not even heard the door swing open - framed in the doorway with his jaw comically slack. The two males looked at one another for several long moments. Neither spoke and the horse's cock hung in the air between them, pre cum dripping into the straw.

"I...uh..." Mark did not know where to look. "I'm sorry... I'll come back later!"

The last words came in a rush. Pulley couldn't blame him. Beating a hasty retreat, the bull stumbled over his hooves in his haste to get away. However, as he tripped, a chuckle bubbled up from his throat, amusement bursting in open air.

The horse's ears pricked. Maybe, just maybe...

"Hey - wait!"

Against rational judgement, Pulley leapt forward, hooves clattering over stone. He caught the bull's arm and yanked him to a halt, the lower half of the stable door partly separating them. As if caught by indecision, Mark paused mid-step and looked back, a flush warming his muzzle.

"Um...care to join?"

The horse sheepishly asked, ruffling his mane up with his free paw - the other still held Mark's upper arm and he was having a hard time not stroking the tight muscle beneath his palm.

"What do you mean?" The bull said after a pause, thin tail flicking.

The horse ran his fingers down Mark's arm, feeling the muscle tremble. The bull snorted, moving as if to back away and unconsciously leaned into the stallion's paw. Pulley grinned widely, tail flagging high and cock drooling yet more pre like the virile stud that he was. He was still hard and his confidence increased fractionally as he caught the bull's eyes lower to his hard-on. Mark licked his lips nervously.

"Come on, I've seen you looking," Pulley smiled, though he was not confident in how sure he came off. "Or are you really not into this?"

He threw caution to the wind and doubted himself a second later. What if he had made a terrible mistake? The poor bull! Breathing shallowly, the stallion's heartbeat pounded against his eardrums, racing in his chest as if he was entering the show ring with the best horse in his stable. He rubbed the very tips of his fingers down the bull's arm, half-looking away in his own shyness, though no one would have suspected nervousness from him.