Benediction

The night stirs, and gods walk the earth in favoured forms. Men sleep, but one dreams...and when he awakes, he shall be transformed by his lusts.

Thank you for all the kind comments on my previous stories. You can find my other works as "Always Bet On Horse" in /bestiality or "The Quest" in /historical.

This piece was inspired by a favourite story of mine that I first encountered decades ago, by the excellent R. Keith Peck.

Most of my works feature anthropomorphic animals (aka. "furry" characters) and are not posted on Nifty. If you enjoyed this, you can find many more here: https://zaggy-norse.sofurry.com/

Awake, Arax.

The windows stood open, and a cool breeze came into the room. The young man lay on his bed, golden curls -- which stirred slightly in the moving air -- framing sleeping eyes set in a narrow, beautiful face. No beard or blemish marred the skin, and so -- while his body held the full strength of manhood -- he yet possessed the beauty of a youth. So he was named by the men of the village, who spied him from afar and desired him when their lusts ran hot to overflowing. Not Arax, nor Master Galto, nor any other name to suit a man...but `boy'. The boy from the farm.

Below eyes that fluttered -- half in dream, and half in life -- parted red, full lips. Wet and tremulous, they moved in silence, speaking secret words to some unseen companion. A tongue licked out, wetting them again in anticipation. He breathed in -- and out, his voice transformed. No words, only feeling: a low, long moan of need. There was something in the breeze. The wind brought it to him like a gift; a perfume, shaken loose from some flower he did not know and carried hence. It was a smell he had never known, and yet remembered. It was the scent from his dream; a spell, infused into the very air. He took it in, and was enthralled.

You know me, Arax.

The breeze blew again, shivering the sheet that covered his naked form. Arax stirred beneath it, outspread, angelic; hairless, but for his hair, and golden down below his arms and around his member. Fingers of air slipped across his body, caressing his pale, flawless skin. They tugged at the covering, as if eager to see the beauty that must lie under it. Show us, show us. And as his manhood rose, it fell.

He lay revealed, an offering to a nameless god. One arm curled beneath the pillow, and the other stretched out beside him: their muscles fine and strong. The wind found whispers of a different scent below them: musk and masculinity, combining into sweetness. It took its fill, and moved on. Along his chest it danced, teasing nipples firm as budding roses. Aroused they stood, looking sweet as summer berries, upon broad and chiselled muscles that spoke of many years' hard labour.

Another moan. A fine-fingered hand stirred, and slid across that chest. His head arched back as it brushed across a nipple, and his crimson lips parted with a sigh. The hand slid further down, over a hard, flat belly, and lower yet: to golden coils of pubic hair and the proud spear that rose above them.

Rise, and come to me.

Arax gripped his erect cock and opened his eyes.

His mind was fogged with lust. The air itself aroused him; each breath was foreplay. The breeze blew across his face, whispering an invocation, and he thought of men. Their bodies, their smells, their thick hair and strong muscles. Their cocks. How his crotch grew tight when they were near, and how his hole grew needy when they were far. Any men would do...but especially those that he could not have. The two closest to his heart, who roused in him forbidden lusts. But their eyes strayed to women, to heavy breasts and shadowed clefts. Though they knew what lovers he preferred, their beds were barred to him.

Across the hall, his sibling slumbered: Ketian, tall and dark, with hair as raven as his own was blonde, and skin soaked by the sun. They had no secrets: they had not been raised to be ashamed. Arax knew the heft of what hung between his sibling's legs -- as Ketian must know what hung between his own -- and he desired it. The veiny length matched his own, with swollen balls that hung like millstones underneath. He was powerful and muscled as a blacksmith, and yet kind and careful. Which side did he show in love, Arax wondered, and which in lust? Perhaps he was a thoughtful mate; soft, and gentle. Caressing your face as he slipped inside you, eager and willing to please. Or, perhaps he had a bestial side, and took you firmly; riding you hard as a breeding bullock, driving in and in, seeking his own release above all else. It mattered not. Arax would kneel for him regardless, and take his brother upon his tongue, and pleasure him to peak.

As brother should do for brother, the wind seemed to whisper.

His thoughts drifted beyond Ketian. There was another male in this household: their sire slept nearby, red-haired and lusty as a stallion. His body was a workhorse, fierce and taut and thick with hair, and Arax had often dreamed of it. He knew, too, the greatness at his father's loins, for he had learned his shamelessness by example. When the summer heat grew strong, his father would disrobe, and work the fields as naked as a beast of burden. His fat, dark cock would slap between his legs, long and thick and beautiful: a horse in human form. And when his father took it in hand and held it out to piss, Arax would stare, entranced. His father always laughed, and waved it at his son, a knowing smirk on his rough, handsome face. His father's cock was a great, hooded snake whose smell made Arax weak. So confident, so virile: the man was magnificent, and Arax would be honoured to service him. He would present his body -- his fine, firm flesh an invitation none could resist -- and be taken by him. Arax was sure his father would only mate one way: rough and fast, as a stallion filled a mare. He would ride his father's horse-given prick, and beg for his seed, and receive it...and then offer himself, fresh and dripping, to his brother, to receive his gift in turn.

As sons should do for sires, the breeze almost murmured.

His desire grew. His fingers grasped his swollen flesh, stroking, teasing. One finger slipped below the foreskin, tracing out the edge of the proud, purple crown. Thoughts of his brother, his father, had inflamed him...and yet, he knew it was not they he lusted for in the deep places of his heart. Neither the farmhands in their cottages, who cat-called him when he passed by, naming the filthy, lecherous deeds they would perform on him, showing him their cocks. Nor the village men, the ones that named him `boy', and pressed up against him -- the proof of their arousal soaking through his clothes -- when he went to town to purchase grain and drink. No men of any kind, in truth; he dreamed of others, greater in every way, and it was their bodies he imagined touching his, and their cocks that made him grow hard and spill his seed upon his belly. He used men only for lack of what he truly desired.

Arax rose, his nudity aglow in the moonlight that filtered through the curtains. His prick jutted forth, hard as sin, and as he breathed deeply of the cool night air, his hands stroked across his body, looking down at it. He did not entirely know why he had woken in this state, or why his thoughts had been stoked with lust. There was something in the air, yes...but he had also been dreaming of something glorious, it seemed to him. Some fierce carnal act which had been wonderful beyond words, but which had fled as he woke. He often had that feeling. He fondled his balls and stroked his flesh again, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, and releasing it to let it retreat. Men enjoyed doing that to him. They would suck on its thickness, praising him for his size. If only Ketian would do the same.

He bit his lip. He could not put them out of his mind. He did not know where these thoughts had come from, so suddenly and so intensely...but he did not want them to stop. He turned to look at his door, imagining his brother's chamber, only steps away. He would be asleep, nude. Sprawled on his back, offering his goodness to the gods to see. All men enjoyed oral pleasure; Arax might slide close, and take his brother into his mouth even as he slept. Ketian could not say he would not enjoy it. He'd suckle him to hardness, and perhaps...perhaps then...his brother might...

The door to his room swung open silently at his touch, and his bare footsteps made no sound upon the floor. His brother's door stood open when he reached it, but the bed within was empty. He stared, uncomprehending, and stepped inside. The earthy smell of his brother was strong, and upon the discarded covers...a wet mark. Arax stared, then reached for it, and brought it to his nose. Maleness. Seed. A brother's issue. He moaned, his cock bouncing upwards sympathetically. Ketian was in heat as well.

He floated from the abandoned room and stopped to listen to the night. Some faint sounds ahead, in his father's room. Familiar sounds. The sounds of rutting. Arax drifted closer, heart thumping, nose still remembering brother-scent. His father's door was closed, but ajar. He knew what he would see before he pressed it open: the sounds within were ones he'd made himself, many times before.

On this night, it seemed, all beds were open.

His father sat akimbo on his bed, strong legs spread wide. His brother -- masculine, magnificent -- rested between them, back to chest, their sire's fat cock pushed deep within him. Ketian's head was thrown back, pressing against the side of their father's head, as eager lips and tongue explored his neck. His hand was raised to grip his lover's hair and pull him closer. On either side, strong arms wrapped around his chest, supporting him as the hips below thrust, and thrust, and thrust again; mating him with dark, divine father-cock that made his brother gasp and moan with waves of pleasure.

Arax stared, incredulous, desirous. His brother's cock invited him. He could ride him -- even as Ketian rode their father now -- and join to his mouth, tasting the sweetness within. His sibling's prick would slide inside him, take him, fill him, make him his: marking his body as only a male could. They could become one, the three of them, and rut as animals: now tender, now rough, with fury and with need while their muscles still held strength and their minds still held lustful thoughts...until their bodies collapsed, and their cocks were soft and sated, and sleep overcame them.

But the scent in the air did not come from here, and as he made to move towards the mating pair, it seemed to whisper to him. Not them. Not here. Unexpectedly, a memory flared in his mind. One more sound, than sight: a horse's snort, impatient and firm. There were no horses upon the farm, yet Arax's head jerked about, staring through timber and stone to where the empty stables were.

In the darkness he descended the stairs, fine fingers running along the balustrade. Each step felt oddly light, as if he was not fully here. At the floor, he paused and stroked his hand along the rough brick wall. This could not be a dream -- not his own, at least. If it was a slumber-world, then this was another's, and he but a guest in it.

The man stepped to the front door and opened it. It made no sound as it swung inward, and beyond...a bright and silent night. The satellite was high overhead, and its pale light fell straight upon the doorway, and did not bleed inside. Light beyond; darkness within. Arax stared down at the separation, then raised a hand -- palm outward -- as if feeling for an unseen thing. There was a ghostly feeling there, a faint touch against his skin as if the moonlight itself was caressing him. The air before him all but shimmered, moonlight coating everything with silver, and he paused. Uncertainty was in his mouth, but his cock was hard. If this was another's dream, then who was he in it? Friend...or servant?

He looked back -- up the stairs -- to where his father and his brother made love. The air blew softly through the open doorway, swirling about his handsome form with a silken touch, and teasing the curls of his hair. He felt a great desire, as if something in the world beyond was watching him, calling him, asking for him and him alone -- but would not force him. He stared back through the door. The night was truly beautiful, and full of wonders...but he could abandon it, and climb the stairs again, and find comfort in the arms of a brother and a father. If that was what he wished. He looked once more up the stairs. If...if this was a dream, how could he fault any dreamer that filled men with such lusts for one another?

Arax stepped over the doorstep and into the light.

The air was thicker out here, somehow; more potent. When he breathed it in, his mind grew heady, and fantasies swirled within. Yet, not fantasies: more like droplets of another's thoughts mixing into his own. He knew, without question, that they were reality. They were offered to him as gifts, to taste and sample as he chose, by the fey awareness that watched him. They were not pressed upon him: they waited patiently for his acceptance. He need only close his eyes, and open his mind...

All around him, in the primal night, men and animals fucked.

He could feel their ardour as if it was his own. It was his own. Behind them, in the house, his father and his brother mated still. A thick, warm load of sire's seed had already filled Ketian, and now his brother lay under their father as a bitch lay under a dog, the stronger man snorting like a prize stallion, fucking his son's loosened hole with all the energy he could muster. Arax could feel Ketian's pleasure as their father's lengthy cock pleasured him, and the feel of his brother's own cock pressing against the blankets, rubbing back and forth -- so wet, so hard -- keeping him close to his next climax. At the same time, layered over and under that, the way it felt to his father: how his sire's loose cockskin slipped up and down the semen-slicked fuckstick as it drove in and out of his beautiful son. How Ketian's ass gripped and welcomed him on each inward push, and begged him to stay when he withdrew. How his father's hands roved over Ketian's back and shoulders, feeling his muscles -- honed by years in the fields -- with delight...and how Ketian dreamed of the man above him, and how he would soon dominate him: holding him down as Ketian became the master in turn, and took his father's virgin hole as the big man took his son's now...

The vision, the otherworldly sight, shifted. Nearby, in the cottages where the farm labourers lived, an orgy was underway. In two's and three's, the farmhands fucked, hard bodies bending to adore prick, and ass, and mouth. One man rested on all fours as a farm hound mounted him, the dog's thick knot filling his willing hole as he screamed in joy and carnal need. Two others kissed fiercely as they fucked a third, their beautiful cocks spearing him at both ends, and yet two more filled a man at the same time, their lover's mind a blur of pleasure, his hole stretched wide. None were omitted. Every male within -- whether they had fucked a thousand holes before, or not yet a single one -- were drawn together by the magic of this night.

Beyond them, yet more. In the fields, a bullock mounted another, his pizzle sliding far inside his mate, who lowed with urgency. At the edges of the forest, a pair of satyrs lay locked in mutual oral pleasure, their hooves quivering, their hands roaming. Near them, in dappled moonlight under trees, two boars fucked with bestial intensity, their rutting like a furnace in Arax's mind. Even far beyond the farm, in the village, he sensed men rise from their beds, abandon wives and lovers, and seek one another out to mate in glorious male union, driven by a need they could not articulate or understand. The command was unspoken, but irresistible. Male should seek out male.

The eldritch sense grew close again. Arax was looking upon the stables now, their stalls long empty and silent. Empty no more: Arax sensed a creature within, strong and tall and...very equine. His vision swirled, and it was the horse's face he saw now, beautiful beyond measure, with eyes, oh, oh...eyes that burned like lust given form, eyes like flames in the night, eyes like coals that never died. Yellow eyes, wondrous eyes. Stallion eyes.

Arax's own eyes flew open, and a thick gush of pre-seed spurted from his penis onto the ground, nearly luminescent in the night. Silver sprayed over silver: a royal gift. The young man gasped, and fell to one knee, his arousal shaking his body, filling him with urgent, irresistible need. His balls throbbed in their hairless sack, desperate to be unleashed, to participate in the grand orgy happening all about him. What marvellous dream was this, he wondered, where males were inflamed with lust for one another -- if it was a dream at all?

And what creature waited in the stables?

Light-footed, with heavy cock, Arax rose and walked towards the stables. His prick stood firm before him, bouncing with each step, and his hands caressed it and the orbs below. Another slid behind, to rub against his pleasure-hole. He had inherited the needs of all those he had spied upon. He could still feel their bodies, close and damp, and their cocks, firm and fiercely hot. But he did not desire them any longer. They were human, beast, father, brother. They were mortal, not beyond. They were not stallions.

The stable doors were shut, and Arax pressed them open. They swung wide, and moonlight flooded in. The young man moaned as the scent in the air deepened once more. The source was here, whatever it was.

The stalls were dark beyond the pool of pale light at his feet, and empty. Surely empty. Nothing moved in the night. Arax stared ahead, then stepped forward. Careful footfalls on ancient straw, a soft crunch with each step. The darkness in the depths was near absolute; the shutters on the walls had been closed for long ages. The air grew warmer the further he walked in, and Arax paused, gasping. He could smell something new.

A matching crunch came out of the blackness, of something large, and heavy; the blackness was not empty. The man began to step back, uncertain, eyes fixed ahead. The sounds continued, and a shape coalesced from the night, like a piece of the darkness taking form. New sounds, then: a whinny, and a clop as hard hoof struck wooden board. Another step, and another. Arax reached the pool of moonlight at the doors, and halted, staring forward with fear and awe and lust.

A great stallion emerged, and walked closer with slow, deliberate steps. He was enormous; nineteen hands if he was an inch. His coat shimmered, even in the darkness: a blue-black colour, perfectly smooth, bunching up as muscles underneath it tensed and flexed with each footfall. Hooves as wide as outstretched hands carried his weight at the end of thick, muscled legs. His head was held proudly high, dark mane hanging down over his neck, and his eyes were fixed on Arax's own. They were yellow, like in his vision, but they did not glow. However, there was an intelligence in them; a sense of appraisal. The man could feel the stallion regarding him, and felt a thrill. This was no rude beast.

It was also obvious the beast was male: Arax broke the stallion's gaze after only a few seconds, and his eyes dropped to between the creature's legs, as they always did with horses. The pale illumination streaming through the open doors reflected off the floor and up onto the stallion's deep, powerful chest, providing just enough light to outline what the male horse carried. In the shadows between his rear legs hung two large, heavy balls, shifting in their sack with every measured step the stallion took...and between them, darker folds of flesh. The stallion's sheath, fat with promise. Arax's heart thudded, and his breath shortened, and he imagined the sword that lay within.

For although he sated himself with them, it was not men he ached for -- but stallions.

Though no stallion had lived upon his family's farm for many years, most others had one or two. Arax knew them all by name. He walked the roads on summer days, and rainy days, in thunder and in snow. He greeted them by name, and they nickered back. They soon learned his smell and came galloping near to receive his treats: small autumn apples, or loose cubes of sugar, or carrots he snuck out of barrels in the kitchen. And as the horses chomped away with pleasure, he'd look beneath them, at the penises they carried like curled-up snakes -- often hanging free, to his delight -- and receive pleasure in turn.

Every spring, when the mares were in heat, he would offer to assist nearby farmers as champion studs from near and far were brought to breed. Arax would be on hand, assisting: first bringing the stud and mare together, and then keeping close as the stallions mounted them. No more watchful eye was ever kept, although his eye strayed more to the stallions and their bestial pricks than the females who received them. Their whinnies of lusty satisfaction always made him cross his legs. He had long wished to be one of those panting females: to receive those monstrous cocks himself, and their thick, white offering. He groaned silently as he watched the mares be thrust into with furious ardour, filled by their studs, their masters: the breeding stallions who epitomised virility. He wished to be covered by their bodies, as the mares were, and soaked in their smell...and filled with their colts.

Once the male dismounted, Arax would be at hand again, ready and helpful. He'd offer to lead the stallion away, back to the stables, as the other men inspected the mare and spoke of foals to come. When alone, he'd stroke the horse's softening cock as it slipped back up into his sheath. Coating his hands in the fluids that covered it, he would take out his own member there and then, and stroke himself to climax, with the stallion seed as lubrication. His pathetic orgasm would splatter on the stallion's flank, and ooze down through the hair. He would smear more of the gift onto his hole, and thank the stallion for his issue. He would seek out men directly, then, and have them fuck him: hard and rough, unrelenting, as stallions did. He would tell them it was another man's seed that covered him, and to show him that they could fuck harder. And so they would, their frenzied efforts pushing the still-warm equine seed deeper into him. He would close his eyes as the human cock filled his body and imagine it was not a man inside him after all, but a stallion: great and powerful, with a cock that no other male could match.

A cock like the one that this huge stallion must surely be gifted with.

The mysterious creature was the source of the scent in the air. It had not subsided, and neither had Arax's prick. Arax gulped down air with heaving breaths, each one like life itself. His body was infused with it. Hot blood thundered through his veins; he could feel every pulse of it as his heart beat out a mad rhythm. His cock was unbreakable between his legs, straining upward as if to touch the horse that had aroused it so. The man's eyes rose again to the creature's gorgeous face, his mind struggling to hold onto anything but desire. To touch this creature, feel him, smell him. To stroke the huge body, and feel the immense strength beneath the skin. To slip beneath his belly, and suck, kiss, lick, taste what must lie there. To be filled by it...

The stallion's eyes matched his, and did not blink. Their unreal colour seemed to burn into him. Arax felt his body tremble with nervous energy, and an uncertain memory came to him. No stallions had lived in this stable since he was a boy -- and even then, none as grand as this one. Beyond that, he knew every stallion within a day's walk: this one was not one of them. He could not know this creature...and yet, he did. Some flickering remembrance danced about the edges of his mind, teasing that he knew, he knew. The young man's eyes stared at the golden orbs in the stallion's face, reaching for recollection...and then they dropped, down and under, to between the horse's legs, where perfection waited. For that had been his error: it was not the stallion's face that he recalled.

As if it could read his thoughts, the horse suddenly made a sound: a deep, reverberating nicker that seemed to make his entire body quiver, lifting his scent from him like puffs of fragrant powder that twinkled in the moonlight. Arax breathed it in deeply, and his heart sped up more, seeming now to thump to an insane, preternatural rhythm that sought to help him remember. You know, you know, you know...

He did know. He'd dreamed it.

The dream was always the same, and he always forgot it so quickly after waking; only faint scraps teasing him as they dissolved into wakefulness. He would be left hard and thinking of horses. But now, staring at the stallion, he remembered a little more. He had been here, yes; in the stables, on a night like this, with a stallion. But...he frowned, finding memory and sense intertwined, suddenly indivisible. Not just any night -- this night. And not any stallion: this stallion, the immense golden-eyed horse who gazed at him as if it knew him intimately. There was more. He had been -- he was -- erect, and nude, and the horse patient. Waiting with intent. And...beyond, distant, growing closer...a third...

"I know you," he whispered to the horse, grasping for the memory. The horse nickered back, and stepped forward suddenly. Two, three steps; his face was right before Arax now. The creature's eyes were deep pools, and they glittered like gems. Like sapphires, or...or citrines. His hair was flawless and smooth, and his wide nose as soft and perfect as velvet. Arax lifted a shaking hand, and traced a finger down the stallion's face, from brow to nose, feeling the softness of the hair and the skin. The stallion felt unreal, like a thing that straddled worlds. Partly here, and partly...elsewhere. Far above them, clouds drifted through the sky, momentarily covering the moon. The full dark of night descended, and Arax's hand fell to his side in shock, eyes wide and body trembling. For in the blackness, the stallion's eyes glowed. Not merely yellow now, but as fire, as the sun: possessed of an inner light that streamed forth from within, and bespoke of grand power.

The barriers between dream and memory fell, and Arax remembered.

He gasped, and his hard cock jerked upward, slapping against his flat belly in a pale imitation of a stallion. He dropped his eyes, took a step backwards, and sank down to one knee, head bowed, hands clasped. His body shook, even as his arousal became all the fiercer, and he waited -- with fear and trembling -- before the stallion who was not a stallion. He knew not exactly what it was, except that it was nothing mortal -- but when the creature spoke, he ceased to care.

"I greet you, disciple mine."

The stallion's voice was gentle as a boy's, sensual as a kiss; it did not match the vastness of his form. Arax cried out, his balls surging upward, tight and desperate. He took his cock fiercely in one hand, willing himself not to spill upon the ground. The stallion's voice was the most erotic thing he had ever heard. His mind was screaming at him to prostrate himself, to lower himself into the dust like a worm and crawl closer, to worship the hooves of whatever this creature was. Even on one knee, the man swayed; he could not speak. The smell of the stallion was as thick as water in the air. It was sex, lust, desire. It was men, limbs wrapped around one another, sharing their bodies. It was stallions, mounting one another for the joy of it, wet cocks slapping against their faux mates. It was godlike power, and the worship of pleasure. Male pleasure.

"Rise, Arax. Look upon me."

Arax did; in truth, he could not have resisted that voice even if he wished to. He released his throbbing member and stood upright, meeting the creature's eyes with his own. The moon's light played through the open door once more, but their fiery glow remained. The stallion raised his head proudly, looking down at the male before him. The pupils darted down, and Arax crossed his hands in front of himself, suddenly ashamed. His endowment was as nothing to a stallion. But the horse nickered at him.

"Do not hide your nakedness before me," he said. Arax groaned as the words caressed him like a lover's touch, and he parted his hands again. The stallion's regard was like a pressure upon his skin: the man could feel him take in every part of him. His face first, following the curve of high cheekbones and strong jaw. Down, along the neck, making the man whimper as it teased the hollow there. His chest: Arax felt a preternatural touch stroke along his muscles, and cried out in pleasure as it danced over a nipple. And then, at last, to his crotch, where the pressure against him grew and grew as the stallion delighted in the sight of the man's erection. Arax gulped and whimpered more, needing to release himself more than anything, but knowing he could not. The stallion held the power here. "You are hard," the stallion noted at last, and his words were like calm in a firestorm. The man tried to answer, and failed; the frantic jerking of his penis seemed to serve instead. "What has aroused you so, Arax?" the equine asked, with more than a hint of amusement. "Tell me."

The man quivered and tried to speak. His mouth was dry; he had been gasping for air for minutes, as the stallion's gaze had wordlessly fucked his naked form. "Y--you..." he managed to say, before groaning again and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to control the shaking. His hole felt slack and loose; his mind was still commanding him to bend over, raise his rear, offer it to this stallion that was more than a stallion. "You...are so...fucking hot..." He licked his dry lips and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find an ounce of self-control inside himself -- but not before seeing an all-too-human smirk ride up the horse's lips. "I...I can't..." he whimpered, and opened his eyes again, looking at the stallion with wonder. "Who are you?" he asked. "What...is happening...?"

"You ask questions I have already answered," the stallion replied. He tossed his head, sending his mane flying, and baring the powerful muscles of his chest. "I will not answer them again. Recall!"

The command took hold of him, like a lover's fierce grasp before their cock pressed into him. Pre-cum was oozing freely from Arax's prick and dribbling down the shaft. The heady night was charged with eroticism. The very presence of the stallion was making the man light-headed, and he fought for purchase on the rocks of sanity as waves of pleasure assaulted his mind. "The...the dream--?"

"No dream." The stallion's voice had deepened. Like the husky panting of a desperate mate, it inflamed Arax further. He lifted his head, crying out with agonised, ecstatic need, one hand pressed hard behind to drive his fingers into himself. "A prophecy," the stallion said, his voice riding high over the man's lusty noises. "A promise. A beginning." His nose pressed forward, making physical contact. He breathed deeply first of the sweat that pooled in the man's clavicle, and then down, taking in the odour that soaked his crotch. "I chose you, Arax," he rumbled, shaking the man like an earthquake. His long tongue licked up along the man's chest, and Arax's muscles tensed and loosened in turn under the caress of the warm, soft flesh. The tongue kept rising, over chest and under neck; it lapped across the man's lips before withdrawing. The stallion's head drew back, level with the man's eyes, and his nostrils snorted hot breath against his skin. "You ask my name?" His eyes judged the man. "You know it. You have always known."

Arax trembled. He did recall a name, in truth, from the dream. A single word that echoed through his mind, back and forth, like ripples in a pond. A name glorious and terrifying. "B--b..." His very tongue refused to make the sound. To speak it was to accept what the creature was. "B--Bei..." The man sank slowly back to the floor and looked up at the creature's handsome face. He had wondered before if this was a dream, and whether he could serve the one who dreamed it. But now he realised that was not the question to ask...and the answer to it was foreordained. His head lowered, and he released himself.

The word was barely a whisper. "Beinir," he spoke, and it was a prayer, for it named a god.

"Beinir!" the stallion trumpeted back, and it was as if every creature in the night had cried it out in concert with him. Beinir: god of male lusts. The name was a thunderclap; the air froze in its passage and melted in its wake. The world paused, every particle of matter stilled, and for a moment Arax could not breathe, or think, or move. The god's power surrounded him, fearful and infinite...

And passed. Arax gasped, heaving for breath; he felt faint, and disbelieving. He had thought this a dream before, but the dream had come and gone. This was what came next; the spell following the invocation. The aftermath of the words of power.

"I am Beinir," the god-stallion said, the name like a transformation. A fierce heat radiated from the body he had chosen, bathing Arax in its warmth. "And I lust for you, Arax." The god must know his mind, yet he seemed content to toy with him. "Tell me what you seek," he murmured.

No thought was necessary. Even under the assault of pleasure that was the horse's presence, Arax knew the answer instantly. "Stallions," he said. Another prayer; synonymous with the first. "I want stallions. I want...to be fucked by them, by their fucking gorgeous pricks. I want to feel them filling me until they cum, over and over. I...I never want it to end. I want to suck them, taste their thick juices, be covered in it...oh, fuck I need it so badly..." His words faded to a whimper of need, and he took his cock in one tight hand, staring at the stallion's underside. "Please, my lord...please...let me see it?" For a moment, it seemed as though the horse might disregard his request. Arax was afeared: had he been impertinent? But then Beinir chuckled.

"Your lusts do you credit, disciple."

The stallion turned lazily, letting moonlight strike his flank and underside, revealing himself to the man. His testicles were enormous, and their dark, smooth surface shone with reflected light. The stallion's scrotum hung low and heavy, as if filled with stone weights, but Arax knew what they truly held. A stallion's balls: the tools of procreation. Full of seed, carrying the male promise. Pure virility. The man's mouth -- dry and desperate -- grew wet again as he dreamed of nuzzling into their warmth, feeling them against his skin, and in his hands, and urging the great beast with an attentive mouth until they unloaded, pumping their liquid masculinity along the stallion's massive prick and into whichever lucky creature was fortunate enough to be bred by the god-cock that accompanied them.

His eyes flicked to the horse's cock at that thought. The sheath had not moved, dark folds of flesh that wrapped around each other as if secreting something away; something valuable, and powerful. Arax stared, the mere sight of the stallion's sheath wracking his body with need -- and gasped as it twitched. The folds began to stretch, and separate, opening like the petals of a rare flower. Then, something began to emerge from within; oozing forth like honey, with lascivious slowness. A pink spot at first, and then quickly more, growing -- wider and thicker -- until a fat, wet stallion flare hung between the horse's legs. The stallion paused, as if displaying his glory for the man's enjoyment, before letting the cock drop lower. Silently, and as smoothly as a snake, the flesh descended, thickening as it went. The stallion's cock deepened in colour from the pink flare down, darkening along the shaft to the same tanned shade of Arax's father's own -- which only made the man desire it more. He gave a shuddering gasp of pleasure when at last it hung free, and the stallion flexed it, making it swing.

The animal's prick had thickened as it dropped, but it was still not hard. Even so, it shamed any other stallion Arax had ever seen. How long was it? Twenty-two inches? Twenty-four? It was longer than his arm, certainly...and the bulge that ended it bigger than his fist. Much bigger. He watched it sway, hypnotically, as the stallion's muscles tugged on it. His eyes were dragged along by it, and his asshole flexed open and shut in time to its rocking. The sway grew more pronounced, rising higher on each swing...until it flew up -- hard -- to slap against the creature's belly with a force that made the meaty impact echo through the stable. Arax cried out, sole witness to the display of flawless equine power, and the words fell from his lips without thought.

"Please fuck me, lord," he begged. "Fuck me with your god-prick, fuck me with your huge stallion cock...it is all I desire..." He could not look away from the massive organ.

"Do you see what you have done, Arax? I am hard." the stallion said. He ignored the man's pitiful request. The stallion's voice had changed again; it was greedier now, and Arax knew its tone. It was the tone men used when they beheld his nakedness, and the sweet warmth between his cheeks. It was the tone of their grunts, and the sound of the filth they called him as their members dove ever deeper into his willing body. He was only `boy' in public: in bed, with their bodies pressed sweatily against his back and their thick hair scraping roughly against his skin, he was other things. Different things to different men. For some, he was whore, and strumpet, and slut. To others, he was darling, beautiful, angel. The names changed as often as the men...but the tone remained the same. It reminded him who was in control. Who fucked...and who got fucked. Who served whom. There was another slap, as the stallion forced his cock up against his belly again. It left a wet mark on the hair, and Arax watched more liquid drip from the end. It smelled like the stallions he'd fondled in the past, only...more. As if they had been mere shadows, cast by the fire that burned within this flawless creature.

"You have made me hard, Arax," the stallion repeated in his rumbling voice. "It is not seemly that a god should be unsatisfied. Serve me, disciple." The man whimpered, crawling forward immediately, reaching for the animal's massive, hanging cock. The great equine's body shivered as the man took a hold of his member. "I have watched you," the god continued, his huge head turned to watch his servant slide under him. "You have worshipped me, though you did not know it." The hard stallion cock felt hot and firm in his hands, and slightly slippery. He could barely fit his fingers around its bulk. "Your body has been a temple to my name." Shaking so hard he almost lost his grip, Arax lifted the huge cock upright and pressed his tongue to its side. It tasted sweet, and heady, and unearthly. "You have served so many males, my disciple," the great horse practically purred, "and tonight, you shall have your reward."

The silvery pre-cum dribbling from the tip of the stallion member became a stronger stream, and Arax wrapped his lips around the flare with unseemly haste. As the first drip of ambrosiac fluid dropped onto his tongue, he gave a rapturous moan, and he tightened his hands on the cock, swallowing the liquid down as quickly as it flowed from the stallion. It burned its way along his throat, like a strong wine -- and like wine, it made his head spin. Another moan, and he spread his mouth wider, trying to fit more of the flare inside. It was far too big, and he merely slipped and slobbered over its surface, whining like a bitch in heat. Beinir's body responded to his attention: the cock thickened further, now hanging at an angle, and began to pulse below his fingers. Arax would have called it a heartbeat, but for the way the entire cock flexed with each throb. As his one hand supported the great flare, the other slid along the slickened shaft, down to the medial ring that stood proud midway. His fingers slid behind it, and he gently tugged and pressed against it as his mouth sucked and sucked like a child upon the teat.

Arax lost all sense of time. Perhaps he had been in the stables for an hour; perhaps a day. His eyes were closed, and his cock was hard: stallion prick filled his mouth and hands. How often had he dreamed of such a moment? His belly was clenching and his balls felt knotted together with the need to release. He had hardly touched himself, and yet felt ready to climax at every instant. Beinir's presence made him drunk on lust. He pulled his lips from the flare, gulping down a lungful of god-scent, and began to lick along the stallion's shaft. If ever he feared he was not giving the creature what he desired, the stallion would let forth a pleasured whinny, and set his mind at ease.

The unctuous layer that covered Beinir's cock was sweet, although Arax would not have cared if it tasted foul. His only thought was to keep the massive member pressed close to him. His mouth moved slowly downward, suckling at the glorious flesh, and his hand followed, squeezing and marvelling at the cock's texture. It gave slightly when he pressed upon it, only to rebound after. His hand slipped further down, reaching the monstrous base. The skin was thicker here, and a little loose; Arax stroked it, feeling it move about, coating his hand in stallion's scent. He brought it to his nose and made a guttural noise, and the stallion echoed it with a nicker.

"Does my form please you?" the god-stallion asked.

"Yes...fuck, it's fucking perfect," the man moaned. The scents, the tastes had all combined to make him forget the nature of the creature he worshipped. God, or beast, he did not care: his world had shrunk to the stallion's cock. "You taste amazing, it's so fucking big...I need it, I want it all..." His hand went further into the musky warmth of the stallion's thighs, and took a testicle in his palm. If the stallion's body radiated heat, then his ball was like a tiny sun. Arax lifted it to feel its weight. It was incredible, and imagining the seed within made him thirst for it all the more. He moaned and left the cock alone, pushing it up and over his shoulder; the heavy mass slithered over and down his back, still drooling pre-cum like a brook. As Arax felt it run into his cleft and soak the winking hole that waited there, his face nuzzled upwards, into the skin of the stallion's sack. His tongue lapped out and greedily slurped the fine drops of sweat that were starting to build on the stallion's skin, as their erotic play progressed. The taste was strong, like spiced wine, and just as addictive. Arax pushed in deeper, lifting the wrinkled ball sack on the bridge of his nose and pressing them to his cheeks as he licked behind them, along the horse's thighs. His tongue, hypersensitive to everything stallion, could even feel the hard veins that throbbed under the horse's skin as the god's heart flowed with life and lust.

Beinir spoke as the man explored his body. The stallion's head was inclined a little, and his eyes were closed, concentrating on what was being done to him. "This is what you have desired, all your life, disciple." The man was too far gone to reply; the smacking wet sounds of his testicular exploration -- interspersed with low groans of delight -- seemed to do for an answer. The horse continued. "Of all the creatures, stallions are closest to me. Their bodies, their lusts...they are made to worship me." He flexed his cock, and it stiffened out, lifting up from Arax's back and slapping against the stallion's belly. Droplets of pre-cum flew like molten silver, and he rumbled in satisfaction. "What a pleasure they are." The cock drooped back down over the man, and Beinir nickered. "And what pleasures they shall bestow tonight." His nostrils flared, and he took a deep breath, as if he, too, was smelling a new scent on the air.

He turned his head to observe Arax below him. "My mate approaches, Arax. My lover, and yours...and the vessel of your apotheosis." His voice grew husky, soaked in lust and urgency. "Let him smell you, Arax. Your seed. Let him see what a stallion has done to you." There was a pregnant pause, and then -- with a lecherous snort -- he spoke once more. "Come for me, Arax."

Arax's eyes flew open, and he screamed with pleasure. He had only vaguely heard the stallion's words; with his mouth full of stallion nut, he had had slid one hand up behind the creature's legs to finger at his hole, while the other pushed deep within his own. It was fair to say he inhabited another world entirely, just then. But the words of a god could not be ignored, and at the final command, his body obeyed. His beleaguered balls, forced to endure a long onslaught of sensory delights, were finally released. His cock had remained as hard as iron since waking, but it had only been able to dribble his small contribution to the silver stream of god-wine that the stallion's cock produced. Now, it was unleashed.

"FUUUUuuuck, ohhh fuuck, oh yes, oh FUCK..."

Arax's legs gave in, and he fell bonelessly to the ground as his muscles became locked in a rictus of overwhelming pleasure. He did not even need to touch himself. His glans was so purple it was nearly black, and it strained against the skin around it as his urethra bulged open. The first blast of cum flew far over his head, landing on the straw in front of Beinir's face and making him cry out like a slut in a soldier's camp. The next, moments after, flew higher and slapped into the horse's belly. The man's unrestrained penis jerked about and unloaded every drop his balls contained. Shot after shot he produced, more than he'd ever managed in his life. The ones that didn't hit the ground hit the horse above him, and then dripped back down onto his face, and body, and hair. Arax lay as if frozen, every synapse of his mind short-circuiting, all the energy funnelling down his spine and into his cock. The stallion's heat was already evaporating it, ensuring that the smell of it thickened in the air, mixing with Beinir's own scent to form a new and intoxicating soup. The stallion's cock slapped against its belly in celebration of his orgasm, the meaty noise a contrast to Arax's wordless, rutty sounds. Still the man came, only dribbles squirting out now as his balls dried up and his cock strained to squeeze out what it could, in accordance with the lust-god's command.

It faded. Incredibly, eventually, it faded, and light returned to Arax's eyes. His muscles slowly began to move again. For a moment, he lay as a newborn, without understanding, without a past. He was pure innocence, curled up on the floor of a stable, covered in his own seed. There was a slight sound as Beinir's hooves repositioned...and then another sound. A low and liquid one, as the cock that hung above Arax flexed, and began to rain down upon him. The golden fluid splashed against the man, washing away some of the evidence of his climax, and he gasped and turned his face towards it. His tongue licked some from his lips, and he grew slack with joy. No bitter fluids for a god; it tasted of exotic fruits, and its warmth lit a new fire in his belly. Arax drank gratefully, letting it slake his thirst and regenerate his weakened muscles.

When he felt restored, he slowly pushed himself to his knees. He took the stallion's cock in his hands and laid a kiss upon its head. "Thank you, my lord." He pushed himself out from under the horse and got to his feet. Cum and ambrosia ran down from his brow over his face: the marks of sexual completion. He stroked a finger through them and sucked the taste from it as he rested against the stallion's side, feeling his belly rise and fall.

An amused nicker from the god-stallion answered him. "Your pleasure is always to my glory, disciple." Then his head rose, and the faint sound of hooves could be heard from outside the stables. "And now, our lover joins us. Two become three, and the ceremony may begin. Behold." Arax turned, starting with surprise at what he saw.

Standing in the open doorway of the stables was another stallion. In contrast with Beinir, this horse was pale white; his hair glittered like powdered diamond in the moonlight. Arax knew him. Samurest: a newer stallion, from two farms over. He had lived there for almost a year, but Arax had never heard of a single mare being brought for him to cover. With the white stallion's fine muscles and thick chest, he had always wondered why his owner had never thought to breed him. Now, as he gazed upon the stallion's beautiful face -- his eyes cast demurely down, his tail swishing side to side like a mare, and his incredibly erect cock jutting out below him -- he realised why.

Beinir stepped closer to Samurest, as he had done to Arax, and the pale stallion's front legs bent, lowering his face to the ground. He knew who the other stallion was. He was nickering rapidly, and his chest was swelling and emptying with huge breaths when Beinir addressed him.

"Speak, stallion Samurest." The command echoed through the stable. "Do you know the words?"

"My sire, I do." Samurest's sudden voice was soft, and if Arax had not known he was a stallion, he would have attributed it to a female. "I am yours. I obey your call. I am ready."

The stallion-god turned to look at Arax. "See how he names me, disciple. Not lord, nor god, nor master...but sire." Beinir seemed deeply pleased. "All stallions are my kin. Though I did not father them, they know their bodies are temples to me -- as yours has been." He whinnied triumphantly. "All of them call me sire, yet all of them desire to mate with me. Such carnal appetites...why, they almost approach those of men." He looked slyly at Arax, who blushed and nodded, before gazing back at Samurest, with nostrils wide. "I smell their lusts and know them, for I alone crafted them. And for that, they would all be my mares. Yet I have chosen but one..."

His words grew more formal. "Do you know this man, stallion Samurest?"

"Yes, my sire," the white stallion replied. "He often visits me, and feeds me, and..." He clacked his teeth, once and fell silent, as if embarrassed. Or overstimulated.

"And?" the god prompted.

Samurest stared at Arax with deep brown eyes. "And looks upon my maleness with lust."

It was true. Arax did it to all the stallions, but especially to Samurest. Of all the horses he knew, only the white stallion always had his penis hanging free when he paid him a visit. The horse never failed to have his nineteen pale-pink inches visible, and would usually belly-slap, making the young man bite his lip and look about before pressing a hand to his crotch. He'd hold out a hand and let the stallion crunch on sugar cubes, while the other massaged his cock to the sight of the horse's endowment. It would fill his mind as he walked home, and he'd head straight to the cottages of the farmhands, and stare at them until one stared back.

"Is this true, Arax?" the stallion asked. He must surely know, yet he enjoyed the game. His cock was slapping hard as he looked between the other two males. Arax dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Yes, my lord," the man said.

"Your adoration of my sons speaks highly of you, Arax. And I cannot fault you: I lust for his beauty, too. His fine, strong form...his deep, wet hole..." Samurest nickered and his tail rose high at Beinir spoke of his body. "But," the god said, "this is not all. Tell him what he does not know, stallion Samurest." The white stallion dipped his head twice, his ears flickering about quickly in what Arax supposed was a stallion blush. Samurest's voice remained meek, but a vein of lust crept in, and his brown eyes grew darker as he stared again at Arax.

"I have lusted for him, too," the beautiful white stallion said.

Arax's mouth dropped open at the confession, and Beinir whinnied a deep laugh. "Yes! Such a pair...made for one another, yet ever separated. I could not allow it." He looked at Arax. "You shall taste of this stallion tonight yet, disciple. You shall plumb his warm, soft depths." Then he threw his mane high and bellowed lustfully, before calming. "But only after his sire has seeded him."

Beinir stepped aside, and Samurest obeyed the unspoken command, walking further into the stable and then halting. His skin was shivering slightly, as if cold, but the air in the stable was desert-hot. The huge blue-black stallion stepped around him, eyes regarding every inch of him. He was taller than the white horse; Samurest could have nuzzled into the hollow of his chest without lowering his head. Longer, too; Samurest's eyes followed his master's massive prick as it moved about him, and Arax did not know if it was lust or terror in his eyes.

When the god halted behind the white horse, Samurest's tail rose high, just as mares did in the spring, and Beinir's muzzle moved in. He breathed deeply of the horse's scent, the inrush of air like the opening of a bellows, and Samurest shook. One leg nearly buckled, but he recovered and began to speak to the other horse in a formal, ritualistic tone.

"I wish to mate, sire. I have been crafted for you. My body desires only your cock. I wish to be mounted -- to be bred. Rutted, like a beast. I am yours, lord of lusts, and I pray for your benediction upon me...and in me." Arax's eyes, glued to the sight of the white stallion's perfect exposed asshole as Beinir's tongue probed around, saw the doughnut flex wide -- the redness within briefly exposed -- and flutter closed again. "My hole is yours, sire," Samurest continued. "I am untouched -- virginal. Tight, and deep." He whinnied in pleasant anguish as the long tongue slipped up and down his rear, from the plumpness of his white balls to the pink need of his hole. His words grew hoarse. "I...I am your servant, my sire. Your slave. Your fuck. Fuck me, my lord, as only a stallion can. Though I am no mare, I am your mare. A stallion-son that seeks the blessing of his sire's horse cock."

Then he screamed in delight, and Arax with him; the man beheld Beinir's long tongue pushing deep within the horse, a motion both sensual and libidinous. Its muscled pinkness was like a wet, flexing cock that sank inside Samurest, and the black stallion twisted his head back and forth as he sought to taste and explore every part of his stallion-son's virgin tailhole. Samurest seemed on the verge of collapse, whinnying and shaking with uncontrolled feeling, but pressing back against his lover's mouth nonetheless: his legs straining with the force of it, desperate to receive. "Yes, my sire, eat of me," he groaned, and Arax reached for his cock again as the erotic sight and words ignited his hunger for stallion hole. "Taste of my body, born to pleasure you...as a mare pleasures a stallion..."

The sinfully long tongue slid back out of the white stallion, leaving his hole wet with spit and fluttering for more. "You know the words, stallion Samurest," Beinir observed. Both horse's cocks were stiff underneath their owners. His head dropped to nose at the other stallion's thighs, and Samurest spread them obediently, as mares did. "You speak them well." He licked up and down Samurest's rear a few more times. "And the lust is thick in your blood, and on your skin, and in your mind...and inside you." With a bellow, he launched himself into the air, and Arax cried out in fearful amazement at the sight of the massive stallion rearing: legs outstretched, cock firm, and eyes ablaze. A glorious, living statue to male sexuality. It lasted only a moment, but the vision would never leave his memory.

The full mass of the huge black stallion crashed down onto Samurest's back, and the white horse groaned and bent under the weight...but did not fall. Beinir's glowing eyes burned fiercely again, like torches fuelled by alchemy, and he bit down on Samurest's neck, making his mate cry out with a deep and needy cry. Beinir held the bite as Samurest gasped for air, and then released; a single drop of crimson glistened against his mate's snowy hair. It seemed to have been a test, for Beinir whinnied in satisfaction.

"Stallion Samurest," he said, and there was power in the words. "Shall we breed?"

Perhaps there was a formal response to that, an ancient and expected reply in this stallion ritual. If so, Samurest either did not know it, or chose to ignore it. His voice was ruttish and crude, and his words with it.

"Fuck me, sire."

Beinir trumpeted in bliss as his hips rammed forward, the flare bursting through the white equine's virgin ring as if it was no barrier at all. The stallion screamed, and it was the screams of the mares as their mates savagely filled them with cock and colts. But mares could not speak, and Samurest could.

"Yes! Yes, my father, my sire! Fill me, fuck me, make me yours!" His voice was endlessly hungry. "Your prick is my sacrament! Ravage me, father of stallions!" He cried further, wordlessly, as a human would...but how many humans had ever felt the perfection this stallion was experiencing? Arax's eyes were wide, and fixed upon the sight of Beinir's trunk-thick prick thrusting in and out of the hole offered to it as he jerked his hard, drooling member. Wet, sexual noises accompanied every motion, as the god-stallion's pre-cum mingled with his spit to lubricate Samurest's passage; the shiny mixture squirted out of the already well-fucked hole on each deep push of the cock that was deflowering it.

"Take me, sire, fuck me...fuck me hard, as you fuck all your sons..." The white stallion's prayer seemed to infuse Beinir with new heights of lust, and he pushed in extra-hard; his legs gripped Samurest's side fiercely, and his mouth was set in a grimace, teeth tight together, lip raised in flehmen. "Fill me with your colts, sire," Samurest groaned, "Your endless, perfect colts...my brothers...your holy seed..." Beinir bit his shoulder again, and the mare-stallion screamed once more. His words grew more vulgar. "Fuck me, sire! Fuck me now, fuck me forever, breed my hole, give me your prick, let it never end..."

The black stallion's stamina was boundless. His pace did not falter or fail, and his cock was steel. Arax found himself on the verge of climax again as he beheld the divine sight of two stallions fucking...but he knew he should not yet cum. He let his eyes absorb it all instead, storing it away for all time. The way drool ran down from the corner of Beinir's mouth, dripping onto his mate like a libation. The sheen of the sweat that slathered both of them like holy oils. The carnal smell of their fucking that choked the air of the stable; if this place was their cathedral, the smell was their incense, and this act its sanctification. Beinir fucked his stallion-son, and Samurest begged him for more. Deeper, harder, more. More cock, more pleasure, more stallion length, more glory.

Their bestial breeding was too much for Arax to resist. He stepped closer, and then slid beneath them, lying between their legs and staring up at the sight of Beinir's prick fucking the sexy white stallion doughnut. Droplets of pre-cum fell on him as he masturbated, and he gathered them with a hand to lubricate his own pleasures. The liquid warmed his penis, and he would have sworn it swelled even larger than before.

Beinir outlasted any mate Arax had ever had. He fucked with a single-minded determination, as if he fucked the entire world, seeking to impregnate every creature therein. Even Samurest grew quiet eventually, his words exhausted; his body simply swaying to the rhythm of the horse-god's fuck. Arax stared at their joining, his hand sliding rapidly along his cock, his mind lost to the sights above him. Thick cock pressing open stallion rear, stretching it wider than it had ever been before. The slickness of the flesh, the sounds it made. The god-stallion's grunts of satisfaction. Beinir's balls swung like counterweights to the battering ram that was his prick, and when they began to rise, Arax moaned with delight. His hand moved faster, and his breathing grew shallow, anticipating the god's release with eager eyes and a hungry mouth.

Beinir's motions grew more frenzied, until -- with a furious thrust that punched his cock the deepest it had yet been -- he bellowed a stallion's triumphant cry. "Receive me, my son!" Samurest mirrored it in his high tones-- "I receive you, father!" -- and Arax gaped, incredulous. Beinir's enormous balls had risen into his body cavity, and along the bottom of his cock, his urethra was swollen and flexing. Arax could see the seed he pumped into his mate, flowing along his massive organ. The man could not begin to imagine how it felt within: the god's seed, like molten metal, soaking and searing the white stallion's tunnel.

The volume was incredible, and Samurest's body could not hold it all. To Arax's delight, cum was soon squirting out around the cock as the flare within pumped the stallion full of the god's thick semen. It splashed down upon him, and he tasted it greedily. It was the least intense of all the horse's flavours: nutty, creamy, and delicious -- and yet all the more filling for it, like a substance perfectly crafted to satisfy. The man felt a deep and perfect sense grow as he swallowed more of it, and knew with certainty that he could dine on Beinir's seed every day, for every meal.

Above him, Beinir and his virginal son still consummated their union. Samurest's cock was squirting his own seed upon the ground now in explosive spurts, its sharp odour joining the medley in the air. Beinir's teeth were once more gripping his lover's shoulder firmly, and his massive hind legs pushed forward, holding his cock deep inside. Samurest whinnied softly and repeatedly, abandoning human speech for the words of horses. They grew higher and louder when the god-stallion finally began to withdraw; Arax stared upward raptly, his mouth ajar, eager to see and taste...

Beinir's gigantic flare -- now bigger than both of Arax's fists -- exited the white stallion's anus with a final stretching of the ring that made Samurest low like a pregnant cow. A flood of semen followed it, musky and amazing. The waterfall of thick white fluid doused the man lying below the two horses, and he cried out with joy as the smell, the taste, and the heat coated him. He gulped down further mouthfuls of the fluid, scooping it off his chest with his hands like the glutton for stallions that he was, and smearing the rest across his body. His own cock was ejaculating again, yet he barely noticed; the pleasure was a fine detail in the corner of a vast canvas, already filled with exquisite sensations.

Beinir's huge cock swung free from its mate, the still-engorged flare terrifyingly big from this angle: a swollen red gourd. A destroyer of holes. Arax could not imagine what that had done to the other stallion's innards, and yet the mere thought of it made him wish it for himself. As the god pushed himself off his mate, his hooves thumping to the ground on either side of the man's prostrate form, Arax beseeched him.

"Please, my lord..." His wide eyes were fixed on the flare that hung above. "I wish to -- to mate." He had listened when Samurest spoke. He would say the same words. "I...please, sire, mate me."

Beinir's face looked down at him with burning eyes, the deep glow obscuring his thoughts. "You would not survive," he said, simply. It was patently true; the stallion's monstrous cock would penetrate the man's very heart if he thrust into him. But Arax did not care. The night had been an unending assault on his senses. His mind, his past life, had been erased; replaced with thoughts of stallion muscle, stallion taste, stallion cum and scent and power and cock. Stallion cock, god-prick...the only member he ever wished to have inside him again. Let other men play their games with one another; he had beheld truth. If it was his end, then so be it. But even as he opened his mouth to speak the words, Beinir nickered.

"Your lusts do you credit, my disciple. You would mate me, though it would kill you? I have chosen well, it seems." He breathed in deeply and his head lowered, to nose at the cum that still coated the man's form. A snorted breath blew over the man, making him blink. "I have chosen very well," the god repeated thoughtfully.

The big stallion stepped back, giving Arax space. Samurest did not move. Tail yet flagged, legs akimbo, the white horse stood with his head lowered and his ring -- now wide and puffy and red as the sinking sun -- oozed dribbles of cum and occasional squeaks of air that the god's anal assault had forced inside him. Beinir stared at it with satisfaction, before moving his head forward to lick a long tongueful of his own seed from Samurest's rear. The white stallion quivered at his touch.

"Stand, Arax," the god said, licking whiteness from his lips. "I have provided a feast for you. Taste of me, and you shall have what you seek."

Arax scrambled to his feet, needing no further motivation. Though he had eaten handfuls of the stallion-god's seed as it spurted out when he withdrew, he was still not sated. He looked at Samurest's battered hole, imagining the seas of cum washing about within him. A glorious sight indeed.

"Stallion Samurest, are you sated?" the god asked of his erstwhile mate.

Samurest's voice shook. "I...I am, my lord."

"Does my seed fill you?"

"Yes, it..." He seemed to fade out, then return, less formal. "Yes, sire, fuck yes, I'm so fucking full of you, of your breeding, of your colts...you're so fucking big, oh, fuck, I can still feel you in me, I can't get enough, I need you, I want you on me again, fuck me, father, rut me like a fucking horny stallion..."

Beinir nickered, cutting off the equine's rambling. "Stallion Samurest," he said sagely. "Will you bear my colts?"

Samurest collected himself. "I cannot, sire," he said, formally.

"Then I shall mate you again, until you do."

"Yes, sire." The happiness in his words was obvious. After all, who would ever deny another fuck from this creature? Jealousy burned inside Arax. To be fucked forever by a god of lust...

"My seed is precious, stallion Samurest," Beinir said. His eyes turned to look at Arax. "And my disciple grows jealous. Provide him of my bounty."

"As you will, my lord." He sighed, and his hole flexed wide to let his father-stallion's cum flow out. Through whatever powers Beinir had, it was flawless, as if the stallion was an empty, clean receptacle for what had been fucked into him. Arax sighed, and stepped close, thrusting his mouth into the stream and swallowing with urgency, as if it flowed from Beinir's cock itself. The same feeling of pleasant satiety built as he gulped down more of the god's seed, but never to excess. His hands gripped the white stallion's rear harder as his mouth dug in, slurping noisily, tongue sucking up the cum that flowed out, and then digging in to find more. Samurest's ass had been lubricated by a tongue thicker than Arax's cock, and then taken a stallion prick as thick as an arm; the man's mere tongue posed no challenge. Arax explored the smooth warmth inside the horse, tasting his animal nature underneath the cum that soaked him. Every drop of cum was found, and sucked back into his mouth, down to his belly. And no sooner did he suckle the horse's innards dry than Samurest would flex, and more cum would flow up from his depths. Arax huffed and snorted like a little stallion himself as he fed on Beinir's gift: a most palatable dish, served from a most fitting platter.

The semen filled his belly and sated him; when the tingling began, he simply accepted it as part of drinking a god's seed. As it grew stronger, though, he broke off from his meal of horse ass and looked -- wide-eyed -- at Beinir. The big stallion had watched him intensely, and no sooner did the man look over than he spoke, the words ready.

"All may serve me, Arax, but three I prize above all others." He nickered at Samurest, and the white stallion clopped obediently away, turning to face his rear towards a wooden bench. "The stag, the stallion...and the wolf." His eyes glowed, their fire turning crimson. "Two there are, far from here, who are fit to serve me. You shall be the first of my new disciples, and seek them out. You shall bear a new form, and a new name." He looked at the bench, and the man's eyes followed. Samurest's tail was raised, his legs spread: ready to mate. The man stumbled towards him as his every limb grew warm. The tingling sensation had taken hold of every part of him, but he was not afraid. Beinir would hold him to his breast, and comfort him, and assuage his travails. "No longer Arax, or boy, or slut, or lover," the big stallion said as Arax climbed onto the bench. Samurest's asshole winked back at him, well-wetted by his tongue -- and well-loosened by the deific sword that had pierced it. Arax placed his hands upon the horse's back, and pressed his cockhead to it.

The god's words thrummed like the most perfect instrument, and reality was altered. "You shall be my Beast. The Beast of Beinir."

Arax groaned as he sank his length into the stallion. Such heat...no man he'd fucked had ever been so hot. His head lifted, eyes tightly shut, as Samurest did his best to squeeze down on this new invader. The cock that had ravaged him had been immense, but he had been a virgin; with some effort, he could yet give the man a tight fuck. Arax did not think to care about this, or any other considerations: Samurest had been prepared for him, and given to him. He pulled his now-slimy length out and thrust it straight back in, his pubes pressing up against the horse's rear, groaning with happiness. To fuck a stallion...a dream fulfilled. And to hear his lover's supplications as he did so made it all the more glorious.

"Fuck me, Arax," Samurest said between pants. "So long have I desired you, disciple. So often did I wish for you to join me in my field, to lay yourself upon me, to feel your pale skin along mine. To lift my tail, and feel your maleness within me..." He groaned and pushed back into Arax, and the man growled and increased his pace. The relative looseness of the fit made it loud and wet; drops of cum splashed all around his crotch and Samurest's ass. Erotic, bestial noises mixed with wordless pleasure-cries; a hymn to stallions. To the lord of stallions, the lord of male lusts, the god that had united them.

"Breed me, Arax!" Samurest cried. "Give me your seed, so that it may mix with my father's within me! A most blessed union, a most--" The stallion cut himself off, whinnying in confusion, and Arax's eyes flew open and looked down in shock. He'd felt the change just as the horse cried out; he no longer had fingernails. Instead, sharp lupine claws dug into the horse's skin. They shone darkly, like curves of black metal. As he watched, his hands began to change further; thickening, and growing hair. Becoming paws. He made to groan in pleasure, but the sound came out as a growl again. It was painless, glorious, mysterious. It was Beinir's will. Arax relaxed and let it happen.

He closed his eyes again, feeling the changes rippling through him, the god-given transformation altering his form and his mind. His thrusting continued, growing harder as his legs grew stronger, muscles re-flowing around the bone, strengthening and deepening. It seemed the air was becoming thicker -- but it was just his sense of smell growing stronger. The scent of the stallion -- of both of them -- was so much richer now, he realised. His human form had not perceived but a fraction of it. He could smell Samurest's cock, and his sweaty mane, and the semen he'd sprayed upon the ground. He could smell every twist of scent that had been pumped into the stable air as the long, lusty night had progressed. And Beinir...the big black stallion smelled like nothing earthly. He smelled of feelings: of fat cocks pressing into prostates, of tongues probing inside foreskins, of mouths meeting in hard kisses. Arax never wished for his scent to leave him.

Arax's cock was growing now, and with it, something new. He felt the pressure increase on each inward thrust -- and so did Samurest. The horse trembled under him. There was more resistance now, and before long, he could not hilt in the stallion as before. A fat bulb of flesh had grown at the base of his cock as it thickened inside the stallion. He whined, pushing forward harder. He was still not of a thickness, overall, with the stallion-god -- but his new knot was. It pressed against the white stallion's besieged doughnut, stretching it out again, the firm muscle gripping it so tightly that Arax's claws dug in even harder, as if trying to pull the horse onto his cock.

"Yes, disciple, my lover...knot me, please...bind us together..." Samurest's pleas made Arax snarl, and a few drops of saliva dripped from how new fangs onto the stallion's back. He would knot the stallion whether or not he wished it. This was what he was created for. This was his purpose: fucking those who desired him, and showing them the glory of Beinir.

When the huge knot burst through his mate's ring, a wolf-howl of domination filled the night, and the man's transforming body went berserk. As his muzzle opened and his tongue flopped out, loose and lusty, he fucked the stallion's well-bred hole with his knot as fiercely as Beinir had with his own cock. The power of his new form went far beyond what he'd had before, and he exulted in it. The length now inside the equine -- double that of the one mere Arax had had -- squirted out watery pre-seed fruitlessly; Beinir's cum was lubrication enough, even for a giant wolf's knot. The wolf rutted with feral intensity, glorying in his new strength and the feeling of the stallion under him. His swollen knot dragged out Beinir's cum with each motion, and the god's seed ran down Samurest's balls and thighs. The smell pierced his nose, and made him howl, and cling to the stallion with his claws like knives.

Beinir had bred this stallion. His creator -- his sire -- had fucked this stallion's ass before him, with his perfect stallion cock, and then offered it to him. It was a gift he would never be able to repay in full. He would do what he could, though. He'd fuck the stallion just as hard as his god, just as deep, and pump his own seed in, to mix with the god's own...and when he was done, he would seek out others and do the same to them. He'd fuck every hole offered to him, breed them as he bred Samurest, and they would know Beinir, and worship him in turn...

"Fill him, my Beast." The words were not spoken. Arax heard them in his mind, as if Beinir was within him now. "Become mine."

The god's command struck him like a lightning bolt, sundering his mind. The man, Arax, fell to one side: not forgotten, but no longer needed. He had served his purpose, and now the Beast remained. With a piercing howl, the Beast climaxed, balls like goose eggs in a dark-furred sack clenching to serve up their thick, hot maleness. Samurest cried out as his innards were seared by the seed of a demigod, and his body clenched and spat a third load of his submissive seed upon the soaking ground below him.

The Beast did not wait for his knot to subside. Everything was simpler now; he knew what came next, and he desired it greatly. He pushed off the stallion's back, and his knot tore out with a gush of his pale grey fluids, marbled with the silver-whiteness of Beinir's own. As Samurest shuddered and fell to the floor, whispering holy invocations to his god, the great wolf stepped up to Beinir. The stallion still outmatched him in every way, but the wolf was far larger than the man he'd been before. Far more...capable.

Beinir dropped his head to lay a kiss upon the wolf. "Welcome, my Beast." The lupine whined, lowering his ears in deference to his sire. "You are most beautiful," the god said. "Most worthy of all my creations." He breathed in the wolf's scent. "A man's lusts," he noted, "in a form far more suited to them." The wolf growled happily, and the stallion nickered back at him. "May I taste you, my son?" the big stallion asked.

The wolf nodded and turned, lifting his tail for his sire. Arax had been fucked a hundred times or more; his maleness had not been worthy for a god of lust. But the Beast was pure, and new: his pristine tailhole a flawless invitation. He heard the blue-black stallion nicker deeply, and his claws contracted when the furnace-hot tongue lapped along him. He whined and pressed back into it, ready to receive, ready to be fully inducted into the priesthood of this stallion-god. But the tongue did not rush; it explored him fully, slipping between his legs to curl dexterously around his sheath and extended cock in a manner no ordinary stallion would manage, and then sliding up to penetrate him as it had Samurest. The Beast growled deeply at that feeling, and his claws dug hard into the ground, for the tongue of the god of male lust knew just where to touch him within. It was perfect pleasure, amplified by every sense in his new form. It was heaven.

Two huge hooves pressed into the floor on either side of him, and when Beinir spoke again, his voice was as soft as it had been in the beginning.

"Let it ever be so. Two males, united in lust."

The stallion's cock had no trouble sliding into his disciple. The wolf's new body was a gift from a god of male lust: a vehicle for pleasure -- both giving and receiving. The wolf lifted his muzzle as it slid in ever deeper, its full length finding a home within him. Beinir's own muzzle dropped to meet his in a kiss, and the animal's tongues intertwined like lover's fingers as the horse's cock began to slide in and out. The flare made the Beast's belly bulge out obscenely, but painlessly. The ridges of the bulbous mass of flesh trawling through his innards played on him with exquisite precision, as if the pleasure-spots within this new body had been multiplied twenty-fold. Every movement of the horse was a new explosion of pleasure in his mind. His blood-red cock throbbed under his belly, and his mouth meshed with the stallion's. The god's mouth tasted of all the good things he had ever enjoyed: men's bodies, and their cocks, and stallion seed and musk. And it tasted of all the good things yet to come: a myriad of beast-people, wolves and stags and stallions -- and more. Creatures whose bodies merely waited to hear the word of Beinir, and to feel the prick of his avatar within them.

The wolf pressed back into the stallion when he sensed him close to his peak. He could tell what the equine desired, like a cunning whisper in the back of his mind, and he ached to give it to him. His body clamped down upon the member, drawing it in, teasing it and urging it to give up its seed. Beinir's mouth broke loose from his lover, and he gasped in pleasure. "Oh, my disciple," he said passionately, his voice growing high, "how I have longed for you!"

Beinir, god of stallions and male lust, screamed his rapture into the eager night as he climaxed inside his wolf.

The Beast felt every male in the fey night join in their pleasure. He could sense them all again now, as Arax had, but in perfect detail and stunning intensity. An orchestra of males all about them, scribing a new symphony. In the house behind: his brother, screaming in ecstasy as he fucked his father's beautiful body, spraying his sire deep with the seed he'd made. The farmhands: in their mess of limbs and holes, they climaxed as a unit. Satyrs screamed into the night as one fisted another, their priapic endowments red and veined and throbbing. Every creature touched by Beinir, man or fae or beast, united with them as the stallion's prick swelled and burst forth with his greatest gift within the body of his creation. A tool of pleasure, bestowed by a creature of lust, upon the servant of his desires.

The stallion's orgasm hit the Beast as if a mule had kicked him from within. He was howling already at the pleasure of the horsecock filling him, and the stunning force of its release made his own member begin to spray, coating his thick, dark fur in priceless pearls. He could feel the liquid building up inside him, each shot from the horse's pulsing cock like the rushing of a river. His belly grew fat and heavy with Beinir's colts, and he whimpered and growled and whined in bliss. The horse's cock had not stopped fucking him: it thrust and churned its way throughout, as the stallion-god unleashed his full might, safe in the knowledge he could not injure his own disciple. The cum roiled and spat out behind the wolf, soaking down his legs and between his claws. The flare within felt like a sun, a burning, beautiful mass that made him wish to surrender everything he was and remain in this moment forever.

He whined again, but not in bliss, when the god withdrew. He did not want it to end, and he backed up against the cock, attempting to push it back inside. The stallion licked him upon his head, and chuckled softly as the wolf turned around and began to lick his hanging cock clean.

"This is not the end, disciple," he said gently, as the lupine's rough tongue cleaned him of his precious seed. "I would gladly remain, and teach you all the ways of pleasure I know, but another awaits you."

The Beast had a vision of another place. Far to the south, where the beast-people lived, two awaited him, unknowingly. A stag, and a stallion. His mouth watered at the thought of them, and Beinir's answering rumble trilled over his skin like a warm summer breeze. He looked up at Beinir, a question in his mind, and the stallion nodded back.

"Yes, disciple. They shall be yours, but you must make them mine."

The wolf's startling golden eyes -- like a mirror of the stallion's own -- looked up at his sire, the assent unspoken. He gave a final nuzzle at the horse's hanging member, and then -- with his head held high, a god's semen drooling from under his tail and his member still rigid -- the Beast of Beinir slipped away into the night. Heading south, to find a stag and a stallion, in a forest. Beinir watched him go, and nickered gently to himself. "Teach them well, my Beast," he murmured to himself.

He turned away, looking back at the white stallion. Samurest stood still, not yet fully recovered from the twin fucks he'd had. His cock had not risen back into its sheath since he stepped foot in the stables. Beinir stepped around him, looking at his form as if seeing it for the first time. The white stallion dipped his head, and his words were full of submission to the greater horse.

"Are you satisfied, sire?" His tail swished excitedly.

The noise of a gigantic stallion cock striking a belly answered him. "Satisfaction is for mortals," Beinir said. Behind them, in the house, faint moans could be heard as Arax's father and son continued to pleasure one another. A god had climaxed, but that simply meant the pleasures had properly begun. Beinir felt them all about him, glorying his name, and was pleased.

"Stallion Samurest," he said formally, "do you carry my colt?"

"I do not, my lord," the white horse replied. The sea of seed within him gurgled as he shifted. Beinir's head rose high, the moonlight striking him from behind and limning his mane in ashen glory. His eyes glowed bright, and his cock dripped freely.

"Then let us try again."