Beastiality

I still hadn’t quite got used to the heat of the city. Marcus, who ran
the Middle Eastern end of the company, told me that it was much nicer
out in the desert, drier and less humid. That part of the upcoming trip
I was looking forward to, spending a weekend in the desert in the
traditional nomadic tent of the person The Company was trying to impress
and as a consequence sell several million dollars worth of executive jet
aircraft to was not my idea of how to spend a marvellous time; I kept
having visions of dining on “…ripped out sheep’s eyes…” my fault for
listening to all those Souxie and the Banshees records as a student I
suppose.

Still, my host, Sheikh Mohammed Hassan Al Bakir, seemed a pleasant
enough fellow. I’d first met him at the airfield. I was piloting our
flying sales demo model when he’d come forward and asked to take the
controls. For someone who wasn’t type rated on executive twins he flew
very well, only later I found out that he’d flown fighters for his
country’s airforce; indeed it was rumoured that he’d flown during that
little contretemps over in Kuwait a couple of years back. Anyway we’d
got to talking, I took him through a full power stall and recovery and
after we landed he invited me to stay for the weekend.

The Company, needless to say, was utterly delighted that we got along so
well. The day before I was due to go I was summoned to Marcus’ office,
for a little pep talk on sales procedure I assumed and so I’d got my
macho “I’m a pilot not a salesman.” speech all prepared; hell I even
wore my Ray-Ban’s in a vain attempt to look like something out of “Top
Gun”. The speech wasn’t quite what I’d expected.

“I had a message from the head of personnel this morning about an hour
after I’d told Head Office that you would be spending the weekend with
the Sheikh.” Marcus McBride looked a little uncomfortable behind his
desk and he looked at me strangely. “This was after I received a phone
call from His Excellency’s aide asking if you were able to ride horses
and as I couldn’t get in touch with you I asked personnel if they know.”

“Ah…” I mustered, I had an inkling as to what was coming next.

“I got this back on the email net, complete with encryption about thirty
minutes ago, would you care to explain?”

He handed me a sheet of paper that I read out loud, first checking that
his door was closed. “Confirmed that Peter is able to ride, in fact
personnel tell me he holds a British Horse Society Assistant Instructors
certificate. However please press upon Peter the importance of this
initial order and tell him to keep his hands off the ponies! Signed, oh
look, by the MD herself.”

I handed it back to Marcus with a smile whereupon he dropped it into a
shredder by the side of his desk. “Keep your hands off the ponies?”

“Tell the MD that I’ll be the very soul of discretion.”

“How about telling me - and where did you find time to gain a riding
instructor’s qualification.”

“Well my SO runs a stable and I just picked it up as I went along. As
to the rest, you’re a Presbyterian aren’t you?”

“Aye,” Marcus’ dropped deeper into his native Glaswegian accent as it
seemed to do when he was under stress.

“Then probably it’s better if you don’t know, just tell the MD I’ll be a
good little company man.”

Marcus flopped back into his seat and waved me away, “Away with you,
just don’t mess this up!”

Of course the company had found out about me quite quickly. A little
private detective work, monitoring the phone calls I made. Predictable
I suppose as they had a lot of government work. It was a bit of a
surprise to be called into the MD’s office and to have her address me by
the handle I used on a couple of bulletin boards. The upshot of that
conversation was that whereas she didn’t mind what I got up to (in fact
she confided that she found the whole idea rather exciting herself,
which did come as a shock)! I had to report any attempts to blackmail me
should be reported to her immediately and they would “deal with it.”
As I said these people had extensive government involvement with several
countries and there were dark rumours voiced about what had happened
when people had tried to get secrets from company employees before. So
there I was, and there can’t be many zoophiles in the world with
assorted secret services looking after them. Anyway, I imagined that
this place would be all camels and sheep anyway - now I may be a
zoophile but I have taste!

* * *

So there I am on a Friday evening in the lobby of the Hilton - have you
ever noticed that the lobby of every Hilton anywhere in the world is the
same? The locals, whom I have a lot of respect for as individuals but
whose religion gives me the willies, have been doing the bowing and
scraping Meccawards to the intro of “Shah Shah a Go Go” and I have been
quietly humming “Rock the Casbah” to myself when the Sultan’s aide comes
over to me and asks if I’m ready.

“Sure, shall we go?”

“At once, I have a car ready to take us to the airfield.”

I thought that I was in for some more flying work and was about to ask
to retrieve my flight bag when Abdul, or whatever his name was pipes up
again.”

“His Majesty has arranged a military transport for you.”

Marvellous, I thought, a flight in a DC3 to God alone knows where in the
desert.

Wrong.

Half an hour later I am walking across the tarmac dressed in a g-suit
which, get this, has my name on the front and a major’s pips on the
sleeve out to a Desert-Storm coloured Tornado-G1. Suffice it to say
that a very rapid half hour flight took my small pilot and I out to a
desert military strip seemingly miles from anywhere where I am met by
aide number two and taken to a rather nice set of quarters.

“This is our special training base,” he explained, “comes in very
useful.” He proceeded to serve tea and then asked what seemed at the
time a rather odd question.

“Tell me sir, have you ever worn Arab dress.”

“No,” I reply, “I’m afraid I haven’t.”

“I had better instruct you sir, I’m afraid that His Majesty is very
particular about the clothes worn at his retreat.”

This weekend was taking a very peculiar turn I thought as I was helped
by the fussy attendant into the strange clothing. I actually found that
the traditional Arabic sheet and tea-towel on the head was surprisingly
comfortable and cool although catching a sight of myself in a mirror I
did think that I looked less like Lawrence of Arabia and more like a
Peter of South London on his way to a fancy dress party. Little did I
know that the weekend was about to take a much more interesting turn.

“If you are ready sir…”

I was and was lead out and across the small compound.

I caught the scent first, carried on a wafting of hot desert wind, heard
a soft snort and sand-muffled hoofstamp. Ah the ponies at last!
There’s something about the scent of horses that raises a lump in my
throat, and quite often a lump elsewhere. I should have been ready when
I rounded the corner but I wasn’t.

She was exquisite.

Pearly dappled-grey she stood untethered in the shade of a low wall by a
water-trough: her dark doe-like eyes looking with interest at the
creatures that came towards her, a darker grey silken mane spilling down
her proudly arched neck, muscles playing in firm bunches under her
sleek, rippling hide. I caught her scent of her sweat once more, rich
and musky in the desert air and I felt the peculiar knot of excitement
in the pit of my stomach, the same tense excitement I had felt for the
first time on a balmy English summers night as I crept across a paddock
towards where my first lover lay so many years ago. The mare pawed the
ground and snorted softly but she did not fret at our approach as we
drew closer.

“Oh wow!” I managed to mumble somewhat inanely, words failing me at the
sight of the perfection of the Arabian mare before me.

“She pleases you Sir?” the Sheikh’s man enquired politely.

“She’s beautiful,” I murmured, still captivated by the sleek apparition
before me, “I can see why your people produced so many poets with such
as she to praise.”

“Thank you Sir,” he sounded a little shocked at what I’d just said;
looking back on it up until then he’d probably had me down as an
ignorant foreigner. “Her name is Sahraa Ibn Awaasif. In English that
would be…”

“Desert Storm.” I interrupted. We had reached her now and slowly I held
out my hand to her, palm downwards. She reached forward and sniffed it
before nuzzling it with her soft lips.

“You speak Arabic?”

“I picked up a little here and there.” I didn’t look at him now, all my
attention and my will was focused on the gorgeous creature before me.

“She was born on the night that the war started, His excellency thought
it was an appropriate name for her.”

*”So do you live up to your name, Storm of the Desert?”* I thought to
her. I was only slightly astonished when she lifted her head from
nuzzling my hand and snorted haughtily.

“His Excellency will meet you on the way to the oasis. If you follow
the road that leads from here you will come across him. Please don’t
wander from the road though, it’s a very big desert.”

I turned to shake the aide’s hand and thanked him before swinging myself
into the saddle. I would have liked to familiarise myself more with my
companion before taking the liberty of riding her but I figured that a
military compound was probably not the best place for that sort of
thing. Fortunately the Arab mare was a forgiving should who took no
offence at my lack of manners and with a gentle nudge of her flanks she
trotted towards the gate and out onto the desert track.

Once out of sight of the airfield I slowed her to a walk, then a halt
and patted her neck, she in turn bent her neck down and round to nibble
at my foot. I called her name softly in Arabic and her ears pricked
backwards at the sound of my voice. “Would you mind if I just called
you Sara?” I asked her out loud. She didn’t seem to object. I nudged
her onwards and she set off with the sand-shuffling gait of her kind
that made her look as though she floated across the desert. Now was the
time to trust her and to make up for my former indignities.

Closing my eyes I dropped her reins and let her guide herself. Slowly I
began to merge with her, the gentle rocking movement as she slipped
across the hot sands easing me downwards and out of the frame of
reference so familiar to every day existence. With mind and spirit I
reached out for hers and found it, strong and steady below me.
Breathing deeply now I called her and she answered, whickering softly,
her spirit rising at my voice, willingly merging with mine as we rode
the shining desert together. Steadily I let the vision fade and opened
my eyes, my hands spread in benediction to the Mother of All. Sara had
stopped and twisted her neck to look at me with her soft eyes. Quickly
I slipped from her back and hugged her neck. She hugged me back,
pulling me close with her head and pressing me to her chest.

“I think that we’ll get along fine.” I whispered to her, “Shall we carry
on?”

She let me go and I ran a hand along her silken flank before swinging
myself up to her back. I suppose that there are those who would call it
magic and imaginary nonsense but I had found over many years and many
horses that it was more than possible to make contact with horses and
other so-called animals on a very deep level and that from then on, if
they had come to meet you, you would be friends. Strange I admit but
don’t knock it, it *works*.

As though to prove it then Sara almost read my mind and broke into a
fast trot, eager to be on our way. “OK then Beautiful,” I said to her,
“let’s see how stormy you can be.”

Effortlessly she broke into a headlong gallop and I eased into a crouch
over her neck, balancing her on the forehand to leave the powerful
muscles of her hindquarters free to push us forwards. Even though the
sand was soft under her hooves she made a very good turn of speed.
Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to get rid of her
saddle and my unusual clothes and ride her surging body bareback across
the desert. Still I contented myself with her company and the pleasure
of the ride.

I slowed her after a mile or so and I didn’t know how far we’d have to
go. She settled back into a fast walk, snorting the dust from her
nostrils, her chest rising and falling as she recovered from the
exertion of her run. I patted her neck affectionately and she turned
and gave a little “harrrumph” noise and nibbled my foot again. We were
definitely going to hit if off. I started to wonder how my host would
view my interest in horses. Legend is always an unreliable guide when
it comes to the sexual morals of a people but the Arabs were supposed to
have a taste for animal pleasures amongst their other interests and so
there was an inkling of a hope that Sara and I might get the opportunity
to get a little closer over the next two days. I was determined not to
mess up and jeopardise the chances of The Company shifting another
multi-million dollar jet - after all I liked the protection I got from
them.

I must confess that I was beginning to get a little worried about being
out in the huge desert with just my new-found friend for company.
However she seemed to be quite content and knew where she was going so I
let her have her head and let her take me, content for her to carry me
wherever she wanted. We hadn’t gone much further when Sara raised her
head and whinnied, her call answered by another neigh.

On top of a sand dune a blue-robed figure sat on another Arabian horse.
He waved at me and dutifully I turned Sara towards him and trotted her
up the dune’s slope.

“Ah Peter, Salaam Walikem. I’m so glad you could come.”

“Walikem Salaam, Your Excellency.” I answered, recognising the Sheikh
and the traditional greeting as we drew level.

“Oh please, Hassan will suffice. The desert will have nothing to do
with formality. Here all creatures are equal in her eyes.”

I caught sight of his gaze and for a second I thought I saw the flicker
of a familiar fire. Perhaps the desert makes philosophers of all men

“Come, let us ride.”

He lead the way over another dune and the ground underfoot became more
rocky, before us lay a small oasis, really just a smallish, shallow pool
of water rather than the grand palm tree fringed edifice I’d always
imagined from boyhood tales of The Arabian Knights. Beside it a small
herd of goats milled about and a cluster of tents fluttered in the hot
breeze.

Hassan proved the perfect host. His two elderly servants took our
horses (but not before I’d made sure that Sara had got a good pat and a
whispered word of thanks) served us sweet coffee and the Sheikh and I
chatted about flying and other small talk.

Later after we had eaten (and yes, it was goat on the menu!) the
conversation turned to horses. Hassan seemed interested in my little
herd at home, my miniature mare in particular. As the night drew on I
began to suspect that his questions were getting a little close to the
mark and my sixth sense that can usually spot a “fellow traveller” at a
hundred paces started to quiver.

“Tell me,” he said at last, “what do you think of ‘Ibn Awaasif?”

“She’s quite something. I like her very much.” I answered coyly.

“You rode her well, almost as though you were meant for each other.”

“Well I did sense that she liked me from when we met, we just took to
each other. I must say she’s very well behaved.”

“Ah, I raised her myself, here in the desert. She is the daughter of my
mare and I take a special care of my children.”

There it was! Whoop, whoop, whoop! Condition Red! Bikini state Black!
DefCon 1… One ZooBird in positive track… Confidence is high at this
time. I say again, Confidence IS high!

“Your children?” I raised an eyebrow.

He smiled back, “Oh yes, she is my child as much as my son who will be
Sheikh after me. All my horses are special to me, as they are to you.”
With that he clapped his hands and I watched entranced as our two mares
rounded the tent flap and wandered over to where we sat.

“Do not concern yourself, My Friend. I have many friends in your armed
forces and they are happy to supply me with all kinds of information.
They know about my tastes as they know about yours.”

I smiled, wondering for a moment just how many people knew. Wondering
stopped however when Sara drew lever with me and lowered her head to my
face and snuffled at me.

“Hello beautiful,” I whispered and reached up to scratch her nose. She
harrumphed at me in return and nuzzled my mouth with her own soft lips.
Almost involuntarily I began to nuzzle her back, lapping at her, our
lips and tongues meeting for a moment. Softly she breathed at me, her
warm horse-breath smoky and rich in my nostrils. I breathed back so
that she could smell me too, reaching up to caress the firm line of her
jaw, the soft, short hairs slipping under my fingers.

Then the moment was over, she raised her head but looked down on me,
firelight reflected from the depths of her eyes.

“Lover?” I whispered.

She replied with a snort and, stepping beside me she lay down on the
richly patterned Bedouin carpet. I looked over to Hassan. His mare had
already lain down and he caressed her neck. With that sixth sense that
tells men when someone is looking at them he turned to look at me. “She
is yours, My Brother. She wants you.”

I smiled in return, no words were necessary.

Sara lay beside me now, forelegs tucked away neatly, her coat shining in
the glow of firelight. If I wasn’t hard before I most certainly was
now, she was beautiful, exquisite. Her head turned to look at me, dark
eyes beckoning me to her side, to touch her, to be with her.

I began at the base of her ears, half scratching, half massaging them.
My lover at home always enjoyed this and Sara did too, her neck
stretching out and a soft snort of contentment echoing her pleasure.
Slowly I moved down her neck, stroking and massaging her softly,
whispering to her how beautiful she was and how much I lusted after her.
As though she understood me she turned her head and nuzzled my crotch,
her nose pushing through the folds of the Arabic robes. She seemed
quite expert at this and I began to realise that this was not the first
time that she had done this. I continued to caress her, my hands
roaming across my withers as she pushed aside the folds of my clothing
with her nose. A warm breath drifted across my cock, she’d found what
she was looking for. With a soft groan I lay across her back, my cheek
pressed against her warm neck, breathing her warm mare scent in deeply,
bathing in her warmth, her luxuriance. Sara nuzzled down into my cock
and balls, velvet soft lips pressing against my tender flesh. With
infinite care I felt her lay her tongue upon me, wet and wide as it
lashed across the tip of my straining cock; again she licked, pressing
my manhood against my thigh. I moaned in pleasure at her gentle touch,
her ears twitching in response to my cries and another wet lick bathed
my cock and balls. My need for her grew with each touch of her talented
tongue upon me, with each breath of her heady scent.

Slowly I pulled away from her, rubbing my hand down her flanks to her
belly. She looked up and over a shoulder at me, the firelight glinting
in her ebony eyes. “My turn to please you,” I whispered at her. To my
surprise she rolled over a little further, her hind leg coming up into
the air.

“Get between her legs,” I heard Hassan call me quietly, “she’s fond
of… that.” he gasped mid sentence and I peered over Sara’s barrel.
My host knelt behind his own mare, her tail raised and held in his hands
as he entered her, pumping into her with long steady strokes. He
obviously is a man who doesn’t like to waste any time, either that or
his mare needed him more urgently than mine did.

Returning to Sara I lay down beside her, wriggling close so that our
bellies touched, hide to flesh, warm and comforting. Bending my head
down to between her legs I lapped gently at the two little teats that
nestle there, their black skin standing out against her white hair.
Taking them into my mouth I suckled at her, first one, then the other.
Her scent was all around me now, her warmth enveloped me like a womb;
for a moment our souls touched and merged once more and I suckled her
like an infant foal, her foal, returning to the mother who nourished me,
to the mother who gave me life. In that moment of bliss, our bodies
pressed tight against each other, I lost myself to her, she was my dam,
I her foal and instinctively we knew that this was meant to be.

But a colt foal grows to a stallion, with a stallion’s drive and needs.
Sara nudged my rump, disturbing my dreams of warm mother’s milk and soft
straw-strewn beds. I took my hint and moved around her, edging forwards
between her legs, careful not to put too much pressure on her. Slowly
my tongue traced a route from her teats to her sweet pussy, tasting the
salty traces of sweat there until at last her treasure was before me.
Breathing her mare’s scent deeply I planted two light kisses on her
list, paying homage at her altar. With a sigh I licked gently at the
velvet lips before me, along the length of her crevice, tasting her
sweet readiness. It’s hard, almost impossible to describe how she
tasted, how any mare tastes, a golden, warm taste of sweet hay and smoke
aged wood, beautiful and heady.

As I lapped at her she snorted, her vagina flashing at me, the bottom of
the lips curling upwards, the pink insides shining with her juices mine
to see. A little spurt of her cream splattered onto my face, sending me
wild with lust. With a snarl I buried my face in her, my tongue plunging
between her lips and deep into her crevice, lapping at the honeyed walls
within, bathing in her fluids. I felt her roll back, pinning me firmly
to the ground but not crushing me. Reaching up I held her haunches, my
tongue never leaving her beautiful cavern, darting this way and that,
drinking her down like wine. With a little wriggle closer to her my
tongue found her clit, and, lips pursed, I sucked on it, setting of a
trembling spasm through Sara’s body. Her lips winked again, seeming to
pull me closer into her willing cavern, her taste was exquisite, a
beautiful heady musk. My hands roamed the soft hair of her rump, clung
to her firmness, her scent filling me, enveloping me in pleasure. With
each wink I felt her body tremble, her whole frame shudder in the throes
of every little orgasm as my tongue and lips played on her. Her warm
body lay atop me, weighty and comforting my body crushed against hers,
my cock hard against her heat, feeling her tremble in her pleasure.

In time I felt her gave a great shudder and a soft sigh, the tenseness
in her body relaxing, breaking like a sea wave upon the shores of lust.
I knew that she must have come, I’d never had a horse ever do that with
me before, in fact I’d heard it was impossible but there, in the light
of the dying fire of a Bedouin camp of an Arab prince, my lover and me
shared her moment of bliss. A glow seemed to spread from her, wrapping
itself around us, drawing me closer, closer, into her very being to let
me taste her pleasure. Slowly she rolled from me. With a last glance I
moved from her pussy and lay beside her, head to head, feeling a slight
pain in my ribs where she’d lain on me. Cradling her neck in my arms
she laid her head upon my chest, her warm breath brushing care of the
ache there away. Hassan seemed to have left us alone, him and his mare
nowhere to be seen.

We lay together for a while; the canopy of stars above us, the soft
crackle of the lowering fire and the distant tinkle of the goats’ bells
by the oasis a gentle music of the night. I could have wanted for
nothing else, my lover newly found lying beside me, I stroking her
cheek, each looking into the eyes of the other, speaking in the language
without tongues, speaking of things that no tapestry of words could
convey even if it were spun with silk from the lips of the finest poets.
Softly she moved her fine head downwards, ears flicking seductively,
warm breath washing over my cock like a desert wind. Again she lapped
at me, wide and wet, bringing my cock to hardness. Groaning I grasped a
handful of her mane, my back arching and she licked my cock. As I
collapsed back onto the carpet with a sigh our gaze met again and I knew
it was time.

Swiftly I rose and moved down across her, rubbing my body against her
flanks, half crawling, half rolling down her body to her rump. Sara’s
tail flicked high into the air, a silken white fountain, bright and
shining in the gathering dark, a beacon to guide my lust. I slid behind
her, running my fingers through her tail. Her lips winked seductively
at me as I caressed her tail, my hands falling to her snowy
hindquarters, tracing the line of her hind leg, feeling her power. Her
head raised she looked over her shoulder, her eyes willing me on. I
smiled at her,

“You are hungry aren’t you, do you want something,”

Her snort was almost a laugh, the toss of her head most certainly was.

I edged forwards to her, taking my cock in my hand I touched its tip to
her lips; together we sighed at the contact, a flicker of lust trembling
through out bodies. Gently I ran it over the gates to her paradise and
she winked back at me, trying to pull me in. I couldn’t resist her any
longer and with a hand on her flanks I eased forwards, my cock slipping
into her depths, her honeyed walls closing around me, caressing with her
powerful muscles. Slowly I backed out and eased in again, starting a
gentle rhythm, her tunnel seemed to burn, wet and hot with her lust,
lips flickering like flame, squeezing me tight, the ebb and flow of
passion consuming us in lust’s conflagration, each giving and receiving.
Her delight was plain to me, I felt the pleasure flowing from her, her
eyes glazing as she took me inside her, bathing me in her sweetness, the
silken walls caressing my aching cock in a pleasure that screamed for
release. She snorted in her pleasure and I answered her, my eyes closed
in a welter of sensation, my body hers and hers mine. We were together,
lovers and beloved. I quickened pace, sliding in and out of her as she
winked her lips, smooth and deep I pleasured her until with a sigh it
was time and my lust spilled into her willing frame.

I lay deep in her, slowly lowering myself to curl over her back, her
softness under me, holding me up. After a time I slipped from her and
we lay together side by side once more. Together we touched, caressing
in the afterglow of love, affirmations of affection, nuzzles and
cuddling in the desert night air. I pressed against her and she against
me.

In time Hassan returned, his mare beside him.

“The first time should be special, something for you alone,” he said.
“You are well suited, I knew you would be.”

“Thank you,” I replied, “she is…” I rubbed her ears and she pushed a
soft nose into my chest “… something quite special.”

“And she is yours now my brother. I am happy for her now. She will
make a fine lover and will bear you many children.”

“Inch’ Allah,” I replied, God willing.

* * *

Sara and I made love many times that weekend and Hassan was true to his
word, within the week she had arrived in quarantine in England. The
company were ecstatic that His Excellency had decided to buy not one but
two of our aircraft and my Christmas bonus that year included a case of
a particularly fine scotch.

Six months later, quarantine over, I brought her home, much to the
delight of my human SO who went dewy eyed at her beauty and the thought
of the stallion she hoped we would get from her. But more than this the
delight was mine and that night, with the winter stars of Albion shining
through her stable door we lay again together, lovers reunited again,
her warmth against me and together we slid back to the desert sands of
Araby
wonderful old beasts these 707’s, antique I’ll grant you but good
workhorses all the same. I’d done a bit of flying in them in my past as a
jobbing pilot and I’d managed to pull a couple of strings and got the right-
hand seat for the journey home to England. Of course it was more than an
opportunity to log a few hours P2 in this old bird that had prompted me to
call in a favour or two; they were flying Sara out on this flight.

Johnson, my captain on this flight, seemed a nice enough bloke. He’d
handled the takeoff and I’d flown the first couple of legs, Dhahran to
Cairo, Cairo to Sicily and he’d taken it from there, it was all pretty
routine stuff, autopilot could have done it but it felt good to get my
grubby paws on a real ‘plane rather than the glass cockpit stuff I’d become
used to.

“I have control.”

“You have control captain.” I replied, taking my hands off the stick.
“Mind if I leave you for a few minutes, I’d like to take a check on the
cargo.”

“No problem, bring us back a cup of tea would you. Mind that horse
doesn’t bite you.”

“I doubt that she’ll do that, horses seem to like me.”

“If you say so, can’t stand them myself, bit scared of them to tell
you the truth. I have enough trouble with cats, my wife has three of the
buggers.” Johnson grimaced, evidently he was no animal lover. I chose not
to pursue the matter and turned to the flight engineer.

“Alan, what’s yours?”

“Tea, no sugar please.”

I couldn’t see Sara as I made my way to her transport crate so I
figured she was lying down. I’d never known a horse lie down as much as she
did. Hassan told me that she was so trusting of people she seemed to prefer
it to standing. I wasn’t complaining though, in the weekend we’d spent
together in the desert we’d lain together often, cuddling under the stars,
nuzzling each other, my nakedness pressed close against her warm flanks
against the chill of the desert night, her soft lips against my skin, my
fingers entwined in her mane, roaming across her silken quarters, the musky
scent of her sex, the taste of her as she opened herself to me under the
moon, hanging low and golden in a perfect sky. I closed my eyes and
breathed deep, letting go in a long sigh.

A nicker came from the crate before me, a rustle of bedding, a short
snort. I smiled and walked forwards and peered over the edge. Crate was
perhaps a misnomer for Sara’s travelling-box, it was more like a flying
loose box, roomy with ample space to lie down, shavings on the floor, water,
feed; equine business class without the in-flight movie. “Hello love,” I
whispered.

Sara looked up, her ears flicked forward, her beautiful dark eyes
fixing me, trapping me within their soft gaze. She lay slightly to one
side, her legs tucked neatly under herself, silken tail draped like a
wedding dress’ train behind her

“Oh gods, you’re beautiful,” I heard myself whisper; somewhere inside
a cynical demon cringed at the sugary sentiment but the angels told him to
shut up. I couldn’t help it, I felt like a teenager in love all over again.
Of course then it was a little pony on a tatty allotment in a northern mill
town but the feeling was the same, the soaring feeling that grips the pit of
your stomach and won’t let go. I reached down towards her and she bent her
neck up to snuffle at my fingers. Satisfied that I was who I appeared to be
she settled back once more, her tail flicked casually and she snorted gently
again. It was all I could do to restrain myself from ripping of my clothes
and leaping into her box; there she was, waiting, inviting me in. “I’d love
to Sara,” I whispered to her, “but I’ve got a plane to fly.” She tilted her
head as though she could understand my words, maybe the emotion of regret in
my voice spoke to her but in a moment she was on her feet and over by my
side, her fine head nuzzling at my shoulder, brushing her cheek against
mine. I reached up and ran my hand down her soft, warm neck, leaning into
her heat, drinking her scent, a tear formed in my eyes, “I love you Sara.”
She nuzzled at my back and I scritched her mane, still holding her close;
together we stood, grooming each other, deepening our bond of friendship and
trust. Again I became lost in her world, the feeling of strength in her
neck as I ran my hand under the silvery-grey waterfall of her mane, the warm
scent of horse, that indescribable, heady mixture of smokiness, hay and
earth that is both calming and exhilarating all at once. I felt myself
slipping away into her, becoming one with her, running across the expanse of
deserts, over dunes that towered like frozen waves shimmering in the heat,
dipping my head to palm fringed pools of water cool against my tongue,
pressing through the bustle of the souk, my nostrils flaring at the scents
of spices, coffee and sweat, bodies brushing against my sides, calves
against my flanks gently guiding me through the crush of people…

A sudden jarring shook me back to what passes for reality, the pilot
in me reacting to the drop and surge of engine notes. Sara flicked up her
hear out of my grasp and snorted. “It’s OK love, probably just turbulence.”
I said. She relaxed once more and nuzzled me. “I’d better go though,” I
stroked her nose, “Best to lie down love, might get a bit bumpy.”

I returned back to the flight deck, coffee in hand, “Didn’t have any
tea,” I apologised. “Everything OK?”

“Few bumps over the Alps, clear air stuff, nothing serious.”

“Alps already?” I looked at the map and then at the VOR, tuned to
Geneva. “Must have been back there longer than I thought.”

“I was beginning to think that horse had eaten you.”

With superhuman effort I managed to restrain myself from saying
“Chance would be a fine thing,” and smiled instead, turning my attention to
the inflight checklist and doing some fuel sums. Those duties out of the
way I pulled out the Jeppesen for Manston and Stanstead and pretended to
study them intently although my mind was far away from thoughts of VOR holds
and ILS approaches, I was with Sara once more, this time above the clouds
but free from the noise and metal of the Boeing. In my dreams my head
rested on her quarters, the world spread out below us as we drifted, far
from the cares and rush of the people underneath us; the warmth of her
presence seeping into mine, making me whole, making us one…

“Peter…”

Crunch. Back to reality. “Captain?”

“You alright?”

“Yeah sure, just thinking about something that’s all. Been a long
time since I put into Manston.”

“Well we’re nearly there, be out of the Paris FIR in ten minutes.
Don’t worry, there’s lots of runway.”

Doesn’t time fly when you’re having fun.

-*-*-

Despite computers promising a paperless society it’s surprising how
much more paper we still use. Sara’s travelling documents filled a good
sized loose-leaf folder and weighed about half a ton; papers for
vaccinations, export licences, translations into English for the Arabic
documents, breed certification, bloodline, vaccination certificates, copy of
the studbook registry, passport (yes, horses have them too). It seemed to
take forever but eventually, the Min of Ag satisfied that Sara wasn’t
going to introduce the galloping horse plague into England’s green and
pleasant and customs happy that I didn’t have five tons of hashish
hidden up her bottom, papers were stamped, signed and shuffled and I
could take her home.

Sara, curious but unfrightened, sniffed everything as I lead her to
the trailer for the short journey home, bemused perhaps by the strange
smelling damp air. Lynda, my partner who looked after my little menagerie
whilst I was away (and with whom we played “husband and wife” when protocol
demanded it of us) stood by the trailer’s tailgate, sighing quietly.

“Hands off Lynda,” I chided jokingly.

“Did I say a word?” she replied, “She’s incredible Pete, and you say
he *gave* her to you.”

“We’ve got a friend in the oil business it seems.”

Lynda whistled, “We get everywhere don’t we. I don’t suppose there’s
any chance that…” Sara was level with the tailgate now and bent her head
to nuzzle her.

“It would look as though there’s every chance.”

It was growing dark by the time we got back to the farm in Hensden, a
late autumn sunset lit the sky in soft reds and oranges, fading to
purple as it gave way to encroaching night, the last rays shining
through the chestnuts at the edge of the west field. As we drew up
Silky and Catherine trotted up and plonked their heads over the fence,
sunlight turning them golden, to see who we were and Smoke and Shadow,
our border collies, came rushing up, barking excitedly. “But it’s so
much nicer, Yes it’s so much nicer, To come home.” Well sung Frank.

Lynda, ever thoughtful and organised just like I’m not, had
prepared a box and a light feed for Sara before she’d come to pick us up
and so I lead here there and sorted her out with water and food before
leaving her as suddenly haynets looked far more interesting than I did
to her. As I walked from her box I found myself experiencing a funny
sort of sadness, a sense of loss. It puzzled me for a moment and then I
realised it was that feeling I’d had before, back in the past with the
little pony whose name I never knew and then with Zephyr, the first mare
who I could really call my own.

Shit, I was in love and I couldn’t bear to be out of her sight.

“I’ll get over it,” I thought. I was very unsure about falling in
love again the way I had before, most of the memories I’d had of those I’d
loved before were of pain at their loss, making it hard to remember the good
times together. I began to wonder, as I walked towards the field to bring
the other horses in, whether His Excellency had given me a blessing or a
curse in Sara.

Lynda commented on my silence as we brought our horses in for the
night. I put it off to tiredness after the journey and the work of the
previous weeks although I got the impression she didn’t believe me. Sill I
stayed up for a while, giving plenty of scritches to my other girls and
making sure that Pebbles the pony stallion remembered who I was. It was
with two minds though that I dropped in on Sara to make sure that she was
alright and ready for bed. She’s finished her feed and a good proportion of
the hay and I noted that she’d drunk about a quarter of her bucket, my mind
noting the details and calculating how much I’d have to feed her tomorrow.
She turned as I entered her stall, snorting a gentle welcome, her white tail
flicked slowly sideways, ghostly like an owl’s wing in the faded light. I
placed a hand on her rump and scratched her, working forwards to her spine.

“So, what happens now?” I asked her, although the question was really
asked of myself. She moved round, swinging her haunches away and stepping
the short distance to me, she breathed out, long and slow as she brought her
head close to me. Almost instinctively I lowered my head to hers and
breathed in deeply, taking her breath within me before breathing out through
my nose as she had done; in return she scented me, a greeting, a ritual as
ancient as her race, graceful and serene. We repeated our breaths, faces
almost touching, the differences between us falling away into irrelevance as
we became as one. Almost imperceptibly I fell into her spiritual embrace
and she gathered me to her, speaking words that were not words, the language
of comfort and peace, I found myself infused with hope, hope that this time
it would be right, that there would be no pain and separation to wash away
the joy. Deep inside I guess that I knew that life would not suddenly
become a bed of roses but I knew more that I had to give this love a chance,
had to let myself go, much as my demons screamed not to; not to risk the
hurt would mean never truly feeling the joy of her love for me and mine for
her, not to love her with everything I had would be to love something
precious and that was a price I couldn’t pay.

Slowly I became aware of a soft nose against my cheek, Sara lipping
at me, bringing me back to the world outside. I opened my eyes, only
realising now that they had been closed. She turned her head, in the pale
light spilling from the yard her eyes gleamed darkly at me. No blanket of
stars here, no moon low on the horizon and so clear and pure that it seemed
you only had to reach out to touch it, but her eyes were the same as when
she looked at me in her desert homeland, speaking in the speech without
tongues, asking me forward. I took the short step towards her, bridging the
gap between us. My hands reached out to her neck, making contact with her
warmth, slipping down the soft hairs, breathing her scent, smoke and hay and
comfort. As I moved towards her, laying my cheek against her neck, the
smell of warm, contented horse covering me, she placed her head over my
shoulder and gathered me to her. Like that we stood for what seemed like
eternity, my hands slid down to her shoulders and there they stayed
unmoving, holding her as she held me. With care I opened myself to her, let
her warmth and love suffuse me and on that gentle ocean of strength she
floated me, casting off into the dark, still waters.

At length I felt a nudge against my shoulder as Sara pushed me. I
took a step back from her but in truth we did not separate, I felt that
nothing could come between us now and that physical distance was a mere
irrelevance. She breathed at me, long and slow, curling her top lip a
little. I reached up to her nose and stroked it’s velvety softness. Her
tail swished in the half light of the stable and I felt rather than heard
her rear hoof stamp as she pushed her face forward into my hand. I had a
strong feeling, as her tail swished again, that it was not her nose that she
wanted stroking.

“I thought that you’d be tired?” I whispered to her. She answered
with a snort. “I guess not,” I smiled and stood to one side of her and put
my hand to her neck, scratching the crest firmly between my fingers like a
nipping stallion, working back down to her withers. Sara bent her head low,
her nose pushing forward. Looking back I could see her tail rising, a white
fountain in the pale light. We were united in spirit and it seemed so
right, so proper, that we should once more join our bodies as we had done so
far away. She had passed into my care now and she had shown her care for
me, it seemed like a sacred duty for us to answer our needs of the body, and
for us it was no burden at all.

I moved down her side, one hand tracing the ridge of her back, along
the line of her spine, the other hand I held to her flanks as I moved down
her, feeling the softness of her hair, the curve and flow of her beautiful
body, the silent power in the muscles of her quarters. As I drew close to
her rump my hand on her back slowed and began a slow scratching by the root
of her silken tail. At my bidding it rose higher and she flicked it first
towards, granting me a taste of her mare’s scent, and then away. Keeping
the pressure on her dock I slipped my hand around the curve of her leg and
firmly, so as not to startle or tickle her, up the inside of her thigh
towards her velvet lips, feeling the hairs grow shorter and give way to the
soft skin. I bent my head to rest on her rump so I could scent her better,
breathing deep of the sharp sweetness of warm and willing mare. My
exploring hand made contact with her lips and spread itself to cup the curve
of the base of her vagina, lifting it slightly, savouring its heat,
navigating by touch alone. With a sigh I pressed forward with my thumb,
running it against the meeting place of her lips. Sara shifted her weight,
leaning against me and pushing back. As she did my thumb slipped into her,
the honeyed lips parting to my questing hand. Slowly I pressed inwards and
upwards, feeling her little shudder through my body as I opened her, first
upwards to her depths and then down back to the shallows, the walls of her
sweet pussy becoming wet to my touch. I sighed and snuggled up close to
her, my beautiful mare, my gentle lover. She twitched in my hand, winking
as though ready for a stallion’s rod, a trickle of her juices slipping from
her and coating my fingers.

“More?” I asked her, raising my head to look at her, at my words she
flicked back her ears and raised her tail high, almost curling it over her
back; definitely more. Holding the root of her tail I pressed the palm of
my hand against her vagina then slipped one, the two fingers into her
clasping depths, working them in and out of her burning heat. “Oh gods
Sara,” I whispered, “you’re just so beautiful.” All I wanted to do was
pleasure her, her desires were my commands. I pressed another finger into
her, gently in and out of her heat, working my hand into her spreading sex,
slipping upwards into the heat of her passage and back down to caress her
swelling lips, brushing against the little bud of her clitoris. I pushed
back in again, my whole hand this time drawing the fingers together and
pushing deeper into her, my hand becoming slick and wet with her juices;
Sara grunted, a low sound of pleasure and squatted, bracing her hind legs to
receive a stallion’s weight on her quarters, her sex convulsed, her lips
winking, bringing the sensitive spots up to rub on my wrist as it
entered her. Carefully I withdrew and pushed into her again a little
deeper and again she winked, grasping at my arm. I leant close and
breathed deep of her scent, her beautiful scent, warm and soothing, the
scent of earthy pleasures, soft hay and woodsmoke. My need grew within
me as I pleasured her and with my free hand I fumbled at the button of
my jeans, need and hunger making me clumsy.

I had a vision of myself, an awkward primate beside her equine
grace, and deep inside I felt my inner angels and demons laugh; Sara did
not care what my shape was, how I looked or what my athletic prowess
was. Those facile human concerns, the trappings of beauty that so many
of my species worried over, were of no import to her, she saw through
such things; we made each other happy, that was what mattered. With
ungainly awkwardness I stepped from my burden of clothing to stand half
naked beside her, my arm still slowly pleasuring her, being grasped
tight and then released on every upstroke as I plundered her molten
depths. With my other hand now free of it’s labours in unclothing me I
reached up to her rump and began an slot, deliberate scratching which I
knew she loved. To my delight her whole body shuddered and tensed, only
to relax with a deep sigh from deep within her, her ears flattening back
and then perking forward with a fox’s alertness; my arm felt sucked
inside her as she tightened her grasp, the spasm of pleasure holding her
frame, dancing through her being and them gently letting go.

I stopped for a moment, allowing her to breathe, my hand slipping
slowly from her winking sex but moving close to her, my cock, already
aroused by her pleasure, her scent, pressed against her warmth, the soft
hairs of her hind leg tickling and caressing with a promise of pleasure,
beckoning me to feel more, to be caressed by her silken hide, to feel the
press of her silvery coat against my skin. As she settled from the peak of
her pleasure she flicked her tail, the hairs stroking me, kissing with a
touch as light as a summer’s breeze. Slowly I dropped my head to her tail,
breathing deep the heady scent of her heat, the warmth of her passion a haze
of perfume around me. Tentatively I reached up once more, fingers brushing
the lips of her sex; at their touch they coaxed a tiny trickle of moisture
from her depths poised to hang like a pearl from the darkness of the cavern
from which it sprung. With my heart pounding I leant closer, closer,
kissing the jewel that hung in the moonlight, lapping up the softness of her
crack, the taste exquisite, sweet and bitter, cream and new-mown hay. It
was my turn to shudder now, with wild abandonment I pressed my face to her,
licking deep of her honeyed lips, pressing my tongue into her depths, lapping
at her beauty, drinking deep of my glorious lover. I felt her push back
against me and I pressed forward in return, my hands either side of her tail
which cascaded over my head in a waterfall of frozen white. My cock rubbed
against her hindleg, hard and aching for release, the brushing touch of her
soft hide a delightful torment of tension. Dimly I heard her harrumph, her
nether lips winking, a fresh sharpness of her juices on my tongue. Harder I
licked at her, driving forward even as she pushed back, becoming one with
her, our pleasures shared. Again a shudder gripped her, her muscles
tensing under my hands, gasping for breath I pulled back, her tail sliding
across my shoulders in a silken caress.

Panting in the moonlight, half naked in her stall, I looked down at my
lover, tail high and arched across her back, the dark lips of her sex
shining and wet, the flush of her tunnel dark pink as she winked her need.
She turned her head, ears perked forward and fixed me with her soft eyes,
speaking without talking in words as old as time. I nodded my assent and
though it pained me I took my eyes from her beauty for a moment. Though it
mattered not to me that we were horse and human the difference in our forms
imposed a few minor physical inconveniences to coupling and Sara, although
happy in my presence, did not seem inclined to lie down. Salvation lay at
hand though in that day’s delivery of straw bales.

Our physical differences overcome I rose to her, covering her as her
stallion, my cock slipping between her lips, slipping along the line of her
crevice into her warmth to press into her depths. Sara sighed, content, her
head dropping, snorting the ground as I found her rhythm once more, pushing
slowly into her, my hands upon her soft flanks, a grasp from her strong
muscles, a slow withdrawal only to press close once more. No mortal could
withstand her heat for long, and with a groan of delight I spilled into her.
Leaning forward I hugged her, lying on top of her hindquarters, holding her
tightly as I covered her; she held me within herself. her strong muscles
milking me. I breathed her name, the air misting to grey as I held her,
lost in her warmth, her ocean of calm.

Slowly the chill of the night crept furtively into the stable and even
Sara’s warmth could not dull it’s touch. Reluctantly I slipped from her
back and into the bonds of denim and cotton. A soft nose poked me and I
looked up into her eyes, my hand stroked the line of her jaw. Wordlessly I
reached forwards and wrapped my arms around her neck, her warmth and her
scent surrounding me and there we stood as in turn the night gathered us
both to her.

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