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Mydei had been working as a groom at the ducal estate for five years now, and in that time he had learned every horse, every beam in the stables, every smell and sound of this vast place steeped in hay and horse sweat.
He was an ordinary village lad with perpetually tousled hair in which bits of straw got stuck, and with hands roughened by constant work with currycombs, buckets, and harnesses.
He slept in a little closet next to the stalls, and at night, when the horses snorted softly and shifted on their hooves, it seemed to him that he could hear their dreams. He liked this life.
That morning everything changed. The Duke, a fat man with a red face and a perpetually displeased expression, returned from the fair earlier than usual and headed straight for the stables. Behind him they were leading a horse. Mydei was just cleaning the bay mare's stall when he heard the clatter of hooves and peered outside, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. What he saw made him freeze with the currycomb in his hand. It was a stallion. Huge, incredible, dazzlingly white, as if carved from a single block of moonstone.
His coat shimmered with mother-of-pearl in the sunlight, his mane fell in heavy waves, and his eyes — his eyes were blue like the sky on the clearest day, transparent and deep, with a dark rim around the iris.
He was taller than any horse in the ducal stables; his back rose above people's heads, and when he threw his head up, flaring his nostrils, Mydei felt something turn over inside him.
"This is Phainon," the Duke announced, clearly pleased with the impression he had made. "A purebred Friesian, I paid a fortune for him. Mydei, take him. The very best care for him, you understand me?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Mydei replied, but his voice sounded hollow. He could not tear his eyes away from the stallion. Phainon stood calmly, only occasionally shifting his front legs, and looked straight at Mydei with his sky-blue eyes, and in that gaze there was something that made the groom's breath catch.
The grooms accompanying the Duke led Phainon into the most spacious stall — the one that had stood empty for several months after the old gelding's death. Mydei set to work: he spread fresh straw, filled the manger with choice oats, checked the water bucket. He did it all mechanically, because his thoughts were occupied elsewhere.
He could not understand what was happening to him. He had seen hundreds of horses in his life — beautiful, stately, thoroughbred — but none had ever stirred such a response in him. When he passed by Phainon's stall, his heart began to beat faster, and a strange, pulling sensation appeared low in his belly.
By evening, after distributing the feed and putting out the lamps, he lingered by the stallion's stall longer than usual. Phainon stood in the corner, his white coat glowing in the darkness, and Mydei, not knowing why, reached out his hand. The stallion snorted but did not pull away. His nostrils flared, drawing in the man's scent, and Mydei felt his own body answering — his nipples tightened, and between his legs it grew moist.
He did not give it any meaning then. He chalked it up to tiredness, to the stuffiness, to anything at all. But at night, lying in his little closet, he could not sleep. Before his eyes stood Phainon — his powerful chest, his steep flanks, his eyes that seemed to look straight into his soul.
Mydei turned onto his back, bit his lip, and ran his hand down his belly, lower, to where it was already hot and tight. He imagined going into the stall, stroking the stallion's neck, the stallion turning toward him, and... He pulled himself up short. This was madness. It was not allowed. But his fingers had already slipped between his legs, found the wet, swollen folds, and he groaned, burying his face in the pillow. That night he could not rid himself of that vision.
The next day Mydei tried to behave as usual and simply do what he had always done: he watered, fed, cleaned, carted away manure. But every time he passed Phainon's stall, he slowed his step. He began to notice details that had previously escaped him: how the muscles played beneath the stallion's coat, how his ears moved, how his tail, long and thick, swished away the flies.
One day, when he went into the stall to change the water, Phainon came up to him too close for a horse that barely knew a man. He nuzzled his muzzle into Mydei's shoulder, bathed him in hot breath, and the groom froze, feeling his knees go weak. The stallion smelled of hay and something musky that awakened something dark in Mydei. He laid his palm on Phainon's neck, stroked the short, velvety coat, and the stallion answered with a soft neigh that made Mydei's breath catch.
From that day his slow fall began. He seized the moments when he was alone in the stables — and that happened often, because the other grooms preferred to spend their evenings at the tavern — and then he would go into Phainon's stall. At first he just stood beside him, stroked him, spoke to him in a whisper. The stallion listened, turned his head, looked at him, and it seemed to Mydei that he understood. Then he began to notice how Phainon's body reacted to him.
One morning, during grooming, he ran the currycomb over the stallion's belly, a little lower, and saw how a cock began to emerge from its leather sheath. Slowly at first, then faster, until it appeared fully — enormous, thick as Mydei's arm, dark pink, with a net of veins and a massive, glistening head. Mydei froze.
He knew equine anatomy, he had seen stallions cover mares more than once, but now, looking at this cock, he felt something he had never felt before. His pussy, his thick, ever-wet pussy that he knew so well, began to pulse and fill with slick.
He imagined that cock entering him, filling him to the brim, stretching him to the point of pain, and it was the most terrifying and most desired image of his life.
From that day the fantasy became obsessive. While working, he kept casting glances at Phainon and imagining being left alone with him, taking off his clothes, getting on all fours in the straw. He imagined the stallion approaching from behind, his hot breath touching his back, that enormous cock pressing against his pussy, against his thick, swollen lips that parted so easily.
He imagined himself, trembling with impatience, guiding that cock into himself, and how it entered — first the head, stretching the entrance, then deeper and deeper, filling him completely. From these thoughts he would come right in the stall, clamping his palm over his mouth so as not to scream.
Mydei's pussy was made for this — at least, that was what he thought in moments of madness. It was thick, fleshy, with plump outer lips that did not hide but rather put on display everything inside. The inner lips, ruffled and uneven, hung down like pink petals, and even when he was not aroused, they peeked out.
The hair on his mound, light at the roots and reddening toward the tips, framed this picture like a fluffy halo. His clit, sensitive beyond measure, reacted to the slightest friction, and now, at the mere thought of Phainon, it swelled and throbbed. Mydei often touched himself in the stall — quickly, furtively — imagining that it was not his fingers but the stallion's huge, hot cock spreading him open from inside.
He knew it was dangerous. He knew that if anyone found out, he would be thrown out in disgrace, and maybe worse. But the desire was stronger than the fear.
Every time he led Phainon into his stall, he let his hand linger on his rump longer than necessary. Every time he changed the bedding, he hoped the stable door would not open. And one day, on a hot afternoon when everyone had gone to lunch, he made up his mind. He locked the stable gates from inside, entered the stall, and took off his clothes — shirt, trousers, everything down to the last stitch. The straw pricked his bare feet, the air smelled of horse.
Phainon stood by the wall and watched him with his sky-blue eyes, and Mydei, sinking to his knees in the straw, felt slick running down his thighs. He spread his knees, ran his hand over his pussy, smearing the wetness over the thick lips, and groaned. His entrance pulsed, opening as if inviting. He reached toward the stallion's belly, to where the enormous dark cock was already beginning to show. His fingers trembled as he touched the velvety head, and Phainon snorted, shifted his legs, but did not pull away.
What happened next Mydei remembered forever. He turned his back, leaned on his hands, and offered the stallion his open, wet pussy. Phainon, as if understanding what was wanted of him, stepped closer. His cock nudged Mydei's thigh, slid over his buttocks, and the groom, groaning, guided it with his hand.
The head was hot and wet to the touch. When it touched his entrance, Mydei shut his eyes and pushed back. The first penetration was staggering — he was stretched as never before in his life, his inner lips parted, the entrance whitened from the tension, and for a moment it seemed to him that he could not take it. But his pussy, his trained, hungry pussy, accepted. It opened, gripped the head, and Mydei cried out — loudly, without shame, because it was a cry of pure, unclouded pleasure.
Phainon moved instinctively — his haunches thrust forward, driving the cock deeper, and with each thrust Mydei felt his insides rearranging, felt his pussy stretching to its limit, taking that impossible length and thickness. The straw slipped beneath his knees, his fingers clutched at it, and from his throat tore moans, mixed with words — incoherent pleas that he himself could not hear.
The cock went in to the hilt, pressed against something deep inside, and Mydei came — again and again, without stopping, while his body shuddered and slick gushed from his pussy, running down his thighs and dripping onto the straw.
Phainon neighed loudly and his cock pulsed, pouring out hot, abundant seed that filled Mydei completely, spilled out, ran in white streams down his legs.
When it was over, Mydei collapsed into the straw, unable to move. Phainon stood over him, breathing heavily, his cock slowly retracting. Mydei lay and stared at the wooden ceiling, feeling the stallion's seed seep out of him, warm and thick. He smiled. His pussy, stretched, well-worked, throbbed and ached, but it was a sweet pain. He knew this would happen again. He knew that now every night, every morning, every time he was alone, he would come here.
From that day the ritual became constant. Mydei was no longer afraid — he awaited these moments. His pussy grew accustomed to the enormous cock, became even more stretchable. He walked around all day feeling the remnants of Phainon's seed inside him, and that made his gait soft and his eyes clouded. The other grooms noticed something was off with him, but put it down to overwork. And Mydei only smiled and went to his stallion, to dissolve once more in that forbidden pleasure.