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I moan around his shaft as my spine tingles and I see stars floating in front of my eyes. My cock unloads over my hand and onto the grass. I’m still milking him with my mouth as he softens. I want to keep his cock between my lips, fall asleep like that, but I know it’s a bit farfetched for what this is between us.
It’s quiet as I finally stand, and we both catch our breath and tuck ourselves back in.
And then he’s pulling me toward him to take my mouth and taste himself on me.
He hums against my lips. “Next time I’m gonna swallow your load.”
Next time.
“I’ll gladly oblige.”
That’s when we hear the sharp whinny coming from the paddock.
“What the hell was that?” Porter asks.
I immediately spring into panic mode, heading around the stable, Porter on my heels.
The horses seem restless as they keep their distance from Storm, who’s pacing close to the fence. That’s when I notice he’s limping.
“Are you hurt?” Porter asks as he climbs higher on the fence.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, joining him.
Storm shuffles closer when he sees Porter, then lifts his front leg in the air, as if trying to alert him to something.
Porter frowns. “What happened, boy?”
I hold my breath as Porter stretches his fingers toward the stallion. Storm stares at his hand as if considering whether to trust him. I watch in amazement as the horse limps forward to sniff him before nuzzling his fingers.
“Maybe you should head inside and see if you can get a closer look?”
Porter nods as he steps down and makes his way to the gate. I watch from the other side, careful not to talk loudly or make any sudden moves. This could all go south in a heartbeat.
My pulse spikes as Porter gets closer to Storm. Standing near his front flank, he bends forward to gently pat the leg Storm keeps lifting off the ground. He strokes him for another minute, and when he’s tolerated it for long enough, Porter cautiously reaches for his leg and tilts it upward to get a look at the underside of his hoof.
“I think maybe he’s got a pebble stuck.”
“Makes sense.” It’s likely painful, and if it’s not dealt with, it can turn into a deep bruise, which is way trickier to manage. “The farrier’s coming to shoe the new stock at the end of the week, but maybe we should try and get it out.”
Storm shifts away from Porter, and as his hoof hits the ground, he whinnies again.
“Let’s walk him to the stable,” I suggest.
“And use the hoof pick?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Porter nods as he gets hold of Storm’s halter. “Come on, boy, let’s put you in your stall so I can help you out.”
Surprisingly, the stallion follows him toward the gate, still limping and snuffling all the way to the stable.
I grab a hoof pick off the nail near the door while Porter gets him situated in his stall.
The pick has a brush on the other end to wipe away mud or debris, and as I approach Porter, I can see the wariness in his gaze. “I’m gonna assume they haven’t been able to get too close to Storm with that thing.”
“Which is why the farrier can’t get here soon enough.”
Porter makes his way into the stall while I stay on the outside with a loose hold on the rope, wishing I could help in some way. But I have a feeling Storm will only let Porter get this close, so I just offer my advice and support.
