Tales from Taboo Stables

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Taboo Stables was located in Connecticut. The vast majority of the horses boarded there belonged to barons of industry, the nouveaux riches big spenders, a few movie stars, the odd Kennedy, real estate magnates, hedge fund managers, and even Middle Eastern royalty. The place was owned by Marguerite Percy-Sandoval. The 83 year-old, five-foot-three, white-haired lady was the only c***d of the third son of an English earl and an American socialite. Her father had bred and trained horses his entire life. She had inherited the horse farm when her father passed away. She was once married to a Texas oil tycoon. She bore him two sons, James (Jim) & Jonathan.

Jim Prescott worked managed Taboo for his mother although it could be argued that she was still in control. What could he say. The woman was a control freak, but he loved the equines. He wasn’t going anywhere. Fortunately or not, he and his family resided in the six-thousand-square-foot, seven-bedroom mansion. His wife was a freelance journalist. And, his son and daughter were keen to take on the Stables from him someday.

The other son, Jonathan, was away at an exclusive six-month long rehab program in the Arizona desert. This was his eleventh attempt at getting clean from crack cocaine. He had always been a rebel and resolved that he would constantly be put away.

Marguerite was a wealthy woman after her much publicized divorced at the age of fifty. She had already inherited the farm from her dad and had a personal net worth of $5.8 million. The split from Hayden Prescott left her with over $275 million in cash and property. She always laughed at how much he paid to run off with that barely legal Korean tart. She threw a small party when he died two years later of a massive coronary.

All in all, the horse farm was like any other. Most of the a****ls were used for show competitions. Or riding on the weekends and during summers spent outside of the city. There was a magical thing about Taboo. Humans could never quite put their fingers on it, but they could sense extraordinary feelings.

You see, Taboo Stables’ horses were able to speak. Of course it sounded like normal horse sounds to the human ear, but it was, in fact, a rhythmic language full of nuance and richness.

In stall 12-B, there lodged a draught horse called Brutus Maximus. He was a Shire with a bay coat. This meant his muscular, tall body was brown, but his mane, tail, and lower legs were much darker in color. He stood at 18.2 hands. He was a massively, gorgeous stallion. He was owned by His Highness Sheikh Kadim al-Barizi, Chief Economic Secretary at the embassy of the Emirate of Muttasa Bhari in Washington, D.C. Brutus Maximus was the royal’s 12 year-old daughter’s horse for dressage.

The stallion had provided well worth the investment with him and young Sheikha Alia, having collected first or second place trophies in all five of their competitions. Brutus Maximus was the talk of the stables. There were a number of thoroughbred mares hoping to breed with him.

“I see you strutting, Brutus,” nared one mare.
Another joked, “Lay off, heifer! He’s mine!”
He replied, “Ladies chill out. There’ll be plenty to go around when the time comes.” He ate some more of his oats and waited for nightfall.

Usually, he would unlatch the hook keep his stall closed. He like to take walks around the pasture underneath the moonlight. Tonight as he high-stepped towards the south end, he noticed someone.

“Who goes there,” called out Brutus Maximus.
“It’s Silkroad,” a gelding, or castrated male, pony revealed.
“Oh, what are you doing out here?”
“I was tired and lonely. My human hasn’t been here in a while.”
“You know sometimes they disappear for ages, but they generally come back,” the older, taller horse reassured his little buddy.

To the horses, anything longer than two hours felt like an eternity to wait. Since their domestication years ago, they learned to track the number of times the sun came up and went down. They counted that two marks. The average b**st never learned to tabulate more than seven of those. Everything beyond that number was known “qu’guten taal”, literally meaning “a great many”.

“Have you been to the brook at the edge of the tree line,” Brutus inquired.
“No, sir. I have not,” replied the shorter a****l coming at just 13.2 hands.
“Let’s go!”

They began to gallop. Brutus Maximus picked up speed and so did Silkroad. The draft horse sprinted harder showcasing his well-defined glutes and strong stride. “No fair,” whined the pony. “My legs aren’t long enough to keep up with you.”

“It’s alright, friend,” the Shire consoled him. “You’re a gelding. I don’t expect you to be as capable as I am.”
“Wait a second. I can still trot and work with the best of them,” protested Silkroad, who owned by a C-suite executive at TriPharma.
“I’m sure you can, li’l bit,” chuckled the larger horse. “The brook is just up ahead.”

They arrived at the stream. Brutus Maximus stuck his tongue out to take in the water. Silkroad followed suit. It was the coldest, most refreshing water he had ever tasted. “Oh my goodness,” he mused.

“What,” checked Brutus Maximus.
“”This is amazing!”
“Yes it is! Why are you so far away? Come closer.”

Silkroad moves next to his companion. Their eyes met as the heads touched while drinking.

“You’re majestic,” confessed the pony.
“Thank you! You are quite the specimen yourself with the small frame,” admitted the U.K. breed.
“Gee,” blushed Silkroad. “Thanks!”
“Think nothing of it. You know I’m supposed to breed in the future.”
“I figured as much. I’ll never be able to. Are you looking forward to it?”
“I guess so. It’s just something I have to do. But, there is something else I want to do.”
“What,” cooed the pony.
“Mount you for practice. You know…To see if I’m good at it.”
“You’re silly!”
“No, I’m serious. You have no testes so it’s basically like you’re female. Let me try it.”
“What’s the harm, li’l buddy.”
“I guess none.”

Brutus Maximus marched behind the much smaller pony. He got on his hind legs and climbed onto the back of Silkroad.

“Don’t put it in,” admonished the passive one.
“I won’t,” said Brutus.
“I can feel it on me. It’s ‘qu’guten taal’.”
“Yes it is baby. Let me just slide in a little. I’ll be gentle. Please. It’ll be our secret.”
“I guess…”

With that Brutus Maximus’ horsecock found Silkroad’s tight anus. He gently rocked back-and-forth and side-to-side. Silkroad willed himself to relax.

Once Brutus was pretty deep, he humped slowly. “Get used to it,” he advised.

Silkroad began to open up. He was now getting into it. “Take me,” he screamed.
“Yeah, you little foal,” yelled Brutus Maximus. “This giant horse dick is all for you! Open that pussy!”
“Ooh, papa! It’s all yours!”
“Yeah you li’l ‘qu’oseiso priimdo’,” he said calling Silkroad a name that roughly translated to “mare wannabe”.
“Yes, daddy! I am! I am your wannabe! Fuck me!”

A caretaker was up late that night and heard some loud naying. He decided to investigate. He started up the old Ford Ranger and drove to the noise.

Brutus Maximus shot a huge load in Silkroad as the heard the sound of human carrying vessel approach.

When the Taboo Stables employee arrived, he saw the horse and pony just playfully galloping around. He spoke aloud, “How in tarnations did you two get out. Come on! Let’s go back to the barn.” He led them to their stalls and petted each before returning to his quarters.

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