This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
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Winter snarled bitterly at the stable yard, frosting the outbuildings in a touch of ice that did not leave the shadows even at the height of the day. It was a particular harsh winter and the ground suffered for it, frozen solid so that equines walked on top instead of through fetlock deep mud. The small yard consisting of ten loose boxes, a locking breeze block tack room, full size sand arena and massive acreage was modest upon one's first glance but stretched further than the eye could see. It was the ideal spot to run a stud farm in the shadow of the Welsh mountains only a stone's throw from the border and motorway links. Other breeders could ferry their mares to the yard for breeding with no trouble at all while allowing precious cargo to be shipped out en masse from the farm itself.
In the grip of winter, there was little activity on the yard as most breeders only sent their mares to the stud farm when their foals would have the best chance of being born early when the weather turned in springtime. Most of the stallions were collected via fur-made collection devices - AV - to be frozen for artificial insemination at another breeder's convenience. The yard was currently populated solely by stallions and one lone gelding that the yard owner had not quite been able to let go when he had unfortunately had to have his testicles removed for health purposes. He still thought he was a stallion, however, and caused enough trouble for ten of the larger lads
The yard owner, a chestnut stallion anthro with his forelock flipped back between his ears, wheeled a barrow across the yard at a brisk pace, expertly avoiding a slick of ice from an earlier mishap with a water bucket. Any spilled water froze instantly and Ametrine was glad that no one else was there to bear witness to his clumsiness, which was a daily occurrence. The four-legged horses may have snickered privately but they would never be able to pass on any snide remarks to those of the two-legged kind, thankfully for him. He had had too many embarrassing moments around them, the klutz that he was.
He wrapped up well in a pair of navy winter jodhpurs and heavy duty black hoof-boots, which fastened on the inside of his fetlocks with a series of shiny buckles. A green waterproof jacket was slung about his shoulders, open at the front to reveal a grey t-shirt. He always got too hot to work in a coat regardless of the weather and knew he would shortly discard it at a location where it hopefully would not be destroyed by one of the wickeder stallions. The white diamond on his forehead gleamed in the weak winter sunlight as he trotted to the muck heap to empty soiled straw and droppings on to the pile. It would need taming a bit later but he had other things to take care of first of all.
Swinging back across the stable yard, the chestnut horse's ears flicked and he blinked, brown eyes shining with a secret that was not yet told. He paused at the tack room door and dropped the wheelbarrow with a clunk, scraps of debris that had not made their way out of the unpainted metal rattling within. He unlocked the door with a key from the lot in his jacket pocket, jingling musically, and hummed contentedly to himself as he stepped inside to its chilly warmth.
There was electricity running out to the tack room, which was only locked on the off chance that a thief would tackle the expensive gear at the stud farm, and he flipped on the light switch to half-illuminate the room. Saddles lined the right hand wall while bridles hung neatly on his left, Ametrine stepping inside with the familiarity that only came from a long time spent working in the same surroundings.
He strode straight through the room to the back wall and ran his fingertips along the bricks until they met the handle of a wooden door painted in the same colour as the breeze blocks. Smiling, Ametrine unlocked the secret door and paced into a warm room, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the warmer light, a red glow of heaters set around the top half of the walls, which were boarded for warmth and insulation.
In the centre of the room knelt a dappled grey stallion, his knees spread apart for balance. He would not have been there by choice, as was demonstrated by the leather harness crossing his chest and back to bind his paws to his sides, encased in gloves designed to look like his black hooves. A black leather hood covered his head and blocked out his vision, only his ears, lips and nostrils visible around the confining gear. His nostrils flared, showing a flash of pink, and he turned his head to catch the noise, ears pricked.
Ametrine smirked.
"Still here, are you, colt?"
He smirked and closed the hidden door at his heels, tail swishing as he approached the bound and waiting stallion. The Warlander's ears swivelled to catch the sound of his movement and Ametrine chuckled at his shiver, muscle quivering beneath a gleaming, bare coat. In the warmth of the secret room, which was, in all truth, accessible from the other side and used as a quarantine room for unwell equines from time to time, he rolled his jacket back off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. His t-shirt followed in suit and he stretched his arms luxuriously over his head, revelling in the feel of lightly worked muscles that rippled beneath a very lean layer of flesh.
Leaving his jodhpurs on, he picked up a black riding crop from beside the door and walked around the stallion in a slow circle, crop tapping against his thigh.
"Not that you would go anywhere," he continued the earlier utterance, running his fingers sensually through the equine's silvery-grey mane as his tail spilled in a waterfall across the cobbled floor, a remnant of older times. "You have me here to look after you. But all good ponies listen to their masters."
He paused.
"You haven't been a good colt."
