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distributors.","count":"36","submission_left_submission_id":"1709520","submission_left_file_name":"2445117_AmethystMare_the_magic_of_transformation_volume_1_teaser.doc","submission_left_thumbnail_url_huge":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/2445/2445117_AmethystMare_the_magic_of_transformation_volume_1_teaser.jpg","submission_left_thumbnail_url_large":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/2445/2445117_AmethystMare_the_magic_of_transformation_volume_1_teaser.jpg","submission_left_thumbnail_url_medium":"https://nl.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/2445/2445117_AmethystMare_the_magic_of_transformation_volume_1_teaser.jpg","submission_left_thumb_huge_x":"300","submission_left_thumb_huge_y":"300","submission_left_thumb_large_x":"200","submission_left_thumb_large_y":"200","submission_left_thumb_medium_x":"120","submission_left_thumb_medium_y":"120"}],"description":"A mare has many needs and this sweet little one has an owner who loves to take care of her and to take care of her every need. There is no roughness or coarseness between them and she is, most certainly, the one who calls the shots and takes charge of a situation. Nothing happens without her say so but she is more than happy to accept the lure of sweetly erotic pleasure whenever he so cares to offer it up to her...\n\nAnd there is much for the two of them to enjoy together. \n\n\n---\n\n\nThank you for reading! This re-published story has been made available worldwide via Smashwords and distributors!\n\nSmashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/936356 \n\n\n\n\n\nThank you for reading!\n \nIf you enjoyed this story, please take a look at my website, where similar stories are listed by kink!\n\nhttps://alismitsy.wordpress.com/ \n \n\nAll new releases will be announced via my Twitter account!\n\n@alismitsy\n\n\nI am also available for custom stories, tailored to your preferred nuances and characters. Please e-mail the following address for further information.\n\narianmabe@gmail.com \n","description_bbcode_parsed":"A mare has many needs and this sweet little one has an owner who loves to take care of her and to take care of her every need. There is no roughness or coarseness between them and she is, most certainly, the one who calls the shots and takes charge of a situation. Nothing happens without her say so but she is more than happy to accept the lure of sweetly erotic pleasure whenever he so cares to offer it up to her...
And there is much for the two of them to enjoy together.
---
Thank you for reading! This re-published story has been made available worldwide via Smashwords and distributors!
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/936356
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed this story, please take a look at my website, where similar stories are listed by kink!
https://alismitsy.wordpress.com/
All new releases will be announced via my Twitter account!
@alismitsy
I am also available for custom stories, tailored to your preferred nuances and characters. Please e-mail the following address for further information.
arianmabe@gmail.com
","writing":"Minding the Mare\n\nPleasured by Her Owner\n\nFlicking my tail, I munch from the hay bar in the back corner of the roomy stable, my head lowered to eat naturally. It's much better than my usual hay net and I approve of the decision to install a hay bar within easy reach of my shorter stature. Not that I would object to a hay net, of course, as long as it is stuffed full with fresh, sweet smelling hay. The stable is quiet and all annoying two-leggers have left for the day. That is good. I prefer that they leave me alone to my stable and my field and my peace. A black Shetland pony doesn't need anything more than her own attentions, particularly when she is season.\n\nWell, some attention is good but only when I want it, don't get me wrong. I like teasing the stallions and flagging my tail at them, especially when the stable door is open, secured with only a rope to stop me wandering as I please. Such a silly idea. Sometimes the stallions are led past my stall and they prance and prance, letting me swing my hind quarters around and wave my tail at them. Instinct tells me to do it yet I nevertheless feel a flicker of pleasure as they peel back their upper lips and drop for me. They're never the right studs for me though and are hauled away, regardless of who wants to breed who. But that's no problem to me, that kind of attention. It's simply irritating to be fussed over constantly. Perhaps the lanky horses - inferior to us ponies - enjoy prolonged fussings. Why, they even let two-leggers get on their backs and make them work. What lunacy is that?\n\nThe hours roll on and the last of the liveries leaves the yard, slamming the car door loud enough for my ears to flick in its direction. So disruptive. Have they no mind for my peace and quiet? Apparently not. Some of them have little mind for anything. \n\nThere are footsteps approaching. My ears prick and I turn my head expectantly towards the stable door as the top bolt slides back and it swings outwards. I am keen to not appear too eager, however, whoever it is. Something like that would not do.\n\nAh. It is the bringer of food: my two-legged horse owner. I have many names for him, including `stable pest', but this is the one I have currently given him. It is fitting as my owner is carrying a black rubber tub of feed in both paws, those strange things with hard tips that could have been hooves a long time ago. Poor thing, not to have proper hooves. He doesn't even stand on hooves like me or some of the other horses with two legs. Peculiar things.\n\nHe pads into my stall, lips pulled back in that smile two-leggers are fond of. He looks ridiculous. I snort and turn away to make sure he knows this. Wearing his usual loose `stable' jeans - or so I have heard them called - and a blue `check' shirt, he drops the bucket at the stable door, pushing it to the side with a booted foot. My lips quiver and I want to lean towards the food, taste the sweet grain on my tongue. It belongs in my stomach and I need it now. I nicker and stomp, though the straw annoyingly muffles the sound. I'm proud of how many words I know but `food' is the most important one of all.\n\nConceding, I swing around to the rubber bucket and drop my muzzle to feed, shoving it in deep to dig out delicious chunks of apple and carrot. I snort, the scent of food overpowering me as I chomp noisily, tail swish, swish, swishing. I feel my owner's eyes follow it and know his attention has dropped lower to what nestles beneath my tail. He runs his paw down my back from withers to rump and I lean into his touch, if grudgingly. It does feel kind of nice, even if I will not admit it to him. He gets cocky when he thinks I need him. But the two-legger should know that every mare can take care of herself.\n\nExcept for treats. He should always bring me treats.\n\nHe picks up a brush from mare knows where - sometimes there is one hidden behind the water bucket - and grooms my coat in long, sweeping strokes, getting into the rhythm. Against my will, I nicker into the bucket, digging out the sweetest treats before devouring the grain mixture in great, big snatches and mouthfuls. My jaws work around the deliciousness as he grooms my body, avoiding my neck for the time being. I suppose it's because my head is thrust into the bucket but it annoys me all the same that he is missing one of the best spots. What pony wouldn't want her neck scratched and groomed? Why, it should be demanded, not forgotten by their hapless owners.\n\nJerking my head up from the bucket, I feign a bite at his thigh, pulling back at the last moment. It is more a threat than anything else but it makes him stand up and take notice. I pin my ears back to my head and raise a hind hoof, playing the toe on the stone floor. Better grooming! Now! The two-legger just doesn't get it sometimes. He has to do it right.\n\nHe chuckles and scratches my withers with his rough fingertips.\n\n``Quiet there.''\n\nHis voice is slow and melodic, a stable drawl rolling from his lips. Yet I have heard it all before and it has no effect on me. If I could have done so, I would have rolled my eyes. I can't do that though. That annoys me too. Yet there are other ways to convey my displeasure and I have no worry about that at all.\n\nThe two-legger puts the brush aside and, taking advantage of the respite, I nuzzle the bottom of the bucket, licking up the last scraps of grain. My feed is too small again. I swear he is trying to starve me, he must be. What else could that silly horse be trying to do? I look at my bucket and then up at my owner, squealing. Surely he must know that he has underfed me?\n\nMy owner pushes his black forelock out of his eyes and smiles again, lips pulling up. I wish he wouldn't do that. It makes me think that he has something on his mind and, frankly, even a mare in season can tire of all the stallions making eyes at her. They all have the same eyes and eager, questing lips. Sometimes it can be nice. Other times...well...what's a mare to do? It's what we do.\n\nDropping to one knee at my side, he runs his paw down the inside of my leg to the fetlock, lifting in a smooth motion. Obliging, for a stone has been aggravating me for some time, I lift my hoof for him and let him dig a pick into the clump of mud nestled between hoof and frog. I lick my lips. Maybe he isn't so bad after all. I could warm to him if he gave me enough good attention like this. As the stone is removed, I heave a sigh of relief, muzzle dropping lower. Leaning on my owner, I let him continue his work without complaint or interruption.\n\nHe takes care of my other three hooves in like manner and, if I must be honest, I warm to his touch, pushing into him without resting my weight on his shoulder as I am usually apt to do. It is funny to see him grumble and step away to make me stand sensibly. I repeat the move several times while he tries to keep his balance, just for my own entertainment. Unlike picking out a taller horse's hooves, he has to kneel to sort mine in comfort as he no longer likes to crouch for longer spells of time. I sometimes wonder why.\n\nWhen he is done, he scrambles to his feet, boots scraping through straw. He puts the hoof pick aside and quickly secures a head collar around my nose and over my poll, too swiftly for me to voice an objection. And I sure have objections to that halter!\n\n``Come on, darling, time to get going.''\n\nHe pulls the lead rope taut and walks away, expecting me to follow. Though I resist for a moment, I feel that I have no choice and walk behind him with a lowered head, mouthing at the lead rein. Stupid horse, thinking he can take me wherever he pleases. Stallions.\n\nTaking me presumably to the paddock, Farron hums a tune as he leads me through the deserted yard with no car other than his left behind. We are well and truly alone, my owner and I. I don't use his real name often in my thoughts but it's who he is to me; there's no reason to make it anything else. Though `bringer of food' is still a better name for him in my eyes.\n\nThe gate to the paddock swings open at his touch and we step inside, me giving him a dirty look as I pass. I pull at the lead rope, eager to be off - may as well be with so much fresh, luscious grass all around - and he obediently unclips the rope, letting me roam with the head collar still buckled. That doesn't matter though as it isn't really much of a hindrance to me. You can usually forget it's there.\n\nAs I lower my head to the grass and snatch up greedy mouthfuls, my owner drops the lead rope and moves closer. Though he is easily ignored, I twitch at the touch of paws on my withers, running down my spine to my hindquarters as if he was grooming me with his fingertips. But there is no dandy brush or curry comb in the field to tease out knots from my mane and tail. He briefly disappears somewhere - I am focused on the grass - and comes around to my head with an armful of hay, which he places with due reverence in front of me. Satisfied with the tribute, I turn to it over the sweet grass and chomp deliciously, jaw and tongue working to push it down my throat. It is better in my stomach than before my hooves.\n\nI eat quietly, tail flicking, as Farron rests his chin on my backside with a light giggle that sounds like a filly's first whinny, shrill and grating. He snorts breath over my hindquarters, ruffling up my tail, and I shift my weight from hind hoof to hoof, swaying against him as he shuffles in closer, paws sliding down the backs of my hind legs. He nuzzles under my tail and I instantly flag it high, my body beyond the will of my mind as he snuffles over my suddenly winking sex.\n\nAh. So that is what my owner is again after.\n\nEnd preview.\n\nThank you for reading! This re-published story has been made available worldwide via Smashwords and distributors!\n\nSmashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/936356 \n\nThank you for reading!\n\n \n\nIf you enjoyed this story, please take a look at my website, where similar stories are listed by kink!\n\n HYPERLINK \"https://alismitsy.wordpress.com/\" https://alismitsy.wordpress.com/ \n\n \n\nAll new releases will be announced via my Twitter account!\n\n@alismitsy\n\nI am also available for custom stories, tailored to your preferred nuances and characters. Please e-mail the following address for further information.\n\n HYPERLINK \"mailto:arianmabe@gmail.com\" arianmabe@gmail.com \n\nIf you liked this story, you may also enjoy...\n\nFun in the Family: Passion with their Stable of Horses\n\nA father and daughter have some fun in the stables, even asking the prize horses to join in for a little sexy pleasure...\n\nRopes and Helena are a father and daughter with a taste for the illicit, the adventures that are too risky to even say out loud. And, truly, fucking your father is not always the smartest thing to do but just what else can Helena do when he?s so damn hot?\n\nOnly, it?s not only each other that they?re into but other things too - all in the name of mutual pleasure and ecstasy. And just who better to bring into that fun, if they?re game and willing, than the horses in their stables too? Surely they deserve some fun! And the stud and the mare in turn have so much to offer, turning their anthro owners onto a whole new world of pleasure that all can benefit from...\n\nThe Pure & Her Mount: Innocence Gifted to her Stud Dragon\n\nHindras cares for her stable of dragons but things take an erotic turn when her prize stud drake shows an interest in what lies between her pure thighs...\n\nHindras doesn?t have much interest in men and that should be fine, all okay, except for the fact that one of her very own dragons has taken an interest in her. Contrary to that, he?s her finest stud in the dragon pens, the one that all the dragonesses are eyeing up, and he has a penchant for taking his partners with a passion that is simply unbridled.\n\nShe?s not going to say no to such a passionate lover when her heart leaps for him but there is always the chance of eggs from a dragon-human copulation, even when it?s her very first time with, well, anyone...\n\nA Stallion's Secret Love: Lust between Studs\n\nI?ve been at the stable yard for a long time, a dappled grey stallion that turns all the heads, and I?ve seen many horses come and go but never before quite one like Firefly. The chestnut stallion is intact, like me, and with a personality that has me watching from the very first moment he sets hoof out in the field, waiting to see just what he will do. He?s powerful and strong and sweetly prideful, primed as a jumper and rippling with muscle that lifts him to the heavens and beyond. I can?t jump like him but I?d give my heart for any jump if he could just be by my side.\n\nBut things are about to change as our nightly visits take on a warmer, sweeter tone than I could have ever have imagined before, the bodies of two stallions coming together in blissful passion. And I wouldn?t change my time with Firefly for the world.\n\nHe?s the only one I want to be with.\n\n PAGE \\* MERGEFORMAT 4 \n\n","writing_bbcode_parsed":"Minding the Mare
Pleasured by Her Owner
Flicking my tail, I munch from the hay bar in the back corner of the roomy stable, my head lowered to eat naturally. It's much better than my usual hay net and I approve of the decision to install a hay bar within easy reach of my shorter stature. Not that I would object to a hay net, of course, as long as it is stuffed full with fresh, sweet smelling hay. The stable is quiet and all annoying two-leggers have left for the day. That is good. I prefer that they leave me alone to my stable and my field and my peace. A black Shetland pony doesn't need anything more than her own attentions, particularly when she is season.
Well, some attention is good but only when I want it, don't get me wrong. I like teasing the stallions and flagging my tail at them, especially when the stable door is open, secured with only a rope to stop me wandering as I please. Such a silly idea. Sometimes the stallions are led past my stall and they prance and prance, letting me swing my hind quarters around and wave my tail at them. Instinct tells me to do it yet I nevertheless feel a flicker of pleasure as they peel back their upper lips and drop for me. They're never the right studs for me though and are hauled away, regardless of who wants to breed who. But that's no problem to me, that kind of attention. It's simply irritating to be fussed over constantly. Perhaps the lanky horses - inferior to us ponies - enjoy prolonged fussings. Why, they even let two-leggers get on their backs and make them work. What lunacy is that?
The hours roll on and the last of the liveries leaves the yard, slamming the car door loud enough for my ears to flick in its direction. So disruptive. Have they no mind for my peace and quiet? Apparently not. Some of them have little mind for anything.
There are footsteps approaching. My ears prick and I turn my head expectantly towards the stable door as the top bolt slides back and it swings outwards. I am keen to not appear too eager, however, whoever it is. Something like that would not do.
Ah. It is the bringer of food: my two-legged horse owner. I have many names for him, including `stable pest', but this is the one I have currently given him. It is fitting as my owner is carrying a black rubber tub of feed in both paws, those strange things with hard tips that could have been hooves a long time ago. Poor thing, not to have proper hooves. He doesn't even stand on hooves like me or some of the other horses with two legs. Peculiar things.
He pads into my stall, lips pulled back in that smile two-leggers are fond of. He looks ridiculous. I snort and turn away to make sure he knows this. Wearing his usual loose `stable' jeans - or so I have heard them called - and a blue `check' shirt, he drops the bucket at the stable door, pushing it to the side with a booted foot. My lips quiver and I want to lean towards the food, taste the sweet grain on my tongue. It belongs in my stomach and I need it now. I nicker and stomp, though the straw annoyingly muffles the sound. I'm proud of how many words I know but `food' is the most important one of all.
Conceding, I swing around to the rubber bucket and drop my muzzle to feed, shoving it in deep to dig out delicious chunks of apple and carrot. I snort, the scent of food overpowering me as I chomp noisily, tail swish, swish, swishing. I feel my owner's eyes follow it and know his attention has dropped lower to what nestles beneath my tail. He runs his paw down my back from withers to rump and I lean into his touch, if grudgingly. It does feel kind of nice, even if I will not admit it to him. He gets cocky when he thinks I need him. But the two-legger should know that every mare can take care of herself.
Except for treats. He should always bring me treats.
He picks up a brush from mare knows where - sometimes there is one hidden behind the water bucket - and grooms my coat in long, sweeping strokes, getting into the rhythm. Against my will, I nicker into the bucket, digging out the sweetest treats before devouring the grain mixture in great, big snatches and mouthfuls. My jaws work around the deliciousness as he grooms my body, avoiding my neck for the time being. I suppose it's because my head is thrust into the bucket but it annoys me all the same that he is missing one of the best spots. What pony wouldn't want her neck scratched and groomed? Why, it should be demanded, not forgotten by their hapless owners.
Jerking my head up from the bucket, I feign a bite at his thigh, pulling back at the last moment. It is more a threat than anything else but it makes him stand up and take notice. I pin my ears back to my head and raise a hind hoof, playing the toe on the stone floor. Better grooming! Now! The two-legger just doesn't get it sometimes. He has to do it right.
He chuckles and scratches my withers with his rough fingertips.
``Quiet there.''
His voice is slow and melodic, a stable drawl rolling from his lips. Yet I have heard it all before and it has no effect on me. If I could have done so, I would have rolled my eyes. I can't do that though. That annoys me too. Yet there are other ways to convey my displeasure and I have no worry about that at all.
The two-legger puts the brush aside and, taking advantage of the respite, I nuzzle the bottom of the bucket, licking up the last scraps of grain. My feed is too small again. I swear he is trying to starve me, he must be. What else could that silly horse be trying to do? I look at my bucket and then up at my owner, squealing. Surely he must know that he has underfed me?
My owner pushes his black forelock out of his eyes and smiles again, lips pulling up. I wish he wouldn't do that. It makes me think that he has something on his mind and, frankly, even a mare in season can tire of all the stallions making eyes at her. They all have the same eyes and eager, questing lips. Sometimes it can be nice. Other times...well...what's a mare to do? It's what we do.
Dropping to one knee at my side, he runs his paw down the inside of my leg to the fetlock, lifting in a smooth motion. Obliging, for a stone has been aggravating me for some time, I lift my hoof for him and let him dig a pick into the clump of mud nestled between hoof and frog. I lick my lips. Maybe he isn't so bad after all. I could warm to him if he gave me enough good attention like this. As the stone is removed, I heave a sigh of relief, muzzle dropping lower. Leaning on my owner, I let him continue his work without complaint or interruption.
He takes care of my other three hooves in like manner and, if I must be honest, I warm to his touch, pushing into him without resting my weight on his shoulder as I am usually apt to do. It is funny to see him grumble and step away to make me stand sensibly. I repeat the move several times while he tries to keep his balance, just for my own entertainment. Unlike picking out a taller horse's hooves, he has to kneel to sort mine in comfort as he no longer likes to crouch for longer spells of time. I sometimes wonder why.
When he is done, he scrambles to his feet, boots scraping through straw. He puts the hoof pick aside and quickly secures a head collar around my nose and over my poll, too swiftly for me to voice an objection. And I sure have objections to that halter!
``Come on, darling, time to get going.''
He pulls the lead rope taut and walks away, expecting me to follow. Though I resist for a moment, I feel that I have no choice and walk behind him with a lowered head, mouthing at the lead rein. Stupid horse, thinking he can take me wherever he pleases. Stallions.
Taking me presumably to the paddock, Farron hums a tune as he leads me through the deserted yard with no car other than his left behind. We are well and truly alone, my owner and I. I don't use his real name often in my thoughts but it's who he is to me; there's no reason to make it anything else. Though `bringer of food' is still a better name for him in my eyes.
The gate to the paddock swings open at his touch and we step inside, me giving him a dirty look as I pass. I pull at the lead rope, eager to be off - may as well be with so much fresh, luscious grass all around - and he obediently unclips the rope, letting me roam with the head collar still buckled. That doesn't matter though as it isn't really much of a hindrance to me. You can usually forget it's there.
As I lower my head to the grass and snatch up greedy mouthfuls, my owner drops the lead rope and moves closer. Though he is easily ignored, I twitch at the touch of paws on my withers, running down my spine to my hindquarters as if he was grooming me with his fingertips. But there is no dandy brush or curry comb in the field to tease out knots from my mane and tail. He briefly disappears somewhere - I am focused on the grass - and comes around to my head with an armful of hay, which he places with due reverence in front of me. Satisfied with the tribute, I turn to it over the sweet grass and chomp deliciously, jaw and tongue working to push it down my throat. It is better in my stomach than before my hooves.
I eat quietly, tail flicking, as Farron rests his chin on my backside with a light giggle that sounds like a filly's first whinny, shrill and grating. He snorts breath over my hindquarters, ruffling up my tail, and I shift my weight from hind hoof to hoof, swaying against him as he shuffles in closer, paws sliding down the backs of my hind legs. He nuzzles under my tail and I instantly flag it high, my body beyond the will of my mind as he snuffles over my suddenly winking sex.
Ah. So that is what my owner is again after.
End preview.
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