Horsin' Around with Mum 4

by OttersInTrousers

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featuring Edric, 18-year-old flaxen chestnut stallion,
and Florence, his Mum, 37-year-old dark chestnut mare.

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The days pass quietly and sweetly after New Year's.

Ever since that first time, most days start with soft and sleepy wake-up lovemaking.

On Wednesday the fourth, Edric stirs awake to the feeling of his mum, Florence, lifting her leg over his hips. They're on their sides, facing one another, and she's in the process of lining up his morning wood with her pussy.

“Mmlrgg, morning Mum.” He tries his best not to yawn morning breath into her face.

“Good—” she gets them aligned and sighs as she slides him in, “—morning, baby.” She presses a quick kiss to his nose.

Edric replies by wrapping his free arm around her back, pulling them flush, and kissing her deeply. Their tongues dance, languid, and morning breath is forgotten. When she retreats for air, he chases after with quick pecks against her chin, nose, the side of her muzzle. 

Giggling, she rolls onto her back, and he settles between her thighs, still inside her. They sigh.

For a few moments, they lie together, enjoying the feel of one another.

Then he begins slowly grinding into her. She hums her approval, hand beginning to stroke through his flaxen blonde mane. They return to making out.

“Love you, baby,” Florence nickers between kisses.

“Love you, too. I'm close.”

“Go ahead, baby. We can get me there after.”

His orgasm is as gentle as their lovemaking, passing over him and washing into her. He tenses up, releases, and she holds him through it.

He leaves himself inside and pushes up on one elbow to capture one large, dark nipple in his mouth. His free hand ghosts along her dark chestnut coat, over her other breast, down her soft belly, to her clitoris. Working his thumb over and around it, he has her moaning out soon enough.

“Oh, that's it, baby.” Her hand grips his mane, presses him into her tit as he sucks at her nipple, laves his tongue over it.

Just as he feels her approach the edge, he bites down, and presses the heel of his palm into her clit as it winks out. She gasps and moans into a whinny. Her vagina clenches on his softening penis as her body tenses up with climax.

As she rides it out, he rolls his hips into hers and kisses her nipple.

Between gasps for breath, Florence praises him.

“That was wonderful, baby. Thank you. I love you.”

He straightens back up and kisses her lightly.

“Love you too.”

-----

Giving up on making any more progress in his reading—a book for spring semester, but it's exactly the sort of unbearably pretentious, self-aggrandizing bootstrap nonsense that he hates about his university—Edric tosses the blanket aside and rises from the couch. He stretches out his back, up and then down, then glances over to spot Florence checking him out over her reading glasses. He grins.

“Like what you see, Mum?”

“Oh, so much, baby.” She marks her place in her own book—a steamy romance novel about a shipwrecked virgin falling in love with the pirate queen who saves her life—and sets it aside on the plush arm of her chair. “How's reading going?”

“Eh.” He half-shrugs. 

“Well, that's better than last time I asked.”

He chuckles at that.

“Yeah, guess so. Still miserable, I think I've just become numb to it.”

“Why don't you switch out of that class, then?”

“That—is a good idea, yeah.” It sets some gears to turning in his head. If the class is going to be miserable, why not switch out of it. Those gears catch in others. And if that university is miserable—but he'll worry about that later. First he's gotta pee.

On his way back from the toilet, Edric freezes by the window when he spots snow. It's snowing, big, fat flakes that are rapidly accumulating on every available surface. Warmth bubbles up inside him. He returns to the living room with a smile.

“Hey Mum, it's snowing again! Wanna join me on the back porch to drink hot cocoa and watch it?”

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When Edric arrives on the veranda, two steamy mugs in hand, Florence is already waiting for him on the glider chair. She's wearing another of his hoodies, one thick blanket draped over her lap and another around her shoulders, each with enough spare for him once he sits beside her. She pats the seat by her side.

He hands her one mug, then eases down, careful to avoid setting it to suddenly rocking. Once he's seated, they set to getting comfortable—she tosses the one blanket over his lap, he curls the other around both their shoulders.

She pushes back with a hoof, and they begin gently rocking.

They sit watching the snow fall, warming themselves with cocoa and blankets and one another.

She leans into him, and he frees his arm to wrap around her shoulders, hold her closer. She sighs against him.

“It's beautiful.” There's a wonder in her voice.

Looking out into the backyard, towards the woods, watching the snow gather, he's taken back to a week ago when he stood in those woods with her, snow flurries in the air around her and gathering in her mane, unbridled joy in her eyes.

He leans his head on hers, nickers lovingly.

When he thinks back on the last week and a half, on their relationship, he realizes it really is the happiest he's ever been. 

The happiest he's ever seen her, too. 

It's mornings waking up wrapped up in one another, and nights falling asleep together. Being the first and last thing they see, first and last thought in mind. Love and lust curled together and wrapped in a blanket of coziness.

It's her standing in the woods, snow in her mane, watching birds. The cool air fogging in front of them. A snowball in the face and her songbird giggle. The feel of her hand in his.

It's cuddling with her when she's cold. Reading along over her shoulder. Listening to her voice as she reads aloud, and only sometimes hearing the words. 

It's being happy to share the same room together even when they're doing their own things. The warmth of knowing the other is right there, just as happy to be nearby. Contentment in quiet moments.

“Mum, I love you.” The words tumble out of his mouth, catching them both by surprise.

“I love you too, baby.”

“Wait, no—I mean, yes, I love you Mum, but also—I.” He sighs. Looks for words.

She's looking up at him from his shoulder, waiting patiently. Her hand finds his on her shoulder, and her thumb rubs soothingly over its back. He chooses carefully, then quietly speaks into her ear.

“Mum, I love you. And. Florence, I love you.”

Edric watches as she turns the words over in her mind, puzzles out what he means.

Her head lifts slowly, and she pulls away to turn and look at him fully.

“You're in love with me?” The words come out barely a whisper, reverent, like snow gathering.

“I'm in love with you. You said it before, right? That very first time. Give me all of you, and let me give you all of me. I love you, Mum, Florence. I love all of you, with all of me.”

She barely lets him get all the words out before she's surging forward, crashing their lips together. Her hands come up to cradle the sides of his muzzle. He mirrors her, and—his thumbs catch her tears on her cheeks. Carefully, without breaking the kiss, he whisks them away.

She only pulls away when they're both out of breath to crawl into his lap, drunk on joy.

“I love you, too, baby. I meant it when I said it then and I mean it now, baby. I am in love with you, too. I love you.” She kisses him. “I love you.” Another kiss. “I love you.” She tries to kiss him a third time, but comes up short, hiccuping on tears.

He draws her in again, this time to press their foreheads together, matching spots in their coats fitting together so perfectly.

Through his own tears, he repeats those words, “all of you, all of me,” over and over, a mantra as he nuzzles against her.

-----

It takes them a bit to remember they're outside in the cold and snow—only really noticing when Florence starts shivering. Barely pulling away enough to not trip over one another, they shuffle in, dumping their blankets and empty mugs on the kitchen table.

There is no doubt in either of their minds where they're going.

Clothes are cast aside in the hall, cold hands on warm bodies. They slip under the duvet and curl into one another, pressing just as close as they possibly can.

There, in the warmth of Florence's bed and one another, they share quiet words and nickers, nips and nuzzles, all of them love, love, love.