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51 Shades of Hay

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

March, 2023, Revised and Re-Uploaded

All Rights Reserved.

Charlemayne stood before the battery of cameras, both Digital SLR's and High Definition Videos, the blinding lights reflected in his dark eyes, as the Thoroughbred wiped a small towel over his head and muzzle, revealing the diamond shaped blaze on his forehead, before he adopted a smug look on his muzzle then threw the towel to one side before he addressed the cameras. It was a routine he'd known all his life as a champion distance runner - and this, his forty-second consecutive race win, the adrenaline still flowing through his veins - veins that stood out on his dark brown fur of his neck, the sheen of the sweat glistening, as he smiled and accepted the trophy - easily hefting it up above his head as the reporters beseeched him with questions and accolades, which only added to the Stallion's already inflated ego....

*

Finally finished, Charlemayne smiled unctuously and made his way to the stewards room, where he was thoroughly weighted and checked over, before his sweat covered body was permitted to retire to the locker room where he sighed and accepted the back slaps and commendations of his fellow thoroughbreds - many who had raced against him - and those who were just starting their careers as professional racers.

"I thought I had you on the last turn - " Another stallion groused, good naturedly. "I saw you out wide and I gave it all I had - "

Charlemayne smiled and shrugged, his broad, well muscled shoulders rolling in a non-committal fashion as he shook paws good naturedly with his competitors, secretly despising each and every one of them for being beneath his notice. Indeed, he hid his contempt well, as he shed his racing silks and his hoof-covered hooves clicked softly on the specially designed anti-slip tiles that lined the dressing rooms. He knew his own capabilities, and often under-performed to give these young Colt's a brief moment of hope, but he knew he could run their tails off - and often did, much to their shame.

As he lathered himself from throat to groin, he took a moment to stand before the thunderous twin headed shower that sprayed its almost scalding water from in front and behind - feeling taught muscles slowly loosening under the water until he bent over - his tail lifting like an Arabian's and he used his blunt hooflets to rub the soap into the fur of his ankles and up his calves, leg muscles squirming and quivering - still taught from the race and aching with the lactic acid that burned through his body.

With a sigh, he slid his paws up his strong, muscular calves then cupped his leathery scrotum in both paws before feeling the weight of the testicles hidden within - as he washed thoroughly and then slid the hooflets up the bulging sheath, satisfied with what he felt - and smiling to himself at the thought of what this new triumph had brought him....

With a snort, he shook himself, water droplets spraying from his coat as he stepped from the shower and as he reached out, he felt a furred paw with cold hooflets brush against his own, as a large towel was placed into his outstretched hand. With a snort of displeasure, Charlemayne snapped his head to the side, then glared at he timid young Paint Colt, who had handed him the towel.

"Forgive me, Sir - " Stammered the Paint, as he hung his head, ears flattening against his neck.

"Upstart young..." Charlemayne began, his own ears flatting and eyes widening to reveal the whites of his eyes.

"Hey, go easy on him - " Another Thoroughbred sneered. "He meant no disrespect, he knows his place in our society..."

"Their kind shouldn't be allowed in here - " Charlemayne growled, as he snatched away the towel and began rubbing it against the back of his wet neck and shoulders. "Filthy, hybrid's..."

Visibly shrinking, the Paint Colt shrunk away, keeping his head bowed in subservience to the Thoroughbred's.

"Leave off - " Shouted another Thoroughbred. "They know their place, and they serve as servants to us - can you imagine how we'd function as a society, if we, the upper echelon, were expected to fend for ourselves?"

Charlemayne grunted, reluctant to agree, but he knew the Paint would never make that same mistake again - or there would be consequences - dire - consequences...

*

Charlemayne snorted and dropped the heavy trophy nonchalantly on the sideboard as he entered his mansion, completely disinterested at the gold, or the engraved writing or anything about it. He had more trophies and other memorabilia to recall his career, and one more trophy meant little to him.

It wasn't the money - he had done exceedingly well from his career so far - and shrewd investments and endorsements had given him more money than he could possibly spend in a lifetime. He had it all - a huge mansion, money, fame, glory - all of it meant little to him, so jaded and cynical he was, nothing interested him any more. He ran - for the sole purpose of the adoration and glory that winning brought - the legions of eligible young Fillies - whose parents were, like him, of the high-born Thoroughbred bloodline - none of it mattered.

He could have had his pick of any of the finest Warm blood - there but for him, but he was disinterested. Oh, he had taken partners in the past - there was no doubt about that - but none had borne his offspring - as he had paid gratuitous payments to silence any family who sought to claim his bloodline for his offspring.

"A perfectly exemplary performance today, Sire - " Come a feminine voice from the nearby doorway.

"Enter - " Charlemayne snapped curtly, barely sparing the Dappled Grey Filly, who was dressed as one of his servants, a second glance.

Obediently, she entered, her hooves clicking on the marble floor, as she approached carrying a silver platter which she set down on the large table, then without a word, she bowed herself into a courteous curtsy and retreated back to the doorway, paws clasped behind her back and a submissive posture assumed, as she awaited her master's instructions.

Charlemayne looked down at the meal before him - then inwardly he smiled with pleasure - as this young Grey knew his routine well - and she had faultlessly carried out the intricate preparations. As he picked and chose from the assortment of imported and domestic foods arrayed, she kept her head bowed subserviently and seemed determined to wait until the ends of time itself - for her master's whim.

For two hours, Charlemayne savoured the delicacies and deserts, before he satiated himself and sat back, replete and waved a dismissive paw at the tray. Obediently the filly stepped forwards, her skirt brushing her thighs with a soft whisper, as she picked up the tray and began to back away - only to freeze as she felt Charlemayne's paw slip under her skirt and press the cold hooflets against her inner thighs.

"I could take you, right here, right now..." Charlemayne whispered, as he trailed a single hooflet across the filly's quivering vaginal folds. "Bend you over this table, and make you a Mare..."

Frozen with fear, the Filly didn't know whether to answer or not - such was not her place to answer her betters unless asked a specific question - and she struggled mightily to resist the instinctive urges that began to swell within her. With a gasp, she felt Charlemayne's probing fingers ease their way into her folds - making her involuntarily shudder. Charlemayne felt the tight folds, the powerful vaginal muscles as they sought to squeeze down on his fingers - and the warmth that this young Filly's depths promised - but he withdrew his fingers and snorted.

"I've changed my mind - " Charlemayne grunted, dismissing her without another word.

Smelling the scent of an aroused Filly - a scent she was incapable of suppressing - Charlemayne smirked behind the Filly's back ,as she took up the platter and obediently left the room, leaving the Stallion to snicker silently to himself, before he lifted the wet fingers and inhaled the scent - the first inkling of instincts making his nostrils flare as he involuntarily shivered. Charlemayne sighed, then pushed back from the table and stood, before he smoothed down his clothes and shook his head, before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

*

"Ah, the Equine of the hour," Come a gentile voice, as Charlemayne entered the magnificently decorated manor foyer.

"Lord Silvermane," Charlemayne smiled, then gave a courteous nod to the tuxedo wearing stallion and shook his hand in a firm grip. "I'm honoured."

"Nonsense," Lord Silvermane laughed, the smell of multiple Martini's in his breath, as he threw a arm over Charlemayne's shoulder. "Come, let me introduce you to the other guests - "

Charlemayne hated these high class parties, but as one of the Thoroughbred, it was expected of him - especially now as he was the toast of the Elite - he was expected to do the rounds, be showered in accolades and praise and everything he hated - none of it was real, everyone was just going through the motions, making inane small talk, gossiping about others and the usual nonsense.

Drinks flowed, followed by food, more drinks and as usual in these situations, after doing the rounds of the rich and powerful, Charlemayne became bored and politely excused himself, stepping out of the hall and onto a patio, where he loosened his tuxedo collar and untied the stifling bow tie. Sipping sparingly from the strong alcoholic drink, through a glass straw, Charlemayne sighed through his nostrils and stared out over the formal gardens.

"None of this matters - " Charlemayne sighed quietly, his ears partially back swept as he lowered his head and inhaled deeply of the cool night air. "What has our society become - when we treat one's such as myself like Nobility - they're just parasites, who cling to the famous like ticks and - "

His self-observation was cut short, by the soft click of hooves on the patio, and he glanced over his shoulder as a young Paint, dressed in the clothing of a servant, silently went about retrieving the discarded glasses left over by the revellers. Charlemayne watched him, feelings of disgust and apathy showing on his face, before he turned around and stared directly at the Paint.

"You there!" Charlemayne snapped curtly.

Pausing, the Paint visibly cowered before it's betters, then swallowed and set the crystal glass on the silver platter with a trembling paw.

"May I be of service, sir?" Stammered the Paint, wishing it was anywhere but here - caught like a deer in headlights.

Charlemayne stared disdainfully, before he snorted and stepped closer, as the Paint involuntarily took a timid step backwards, growing increasingly nervous.

"Stand your ground!" Charlemayne snapped, his voice cracking like a whip. "You know your place - Colt...now do as you're commanded by your betters - "

Obediently, the Paint set the tray aside, and stood formally, paws clasped behind his back as he kept his head bowed subserviently.

"You work for Lord Silvermane - " Charlemayne grunted, as he quietly stepped closer, then scrutinised the Paint Colt from ear-tip to hooves and back again, noting the Colt trembling, yet his servant clothing was immaculate, giving Charlemayne no reason for displeasure at his appearance.

"Yes, sir." Come the response, voice low, but respectful and more than a little hint of fear.

"Take care of you, does he? Feed you well, give you this...this place...to look after, bring him and his false friends their evening meals..."

A barely perceptible ear twitch betrayed the Paint, as he mentally frowned. "I am content, sir. Lord Silvermane is a kind master and he - "

Charlemayne walked behind the paint, who froze and held still, barely breathing, eyes widening in apprehension.

"You're young - at a guess, I'd say...anywhere from 18-21..." Charlemayne snorted, then reached out and gripped the young Paint by the shoulder and squeezed.

A sob escaped the Paint, as he felt Charlemayne's strong paw squeezing down on his left shoulder, but he made no effort to pull away - knowing the punishment for disobedience.

"Quite...athletic, aren't you?" Charlemayne whispered as he stepped closer and with a sudden movement, pulled the Paint tight against his own well muscled form. "Nice, firm musculature, tight...pectoral muscles, very nice..."

"Sir...?" Moaned the Paint, as his eyes widened further, revealing the white schelera, nostrils flaring.

"Be quiet - " Charlemayne growled into the Colt's ears, as he slid a paw down the Colt's shirt front and then trailed his hooflet's over the trousers.

Frightened, the Paint obeyed, feeling mixed emotions - a part of him was afraid - for at any moment, Charlemayne could have him punished for any reason he desired - regardless of the circumstances - yet he could not deny the feelings of pleasure from the strong, muscular arms that encircled him - nor the sensation of Charlemayne's hooflets against the clothing clad sheath.

"I could be...very good...to you - " Charlemayne whispered into the Paint's back-swept ears.

With a gasp, the Paint quivered from ear tip to hooves, before Charlemayne reinforced his words with a firm grope of the Paint's sheath through the dark slacks.

"Sir...I - I don't - " Whimpered the Paint, as he swallowed, then fear gripped his vocal cords and silenced him.

"Quiet, little one - " Charlemayne smirked, then slid both paws into the paint's trousers and caressed the leathery sheath. "That...feels very nice, indeed..."

Overcome with ambivalent feelings, the Paint whimpered and shivered, before Charlemayne slipped his paws free and gave a quick, sharp nip to the right side of the Paint's neck - an unmistakable sign of lust - and the firmness that pressed against the Paint's tail gave no doubt - that Charlemayne's intentions were less than noble.

"Yes...little one, I could be...very good...to you...now, go about your duties, as tomorrow, you'll come work for me. Lord Silvermane will not refuse my most - generous - offer for your - services..." Charlemayne whispered, then stepped backwards and affixed his bow tie and smoothed back his fringe.

To Be Continued...