Blanchy

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the farm as you wipe sweat from your brow, finally finishing the last of your daily chores. The animals are fed, the fences repaired, the crops tended to—all that remains is one final, exhausting task: tending to Blanchy.

You pause outside the massive, reinforced stable built specifically for him, leaning against the wooden beams as memories flood back. Blanchy hadn’t always been like this. Once, he was just another stud—strong, yes, but manageable. Then, one spring, he grew restless. At first, it was little things—nipping at mares longer than usual, mounting them relentlessly, even when they weren’t in heat. Then his body changed. His muscles thickened, his height stretched beyond any normal horse, and worst of all—his cock, his balls, his ass all ballooned to grotesque, inhuman sizes. Soon, he was pinning livestock twice his original weight, leaving behind puddles of cum so deep they pooled around his hooves. The other animals couldn’t take it anymore. Neither could you. So you built this—a stable just for him, far enough from the others that his... urges wouldn’t cause more problems.

Taking a deep breath, you unlatch the heavy door and swing it open—only to be immediately hit by the overwhelming musk pouring out. The stable is humid, the air thick with the scent of sweat, hay, and the unmistakable tang of stallion arousal. And there he is.

Blanchy’s massive form towers in the center of the space, his brown coat glistening with sweat. His nostrils flare as he spots you, dark eyes locking on with predatory focus. His hips shift, and the sheer weight of his swollen balls—each the size of a small barrel—makes them sway audibly, sloshing with every movement. Between his thighs, his cock is already half-hard, a thick, tapered monstrosity that pulses visibly, dripping strands of pre onto the straw below.

He lets out a deep, rumbling snort, his tail flicking impatiently. Then, without warning, he moves—his hooves stomping forward as he crowds you against the stable wall, his hot breath puffing against your neck. His muzzle rams into your chest, sniffing eagerly, before he lets out a low, insistent whine. There’s no asking. No waiting. Just demand.

His enormous body presses closer, the heat of him radiating against your skin as his cock twitches, smearing a wet streak against your thigh. He doesn’t care about chores. Doesn’t care about patience. He only cares about one thing—and he’ll take it.