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The Horse's Heat

The stable smells of hay and horse sweat, and Chetak stamps his hoof as Saru approaches, his dark eye rolling to watch her, his cock already half-hard and slick against his belly. She doesn't know why she came here—only that Bijay's taste is still on her tongue and her body is burning for something rougher than a beggar's hands. Her fingers find the stallion's flank, feeling the heat of him through his coat, and he turns his head, nostrils flaring, a low whicker rising from his chest. Behind her, the stable door creaks—Amar's shadow falls across the straw, his breath catching as he sees what she is doing, his voice dying in his throat. Chetak's cock twitches, lengthening, and Saru's hand moves without her permission, sliding down his belly, her wedding necklace swinging as she drops to her knees in the straw.