The Raven but it's a pony and instead of his dead wife it's dicks.
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Futa Mares: An Edgar Allan Poe Story
The Raven but it's a pony and instead of his dead wife it's dicks.
There I sat in my room fapping, with my fingers gently tapping,
At my keyboard that I used to search for plots, exposed and bare.
As my voice came low and humming, I was on the verge of cumming,
But there came a gentle drumming that forced me to stop and stare—
Just my mother or my sister forcing me to stop and stare.
"Must I get up from my chair?"
But nobody came intruding to bear witness to my lewding,
And my door stood still and silent as the peaceful winter air.
Who would come by simply knocking and not even bother talking,
Only turning and then walking back away without a care?
If my mother or my sister knocked, then surely they would care—
But it seemed no one was there.
So then I continued clopping, wishing that I could be topping,
A cute horse and have my dick be buried deep inside a mare.
With my voice a gentle thrumming, I prepared to drain my plumbing,
But again there came a drumming, making me leap from my chair.
"What is it?" I asked. "Please tell me, now that I'm up from my chair."
Silence, then, complete and bare.
I thought only of complaining as I pulled my pants up, straining,
To hear retreating footsteps going up the basement stairs,
But I heard nobody leaving; no step stomping, nor breath heaving,
So I yanked the door, believing that I'd find the culprit there.
I was sure beyond the door that I would see the culprit there—
Only ghosts and lifeless air.
With a sigh, and slowly turning back around, my cock still yearning,
For release that I deserved, as I had earned it fair and square,
I then grabbed my turgid member in my hand and I remember,
Glowing brightly like an ember, a pink pastel pony there—
And a happy, sunny warmth came from within that pony there—
Standing right next to my chair.
I was startled, nearly tripping, as I felt her deep gaze stripping,
And denuding me, as if my clothes were never even there.
"Who are you?" I shrieked out shrilly at this stranger of a filly.
Her reply struck me as silly as it pierced the silent air—
An out-of-place reply that came and flittered through the air—
Quoth the pony "Futa mares."
My brow quirked and my head tilted, but her smile remained unwilted,
As I tried to solve the puzzle of this pink perplexing mare.
While my brain was busy thinking, and she looked at me, unblinking,
In my mind's eye I was sinking into curious despair.
Noisy thoughts of dickmares dancing in my head made me despair—
For I couldn't help but stare.
Mentally, I felt assaulted as more phallic visions halted,
All the other higher functions that my consciousness had shared.
Penises kept me arrested in a daze and I was tested,
Where my apprehensions nested; homophobia was there—
Fear of being gay for liking dicks was deeply nestled there—
And I noticed I was scared.
Presently I judged the pony, but her face was still and stony—
There was nothing I could glean from her contented, vacant glare.
"Listen here," I started saying, "I don't know what tricks you're playing,
But I know you won't be staying; step away, now, from my chair!"
She defied my every order and she leaped upon my chair.
Quoth the pony "Futa mares."
"I like pussies!" I then shouted past the part of me that doubted—
But the pony didn't seem to budge, react, or even care.
Some unspoken comprehension that demanded my attention,
Swirled about her, forming tension of which I was too aware—
Tension wrought of insecurities of which I was aware,
And it was too much to bear.
Deep within me there was growing paranoia of just knowing,
Knowledge that I hid away, and yet was always present there.
While I knew I still liked fillies with vaginas spread like lilies,
I imagined them with willies, and my cock seemed not to care—
In my head, dicks were disgusting, but my cock just didn't care—
Proud, it stood up in the air.
With my own thoughts I contended as I eagerly pretended,
That these foul abominations were not welcome anywhere,
And I mentally insisted as I conjured up and listed,
Many reasons it was twisted to see them as standard fare.
"I refuse," I said, "refuse to think of them as standard fare!
There should not be dicks on mares!"
As her gaze pierced to my spirit, feeling loud enough to hear it,
I could sense her putting thoughts in me directly through her stare.
I imagined horse cocks growing 'twixt my lips as I was blowing,
All of them and never slowing 'til their bulbous, wide tips flared,
And then filled my mouth with seed that came from their tips wide and flared.
Then I swallowed gulps of air.
"Leave my head, you cursed demon!" I yelled as I thought of semen,
Hotly blasting me and drenching me—a cloying, sticky snare.
On an impulse, masturbating—while I saw myself fellating,
And then bending over, mating, as dicks filled me everywhere—
I could not stop myself stroking as I felt dicks everywhere—
Ghostly dicks of futa mares.
Forward—wracked with guilt—I stumbled; pleasure-drunk, I quaked and mumbled,
"What exactly must I do to make you exit from my lair?
While you smile there, smugly sitting at my seat so unbefitting,
Of a horse who's been committing thievery to steal my chair!
You are nothing but a trespasser and thief who stole my chair!"
Quoth the pony "Futa mares."
Pink rear legs then slowly parted and my eyes expressly darted,
Up, away from the stiff shaft I knew was plainly nestled there.
"If you think your plan is clever, I regret to say I'll never,
Suck your dick," I said, still ever so aware of her harsh glare—
And my eyes then lowered slowly 'til they met her piercing glare.
Quoth the pony "Futa mares."
The room blurred like I was dreaming as my mind was clouded, teeming,
With scenarios I wanted to explore with her right there.
Then my tongue was on her member, stiff but also warm and tender—
As I licked her, I was rendered helpless by the pungent air.
With a dulcet moan, she climaxed, and her scent was in the air—
Heady musk of futa mare.
As her load was fired in me, with my mouth around her chimney,
I came too, then, spilling seed out where it splashed against my chair.
Then her slickened member wilted, pulled from where it had been hilted.
When I gained my voice, I lilted, "What a wonder you have shared."
From that moment, I've persisted, taken every chance and shared,
My deep love of futa mares!
