The Horse Master

Still, my daydreams went to the horse master.

Later in the day, when I was posed in the nude on the low rock wall between the terrace and the grass of the pasture and Gordon was painting me, I turned my head at the sound of a neighing horse and looked into the pasture, where Guido's three horses were feeding—and Guido was standing among them and looking up at me.

"Turn your head back to where it's supposed to be," Gordon admonished.

Reluctantly I did so, but I was aching to be looking at Guido instead.

I only saw him one more time over the next month. We took an excursion south of Gunzenhausen to the larger and older town of Weissenburg. Gordon told me that he wanted to show me the reconstruction of the Limes in Weissenburg, one of a five-hundred-mile line of Roman fortresses that had been stretched along Germany to aid in Roman control of the unruly Germans two thousand years earlier.

I only found out why Gordon wanted to take me there after we had arrived. I had noticed that Guido and his horses had disappeared from the pasture area soon after I had arrived—too soon. I'd even ventured down to the lake and found his stone cottage, but it was locked up tight each time I went there. Gordon had told me that the horse master moved around the area with his horses and that he'd be back sometime during the summer. But after a month he hadn't returned.

But there he was, at the reconstructed gates of the Limes in Weissenburg, astride his thoroughbred stallion and dressed as a Roman cavalry officer. He was posing with tourists for photos. I found him to be achingly sexy, as I'm sure some of the tourists who rushed for photos did as well. He looked at me and gave me a little smile when we stood there briefly before Gordon and Claude pulled me away to an outdoor café, but it was just a look. He was too busy taking the tourists' money for photos to come to me, take me to a quiet corner of the fort, and fuck the shit out of me. For some reason I thought that's how he'd fuck—rough and a total taking. And after a month of the "maybe I can get it up" quick sex with Gordon and Claude, rough and total by a horse-hung muscular man was what I longed for.

"So, will you thank me for bringing you to see the horse master today?" Gordon asked, with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Aren't you afraid I'll run off with him?" I countered, a bit confused that he willingly was bringing forth competition—unfair competition at that.

"I want you two to fuck," Gordon said. "I want to see it so that I can paint it, though. We must make arrangements for the magnificent young man to ride you while I capture it in paint—if I can do justice to it. I'm quite certain that Guido would do justice to you."

I didn't know what to think about that—so I shoved it out of my mind.

* * * *

I don't know how long I looked down at the lawn sloping down to the lake from the terrace that Thursday in the middle of July before I realized that Guido's three horses were grazing there. When I realized that they were, I rose from the chaise lounge where I'd been sunning myself in a Speedo and went into the house and straight to the kitchen. I threw together a basket of provisions, with cut-up pieces of cheese and French bread, and grabbed a bottle of Burgundy, which I uncorked and shoved the cork back in an inch, and two wine glasses. On my way out of the house, I took up a blanket, and then I marched down into the meadow and to a small stand of trees about halfway down to the lake.

It wasn't long before Guido appeared in the pasture, where he patted down the horses—the two thoroughbreds, the stallion and mare, were being frisky—saw me, pretended for a few minutes that he didn't see me, on the blanket, with the wine, cheese, and bread, and then turned and strode deliberately to me. He plopped down beside me, on the ground, not on the blanket. Without preliminary warning and showing no interest in what I'd brought, he reached out for me with both arms, embraced me, and rolled me away from the blanket. He wound up on top of me, pinning me to the ground.

Guido grabbed my wrists—in a painful grip—and thrust them over my head. At the same time, he forced his knees between my legs and spread them. We were basket to basket. I could feel him hard against me, and I'm sure he could tell that I was hard too. We both were breathing heavily, raggedly. His mouth came down to mine and he possessed me in a brutal kiss.

There was no question that he was going to take me. And there was no indication that there would be much preparation before he did. My mind went to trying to remember how big he was. From the brief look I'd had of him stroking off in the sunset, I thought he was horse hung—long and thick.

He'd taken off his belt and tied my wrists together over my head, with the leather around the base of a small tree. This left his hands free to roam over my body, roughly grabbing and prodding me here and there. He rose up over me briefly, presenting a cock that was both magnificent and frightening for me to take in my mouth for several minutes. I nearly had to unhinge my jaw to take it. But take it I did. He left me no choice. I was frightened by him, though, and started working at the belt trapping my wrists over my head and to the small tree trunk.

At length, he shuddered and might have come if he hadn't pulled out of me and hovered over me there, panting hard, making me hyperventilate at how overpowering he was, muscular, hung. He lowered himself on my body and his mouth moved down my body to my nipples. I gasped and whimpered as he stripped my Speedo off and grasped and squeezed my balls. His mouth was on my cock and then between my buttocks cheeks, with my legs hooked over his shoulder when I heard the whinnying from the pasture and looked over at the horses.

The stallion had a massive erection, a good foot and a half long, and the mare had her tail up. He was nuzzling her neck and she was skittishly moving from side to side, seemingly not sure what she wanted. She nuzzled the stallion back and then vigorous pumped her head up and down, snorted, and push at him with her nose like she wanted him to leave her alone. He did move away from her then and danced a wild circle around her at a bit of distance. The larger gray horse folded his ears down and moved away from the two smaller, sleeker horses. The stallion came in behind the mare and put his nose under her tail. She set her legs.

The stallion reared up and came down on the mare's hind quarters with his chest and front legs. I watched his massive erection poke at her buttocks under her tail and, finally, slide inside her. The mare held steady, hooves planted into the ground, while the stallion pumped her—but only briefly, four or five times, before he came off her. His massive erection was gone.

But then the gray had mounted the mare too, almost forcing her to the ground with his weight. But she bore the weight and stopped fidgeting, holding steady as he bred her.

The cavorting horses weren't the only thing I saw when I looked over in that direction. In my peripheral vision, I saw Gordon sitting within the tree line not far from us. He was sitting at an easel and obviously had been painting Guido fucking me. So, we were both happy.

With a burst of adrenaline, I broke my wrists free, surprised Guido by rolling away from him, rising on my feet, and running into the pasture. I had no idea what I was trying to do. But it didn't matter. Guido caught me in the field, pushed me to the ground on all fours, covered me close from above, mounted me, penetrated me—painfully and deep—with his cock, and holding me in a firm embrace, pumped me and pumped me and pumped me.

The stallion had taken ten or fifteen seconds to seed the mare; the gray rather longer. Guido fucked me with the same intensity and in the same position as the stallion took the mare—to the extent that it was the image of the stallion and of his massive erection that went through my mind as Guido was fucking me—but he took ten or fifteen minutes of pounding away on my ass to seed me. When he was near to jacking, he moved a hand under my belly and stroked off my cock so that I came before he did.

When he had finished me, he fell over to the side, taking me with him, and, still buried inside me, held me close into his chest in a powerful embrace. I moaned and whimpered and listened to his heavy breathing calm down but then, after several minutes, grow ragged again. His hands went into motion, prodding and testing my flesh again. I felt him engorging inside me once more. He raised me back to all fours, mounted me again, and fucked me a second time, this time slower, deeper, with longer, more controlled strokes than the first time.

Looking over to the side, I saw that Gordon was still painting away. I wondered how many paintings he was getting out of these couplings.

Having come again, Guido rolled off me and pushed me down on my side. He stood, strode over to the blanket, picked up the bottle, pulled the cork out with his teeth, and began to drain the bottle down his gullet. All of the time he was breathing heavily and his eyes were boring into me, daring me to move.

I took the challenge. Painfully, and groaning, I pulled myself up onto my feet and started to walk uphill toward the terrace. He was on me in a flash, grabbing me and throwing me over his shoulder. As he was carrying me off in the other direction, my gaze went back to the pasture, where the stallion was mounted on the mare and having another go at her. She was just standing there, steady, taking that impossibly long cock of his. Gordon was still there at his easel too. Taking long strides, Guido walked into the trees, to his stone cabin. Locking the door from inside behind us, he tossed me down on the bed on my back, covered and entered me, and fucked me roughly again. He repeatedly fucked me over the afternoon, finally pushing me out of the cabin and telling me, in Italian, to come back only if I wanted what he had to give.

When I had stumbled up to the house, I found that Gordon—my own old gray—was waiting for me, naked, and in erection. Energized no doubt by what he had seen in the pasture, he pushed me down on the bed, mounted me, and fucked me longer and stronger than he ever had before.

I went back to Guido three or four time a week over the next month, and each time he pounded my ass in multiple rough fucks. And each time I loved it, taking it as a balance of what I got from Gordon and Claude up at the main house when they used me in the limited way they could to feed their creativity and artistry.

I didn't begrudge how they used me, and over the summer Gordon taught me much about the art of photography. Guido taught me to include a touch of the wild and primeval in my subject matter. Together that was to win me many awards in subsequent years. The paintings he'd rendered from those sketches he'd made of Guido fucking me in the pasture were a sensation at various underground exhibits.

As the summer was coming to a close, I was burdened with a conundrum. Claude was returning to Paris and to his concert tour. But Gordon wasn't returning to anything. He was continuing in exile on the shores of the Muhr am See. He spoke to me of loneliness and of not having completed his study series in oils of my nudes. He wanted me to stay. I could learn more about photography and have a better career by staying with him than going back to Cambridge. This was possibly true, but if I wanted to have the option of teaching I needed the university credentials. To stay with him would be to put all of the risk into a commercial art career.

And then there was Guido. How could I leave Guido? No one fucked me like Guido did. He almost—almost—had replaced photography in my list of priorities.

It was Guido who decided for me, though. I went to his cottage one afternoon in late August. it was not an unusual time for me to come. He wasn't alone. I knew that before I got to the cottage door. He was fucking a young man—younger than I was. I recognized him. It was Dieter, a waiter at the Vanilla Café we liked to frequent in Gunzenhausen. On top of that, the theme from Elvira Madigan, Mozart's "Piano Concerto Number 21," was playing on his radio. Guido had said he wanted me to stop fucking Gordon and Claude—to only fuck him. But of course I couldn't do that. I took the playing of what I'd grown to consider to be Claude's and my song while he fucked another young man as a message from Guido.

I turned and left, but not before Guido saw me standing in the doorway. He saw me there, but he didn't miss a beat in his pounding of Dieter's ass.

I swallowed my pride and came back three days later. His cottage was locked up tight and the horses were gone. Later that day Gordon told me, with a tone of victory in his voice, that Guido had moved on to another pasture and wouldn't be back here until the fall.

"If you want to see him again—be with him again—you'll have to stay here longer," Gordon said.

What he thought was his victory, however, was also his defeat. Although it saddened me, I decided that my life didn't stop here. If I was going to be an artistic force myself, I couldn't be under the thumb of Gordon or the control of Guido. There would be other Gordons and other Guidos, and they would be more likely to be found in Cambridge and London than here on the shores of the Muhr am See.

In the end, I didn't choose either Gordon or Guido. I chose me. It had been a summer to remember—but it had just been three months of my life near the beginning of life, not at its end. I didn't forget to take the photo posters of Guido back to England with me, however, or to tell Gordon that I definitely wouldn't return the next summer.