Molly’s Point of View
I held my father’s cock steady while Nell held Beast’s reins. It was the first time our black stallion had been ridden since arriving at Braddock’s, never mind fucked.
Eliza took one look and insisted it had to be him.
He could smell her.
Beast eyed me, one hoof clawing the packed earth. His flanks twitched. The muscles beneath his coat rippled in sequences I could track — shoulder to haunch, a rolling tension that said he hadn’t decided yet whether this was acceptable.
“Easy, boy.”
Eliza climbed into the adapted saddle, took the stirrups in her boots, and eased her body high above the silicone cock. Nine inches of my father’s exact shape — every vein, the upward curve, the flared circumcised head — mounted in Rhett’s redesigned stainless steel housing, bolted to the saddle’s modified frame.
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