Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. The author does not condone illegal and immoral actions described. If you feel rape in the real world is a good thing, bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I'm disclaiming, racism, homophobia and other bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. I don't own The Chronicals of Narnia or The Horse and His Boy, or any characters and make no profit from this story. Please read the story codes above to ensure that you are not going to be offended by, or otherwise dislike, the content. This was written for the prompt 'nightmare'
Description: Unknown to Aravis and Bree, Shasta also entered their shared dream.
Content Codes: f-zoo, m-solo, cons, magic, cream pie, voy
Chronicles Of Narnia: The Horse And His Cock Part 3: A Nightmare of Horse Cock
by JD (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Shasta's ego had grown ever since the day of his first escape with Bree. Having been raised as an unknowing foundling in a poor fishing village, and treated more as servant than son, Shasta had little pride until his achievements in the company of his new friends. Encountering a noble foreigner who looked exactly the same as him only increased his sense of self-importance - though he did not yet know the other was his twin brother, or that he, Shasta, was really Prince Cor of Archenland. The beautiful Aravis had learned true humility on the difficult journey, but Shasta had grown only pride.
Tired to the point of exhaustion he certainly wasn't in a state to admire Aravis' transformed personality, nor the likelihood that his pride could be his downfall. Perhaps if he'd known the great lion Aslan had no pride in either sense, he might have avoided anguish. His only thoughts of Aravis were of a more lustful nature. He liked her dearly as a friend, but as a teenage boy raised amongst salty mannered fishermen he also had other desires where the dusky-skinned Calormene girl was concerned. If asked, he would have declared an intention to court and marry her, and care for her deeply for the rest of their lives. While certainly true, he also wanted to bed her.
The word of dreams is a queer place, not quite fixed in time. There we may walk amongst the past or even glimpse futures of truth and fiction. When Shasta's exhaustion drove him to sleep some time after Aravis and Bree had shared their wonderful dream, he too walked within it. He paid no mind to the carefully arranged gardens laid out around him, for striding ahead was Aravis, naked. The knowledge that this was truly Aravis whispered was whispered in deep leonine tones within his mind.
"Aravis!" he tried to call, but within the dream he could make no noise.
Shasta followed at an enforced distance, as naked as she, and watched as she encountered Bree. Though the stallion looked directly at Shasta it did not see him, nor hear his repeated calls to them both. The dream carried him around until he stood to the side. Shasta sighed as the vision of Aravis' flawless nude form filled his eyes. He gripped his straining hardness and stroked hot flesh, deeply proud of his above average length and girth.
He heard their talk, already aware they walking within dreams. For the briefest moment it seemed to Shasta a fine dream; able to view Aravis' uncovered beauty and pleasure himself unseen and unheard. The dream turned to nightmare as Bree began to lick Aravis' breasts, and the Calormene girl clearly did not object. Quite the opposite. Shasta's masturbation stuttered to a halt, his cock hot in his hand, as Bree licked hungrily betwixt Aravis' shapely legs. He couldn't believe the eagerness with which Aravis urged Bree's hot tongue deeply inside her body.
"No! Don't do that! We're supposed to marry!" Shasta's anguished cry remained unheard, though Aravis's moans were grown so loud that she'd have had trouble hearing the distraught boy in the real world.
His physical pride was equally crushed as he caught a glimpse of Bree's proudly erect cock. As decently sized for a human as Shasta was, his inches were nothing compared to the stallion's thick feet. He felt like a cuckolded husband, though Aravis had never even been his lover. Worse, his own cock still throbbed, aroused beyond measure by Aravis' ecstatic moaning. Tears streamed down Shasta's face as he wrapped work-calloused fingers around his length and rubbed anew. His heart near shattered as Aravis asked, no, begged Bree to penetrate her with that horse spear, yet his own cock twitched at the prospect, a slave to teenage hormones.
He winced as Bree mounted the suddenly-there bench, terrified that one of the horse's plate-like hooves would come down fatally on Aravis' beauty. To Shasta's eyes there seemed to be no possible way that Aravis, the girl he loved and lusted for, would be able to receive the horse cock she so clearly wanted. Shasta realized he could never satisfy a girl who wanted a horse for a lover; that his new ego was built on shifting sands. He'd have to find a Narnian dwarf, perhaps, for Aravis would not have him.
Still he stroked himself, all too aware of his pathetic enslavement to his own base lusts. He marveled at the shiny black skin of Bree's shaft disappearing increasingly deeply inside Aravis. She hugged the stallion with all the passion Shasta had hoped she would reserve for him; he could see how hard her dark nipples were as they rubbed against Bree's body. Girl and stallion rutted together in the dream for their own pleasure and reward, but for Shasta it was truly terrible. All the certainties he had formed for future crashed about him, screwed as surely as Bree fucked Aravis.
"This is the worst nightmare I've ever had!" he countered, as Bree gasped it to be their best dream.
Humiliated by his voyeuristic lust, he climaxed as Bree did. The musky stink of their lovers' arousal washed over him as Shasta spurted. While the stallion sank the entirety of his mighty length inside the willing girl, and jetted enough hot sperm that it was forced back out, Shasta could only manage a few dribbles that ran hotly down his fingers. There were more tears flowing down his face and chest than sperm from his balls. Aravis' screams of utter pleasure were the final blade's twist in Shasta's soul, and he awoke sobbing in the dark, smearing semen into his bedding.
Some would have turned their rage and humiliation undeservedly against Bree, or Aravis, but Shasta truly had nobility in his soul. He rubbed away his tears and acknowledged the foolishness of his prideful ways. He learned the lesson of his nightmare, and remained ever grateful for it.