As you brushed the horse’s smooth coat, the repetitive motion became almost meditative, your mind drifting into a serene state. The brush felt like an extension of your hand, until, without warning, it slipped from your grasp and landed softly on the ground.
For a moment, you stared at it, but the urge to continue grooming was stronger. Without thinking, you leaned closer to the mare and used your fingers to smooth down her mane. The texture of her hair under your skin felt so natural, so right, as you ran your hand along her neck and down toward her shoulder.
But something deeper, more instinctual, took over. Instead of retrieving the brush, you found yourself lowering your head, bringing your face closer to her body. Before you knew it, you were nuzzling her gently, brushing your lips against her coat. It felt strangely satisfying, as if this was how you were meant to care for her all along.
Your mouth moved down the length of her neck, and without hesitation, you began to use your teeth, gently tugging at tufts of her fur in the way horses groom one another. The mare responded to your touch, her muscles relaxing beneath your attention. You nipped lightly at her neck, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your teeth, then worked your way down her shoulder and along her side.
It felt so natural, almost primal, the way your teeth grazed her coat, your lips pulling and smoothing her fur. Each bite, though gentle, felt purposeful—like you were communicating something ancient, something deeply rooted in nature. You nipped at her flank, feeling a connection with her that went beyond words. The rhythmic pattern of your movements, the act of grooming her with your teeth, felt not only right but necessary.