George went about the business of being the prime stallion in the lead of his team. Round trip after trip, after trip till sweating and dust covered he was at last led to the stables.
Aching muscles strong as they may be were still used that day leaving George tired and willing to rest. A rubdown and brushing almost bade him to fall asleep standing up. As we know horses don't stand up and sleep but might doze as humans do from time to time.
Dusk was coming and George felt very mixed about what or even where he was. The sight of the Coachman coming with a rein made him perk up and take notice.
"Ok big boy to the corral for tonight, Mona is waiting and looking more than willing." he said as if a ignorant stallion might understand.
Yet some of the words and idea's came through the murky mind which was the new George. Prancing with some inner delight George followed the man. As they neared the corral a heady scent of mare in heat stunned the stallion's mind. Urges, a rush of sensual lusts and urges to dominate over this mare came as a flood of wild passions.
George stood there getting more erect with every second. Little did he care now as he did earlier in the day. Occurance after each hard round of pulling the coach brought a need for relief, and with it his embaressment faded. George was also willing and very ready to enjoy his well endowed loins.
Even before the Coachman walked away George was high in the air. Mounted high and deep he stood feeling primal urge to procreate and so he did as nature demanded.
The night was filled with encounter after encounter with the big mare. George was never a mad lover of women but this was an experiance he'd look back on with definate pride.
Morning brought on renewed sights and sounds. A tired and well pleased stallion stood as the Coachman prepared him for another full day of pulling the heavy coach. As if his wild night of passion would not be the final straw in erasing any human memories, another full day as a team leader would also take it's toll.
Care for Becky had with his friendly encounter vaporized. George was also not thinking, just reacting as a beast simulated by things around him and the fears which drove his body down the dusty road. Soon enough even the name George would slip from his mental grasp and only the name Sampson would stick as if he'd been a horse all his life.