She hated it.
She hated the bright sun and the fresh air. The fenced area and the guiding bit. The people on the other side and the mares standing in the pasture with her.
But most of all she hated the stallions.
With their muscular bodies running their tongues over Paramold's buttocks. Which presented their erect shafts and made her doubt everything.
The stallions who were as abnormal as she was. Whose sperm stuck to their glans and so flowed over her rump.
Of course only at the end.
After Paramold had put her tail aside and waved her labia. After she had jammed her hind legs into the ground and lifted her neck to give the stallions a better grip.
After the long and hard penis had penetrated her so deeply. Massaging the borders of her abdomen and the broad glans had tickled her flesh with warm juice.
Paramold hung her head and in her hatred she rolled the eyes, foam running down her lips.
It was always only a few seconds. How long she had never managed to count.
As hard as the penis was, as soft was the flesh at the same time.
As hard as the belly of the stallion pressed on her back, as pleasant were the massaging movements.
As much as she hated being mounted, she loved the feeling when her muscles softened, the stallion relaxed, and they both savored the sensation together for another heartbeat.
Then the male part let go of her, bringing a emptiness to her body that she could fill with her hate.
Had to fill.
Until the next stallion was ready for her.
Or, in a pinch, a gelding. If castrated incorrectly, they were no less interested.
These half males gave no more sperm, but filled the emptiness.

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