Paris Lelaire was doing what he always did in the morning after his breakfast of oatmeal and hardboiled eggs: shoveling horseshit. Big, steaming, fly-infested, green piles of horseshit. Even worse, this being the week of the Festival of Aurora, and his mother owning the only stable in the village, he had a lot more horseshit to shovel than usual. Lightwatch was a small village perched high up in the Gorgonsgaze Mountains which bordered the kingdoms of Hedonia and Licentia, but its population more than tripled during the Festival of Aurora, when hundreds of travelers and pilgrims from either kingdom swarmed into the high mountains to watch the Lights, a fantastic display of spiraling spectral lights which filled the sky for only a few nights every year. For some who worshipped Aurora as a serious and severe goddess, this was a time of quiet reflection, for others who worshipped her as a goddess of love and sexual delight, it was a time for wild orgies and drunkenness. For Paris, it meant shoveling three times the amount of shit he normally did.
Frustratingly, his mother was the sort who worshipped Aurora on her back, with her legs spread wide open, as evident by the sensual moaning echoing from the house and the sound of her headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall. This last week his mother's bedroom had been as filled with studs as her stables. She wasn't alone either. The Festival of Aurora brought a lot of fresh pussy and horny young men to town, some being the gorgeous blonde-haired, blue-eyed sort from Hedonia, the others being olive-skinned and dark-eyes beauties from Licentia, and here and there was a traveler from even further away, like the silver-haired people of the Far North, or the almond-eyed people of the Far East. Even people other than human came to worship Aurora, some being satyrs and centaurs with cocks as large as their respective animals, and sensual nymphs who would generously allow a special mortal to fuck them for a single night.
Being a boy of freshly 18 years, Paris was now the traditional age when he could begin attending such events, but whereas his peers were already hunting their first nymph or oiling up for their first orgy, Paris was still busy shoveling shit.
"Hey, Paris, do mommy a favor and get Hector's horse ready for him."
Paris turned to see his mother leaning against a wooden beam at the entrance to the stables. She had a very, very satisfied smile on her face, the kind a woman had after getting her brains thoroughly fucked out by a younger man. Her long blonde hair was tussled and clumpy, and her sky-blue eyes were half-lidded with exhausted lust. She hadn't even bothered to fasten her blouse completely up, and her massive breasts hung out like plump bags of milk, sagging slightly but still round and inviting. She was skirtless, and the long shirt only did so much to cover her large, juicy buttocks. One of her fat nipples had a bite mark on it and the way the light shone on the clumpy residue on her chin gave evidence that Jessalee Lelaire let her lovers finish wherever they wanted to. She reeked of sex.
"Why does Hector need his horse now? The bullfight isn't for . . . oh-"
Paris's heart sunk when the strapping, muscular, and glistening tanned body of a handsome 19 year old followed his mother into the stables. He was completely naked except for a glossy sheen of sweat and oil that highlighted the perfect sculpture of his sexual form, and the tremendous trunk of his manhood, although soft, was so thick and long that it could have competed with a satyr's.
"There you are, my beautiful cocksucker," Hector said as one of his strong, olive-skinned hands came around Jessalee's body and squeezed the pliable flesh of her tit, provoking a small trickle of milk to spew forth from her nipple.
"Mmmm," Jessalee moaned happily, grinding her substantial ass against the boy's shredded abs and a thick shaft. "Hector still needs to prepare for the bullfight. Tradition says he should pray at all eight shrines of Aurora before entering the coliseum, and he really should have left hours ago, but I . . . (snicker) . . . I kept him occupied."
"No regrets Miss Lelaire, no regrets," Hector said, the hot flavor of his Licentian accent slipping through. "I believe the only shrine of Aurora a Festival Champion should worship at is this one," he said, slapping his hand up between Jessalee's legs, his strong fingers probing the soft folds of her vulva. She gasped as her legs shook, and she nearly fell to the floor, but Hector kept a strong hold of her and held her up. Only 19 and he could easily lift a buxom bimbo like Paris's mother over his shoulder like she was some skinny little waif.
Paris handed the reins of Hector's stunning black steed, Fury, to the older boy, shyly avoiding eye-contact as the stud groped his mother. Paris had to hold on tight. Hector's horse was much like he was: strong and beautiful, and also incredible horny. The horse had never been gelded, and it wasn't unusual to hear of Hector fucking some young woman in the field while his stud did the same to her mare. The heat alone from Fury's low hanging shaft was enough to melt butter.
"Thanks, my friend," Hector said, taking the reins of Fury and mounting his massive steed. He leaned down to give Jessalee one final kiss and then road off, his rock-hard buttocks bouncing slightly against the hard leather saddle.
Jessalee watched him go and sighed, already lonely and horny for more. Paris sighed too, but out of despair. He and Hector had been the best of friends when they were young, but over the course of last year's Festival Hector had grown several inches (and not just in terms of height) and his wild Licentian passions had been awakened, much to the dismay of every husband and father in Lightwatch. It was no surprise with the Priestesses of Aurara named Hector this year's Champion. He had proved his virility and fire by bedding every single one of them in a single night.
"This place smells like horseshit," Paris's mother said. "Get back to shoveling."
#####
Paris was so busy moving a cart of horse-manure that he didn't see what every other passing man and boy saw strutting into town, not until they were right behind him.
"You, little boy. Are you the farmhand? We need some place to stable our horses and yours seems to be the only one in this disgusting little town."
Paris turned at the sound of the feminine but nasally voice and lost his breath at what he saw. Two perfect white horses being ridden by two of the most beautiful and scantily clad Hedonian women he had ever seen. The first, the one who spoke, was toned and busty, with a surprisingly curvy yet athletic body, and her large round breasts were hardly contained by a small metal bikini that was studded with glowing sapphires over where her nipples were barely hidden. Her face was cherubic and flawless, but her puffy pink lips pouted in an arrogant sneer, and she had a large mane of golden curls held back by a sapphire tiara. There was something unbearably obnoxious and childish about her, but that didn't stop Paris's little penis from instantly snapping up to a full three inches.
"Don't say that, Chancy," the second rider said. "This is a lovely little town, and we are honored to be attending the Festival of Aurora."
This second rider was as beautiful as the first, but in a more genuine way compared to the curly-haired bimbo. Her blonde hair flowed down her naked back like a golden waterfall, and her large blue eyes sparkled both with a young girl's naiveté and strong sense of virtue. She was as undressed as her companion, wearing little more than a metal thong and a negligible breastplate that held her firm, if smaller, bosom thrust up.
