While Braeburn is visiting from Appaloosa, Caramel invites him to stay at his house. Within days, Braeburn's messy living and masculinity have saturated Caramel's house in his musk, and Caramel finds his attention increasingly focused on Braeburn's much bigger dick. Gay sex ensues.

“I’m home!”

Home. It was Caramel’s home, thank you very much. But somehow, he didn’t mind Brae calling it that. His nostrils flared as the other stallion’s masculine scent filtered through them. After three weeks of cohabitation, it was hard to find a place in the house where Brae’s musk hadn’t permeated, but when the stallion himself walked through the door, that musk suddenly doubled in strength.

It wasn’t hard to see why. Caramel trotted to the door, a grin on his muzzle. There was Brae alright—when had he stopped calling him by his full name?—and there was a matching grin on his own face. As Caramel gave him a wave, he couldn’t help but feel something in his crotch throb at the sight.

The culprit for the house’s much more masculine scent was clear: Braeburn’s big, fat, juicy—where had that thought come from?—stallion cock. Caramel took Brae’s Stetson and hung it up on the hatrack, licking his lips as he tasted the scent of Brae’s malehood on the air. Then, unable to hold himself back any longer, he turned back and took in the view.

Caramel had never really been a shining example of masculinity. Even when he’d worked for the Apples, he’d done mostly odd jobs, mostly helping with cooking, cleaning, or accounting. Meanwhile, Braeburn had worked on the range his whole like, and it showed.

Standing a good three inches taller than Caramel, every inch of Brae’s body was padded with taut, lean muscle. As the other stallion stepped into the house and took a deep whiff of the air—Caramel honestly wondered whether that was intentional—his chest muscles flexed, and his cock (oh gods, that cock) bobbed pleasantly against his chest.

“Mm,” Brae said. “That stew I’m smellin’?”

“Ooh!” Right. The stew. Caramel smiled shyly, his eyes still stuck on Brae’s throbbing stallionhood. His own maleness wasn’t exactly small, though at five inches, he was firmly on the lower side of average. Braeburn’s sixteen-inch cock, though, felt almost larger than life.

If there was ever a time when it wasn’t erect, Caramel had yet to see it. No matter the time or place, Braeburn’s massive stallionhood was always erect and glistening with pre, his apple-sized balls continuously swelling with seed.

The first week after he’d moved in, Brae had tripped over the last stair, sending him and Caramel head over hooves across the floor. Brae had wound up on top, his massive, throbbing cock rubbing against Caramel’s, steadily drooling pre onto the smaller stallion’s chest. Caramel had jacked off to the memory in bed that night; the fact that he could have fit three of his stallionhood into Brae’s and still have space left over simultaneously shamed and aroused him to a peak. He’d never really considered his sexuality in any real way, but the splatter he’d left on his headboard—a bigger, thicker load than he’d ever let off before—spoke for itself.

He couldn’t help it. There was just something about the country stallion, some kind of animal magnetism, that gripped Caramel down to the bone and pulled, hard. The way his thick, stallion musk filtered into every part of the house soon filtered into every part of Caramel’s thoughts as well. Soon, he’d stopped wondering when he’d force Brae to get some air freshener or deoderant; soon, he’d stopped wanting to bring up the odd stains he’s found on the furniture, the pillows, the ceiling—the ceiling!—and just began to wish that he’d been there when Brae had left them.

A snap in front of his face brought him back to reality. “Hey,” Braeburn was saying, waving a hoof in front of Caramel’s face. “Y’all alright in there?”

He was more than alright. But—

—the stew! “Oh! Yes! Fine,” Caramel said. He quickly leapt up and stared down the hall. “The stew!” He made a dash for it, his pathetic five-inch erection slapping against his thighs as he went.

He could have sworn he’d seen a half-lidded smirk on Brae’s face while he’d been staring. But that was impossible. Such a strong, masculine stallion couldn’t have been...happy that he’d been staring. Right?

Impossible.