The Dominant Blacksmith — Scene 1 — An Erotic Equestrian Story — NSFW
Welcome to part one of a series of dirty short tales with a dominant farrier and his shy, submissive obsession as he takes her body all over a public barn.
The thing you need to know about horse girls is that we all secretly lust over a man who is good with a horse. I don’t know what it is about us that draws our eyes to the farrier’s ass when he bends over to pick up a hoof, but I’ll tell you that no matter the age of the female gaze, we are secretly stewing in our own puddle of lust.
The thing I’ve learned about guys and horses is that most horse guys are lusting over each other and not us gals. Speaking from experience, if the man prefers to put his ass in an English Saddle, ninety percent of the time he prefers to take the dick in that same sweet ass.
Oh, there are plenty of straight men who ride horses and some who ride English, but most are snatched up quickly by lusty horse girls, pronto. The male farriers, cowboys, vets and other service providers are downgraded to eye candy for those of us who aren’t bold enough to be the home wrecker, if you know what I mean.
I try not to judge, but I’d never be bold enough to assume I could have an affair with anyone, especially my farrier. Though I am eyeballing Rusty’s posterior as I wait for him to finish shoeing a thoroughbred jumper named Hobbs. I’m not the only one enjoying the view while waiting my horse's turn for his equine mani/pedi. Eyes too young and too old enjoy the view of the oblivious blacksmith.
And what a view my twenty-one-year-old eyes behold. Rusty just moved here from Ireland. Or was it Scottland? Somebody will ask him again, just to hear that accent as he answers.
His bright red hair was dark with sweat and his rutty skin gleamed as he wiped his brow before putting Hobb’s hoof back on the concrete of the crossties he’s in.
His jeans hug his fit ass like a glove and his work chaps lift his round butt like a perfectly fitted bra even as he stands up and stretches his back. He moves the pedestal in front of the horse and lifts his leg again, placing the newly shoed hoof on the center for him to clinch the nails down and file the hoof. He sleeveless shirt falls open, revealing a light dusting of red chest hair.
My head tilts to the side as I wonder if the curtain matches the drapes or whatever that horrible saying is. I shake my head to clear the lusty fog. I can’t believe I’m objectifying this man. Instead of admiring his skill, I’m wondering about the size of his dick.
A quick glance around at the ladies gathered around me and I can tell I’m not the only one being a pig right now.
“He’s all done, aye. Whose next?”
His direct gaze lands on me and holds steady. My heart pounds as my face heats. His lips twist up in a knowing grin and I want to shrink into the tiniest of barn mouse and scurry off.
Thankfully, Lissa, the teenage dressage queen, pushes forward with her horse, Jazz in tow. “I am.”
Hobbs is led out of the crossties and she frowns at the mess of hoof trimming his owner left behind. “I was the one who made the appointment. I really should have been first, but these things happen at this barn.” Her voice was full of disdain. Lissa is outspoken about the things she deems unacceptable about our barn. Of course, her parents pay for Jazz to stay in the nicest barn we have on the property.
If you are detecting a little hint of jealousy, you’d be right. At twenty-one, I work two jobs to keep my horse here and clean stalls on the weekend for extra dough. My parents won’t hand me a dime if they think I’ll spend it on my horse, Rock.
Lissa has nothing to complain about as far as I’m concerned, so as she starts in about how her precious Jazzy Poo threw a shoe because her previous farrier was inept, I walk away. I have things to do and I don’t want to be associated with her kind.
It’s important to me that Rusty sees me for who I am. A true horsewoman who cares about the welfare of her animal. Someone who doesn’t complain her way through life. I’m grateful, sweet, honest, and submissive.
I hop on Rock bareback with a halter and lead-line and let him graze around the barns as we wait our turn with Rusty, the farrier. Rock has been with me for four years now. Even though he doesn’t have papers and cost next to nothing to buy, he’s my everything.
So, I don’t mind waiting so the farrier doesn’t feel rushed. Rock doesn’t wear shoes, so a trim after a long day shoeing horses will be easy peasy for Rusty.
Rock enjoys the green grass while I enjoy the Florida sunset on a cooler October afternoon. Once dusk sets in, I pulled Rock’s nose off the ground and ride him back to the barn.
Rusty is on the wash rack, hosing his head and bare chest off as I slide off Rock. “Let me guess. You’re next.” Rusty has a deep voice to go along with that accent. It’s double sexy.
He gives Rock a speculative glance and I say, “Just a trim, but if you’re too tired, I’m sure Rock can wait until next time.”
“Rock, you say? Are you Carly then? You called and made an appointment. Why didn’t you keep your place in line?”
I shrugged shyly. “Had better things to do than listen to Lissa complain about her privilege.”
He laughed, and it made me smile. “Poor little rich white girl.” He snarked as he gave me a conspirator’s grin. “Well, no worries, she’s gone.”
It was after eight. Everyone went home from this barn by this time. I didn’t say that. I just smiled and led Rock into the barn where he had been working all afternoon.
Rusty seemed taller now as he came up beside Rock and stroked his shoulder. “Anything I need to know before I start?”
His brown eyes met mine, and I felt as if all my dirty little secrets were laid out for his viewing pleasure, and he liked what he saw. It made my heart race and my breath hitch. “I’m nothing special.”
I stiffened, and my face turned beet red. “I mean, the horse. He’s not complicated. Just a trim, nothing special.” I could just die right now.
“Really?” His head tilted as he continued to hold me with a knowing stare. “That’s not what I see.”
He feels down Rock's sorrel leg and my gaze follows the sensual way he lowers to lift Rock’s hoof. Oh my god, I’m jealous of my own horse right now. He puts Rock’s hoof between his knees and starts pairing away at the sole of the foot.
He glances up at me and says, “He’s got nice feet.”
I bite my lip and nod. “He’s a good horse.”
Rusty’s lips twitch and he adds, “He’s a fine horse.”
I want to make small talk but the words stick in my throat. When Rusty stands up, I’m way too close to his bare chest. He never put his shirt back on. He should be stinky from working all day, but holy hell, he smells divine.
I stumble back with a muttered apology.
He brushes it off and moves on to the next leg. One down, three more to go. My time with Rusty is counting down, and I’m losing my chance to impress the man. Say something witty, Carly. “He doesn’t kick.” Oh my God, I could slap myself.
His voice is light as he replies, “No, he seems pretty submissive to me.”
I stumble over my words. “He, I, he’s a good boy.”
Two hooves down and two more to go. “And you’re a good girl, aren’t ya, Carly?”
The noise that left me was downright embarrassing. I whirled around and picked up the broom and dustpan and began sweeping up hoof trimmings frantically.
“Did I embarrass you?”
“No, I’m sorry. You make me nervous.”
“In a good way, I hope.”
He was standing next to Rock’s final hoof, looking over the horse’s withers at me. Hand stroking Rock in a way that made both the horse and me sigh.
“I’m not into married men.”
“Me either. Are you a married man Carly?”
Confusion knitted my brows. “No. I’m not married or a man.” Did he think I looked masculine? I touch my ball cap and bun poking through the back. Does he think I’m a lesbian because I’m dressed in old barn clothing?
He laughed. “I’m single too, Carly.”
“I don’t see you staying single for long.”
He stood up from filing the final hoof. Time’s run out. His gaze holds mine several heartbeats before he replies, “I have particular tastes in women. My kinks rarely attract horse girls.”
“Kinks?”
“Aye, most horse girls are spoiled and used to getting their way. I enjoy being the dominant one in a relationship.”
He moves closer to me. I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. My body tightens as he invades my space and my back hits the wall. His palm flattens on the wood next to my head. “But you, Carly, you are something else. Something very special. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on ya.”
I tilt my head up as he looks down at me. A bold offering to this overwhelming man. An offering he immediately seized. His lips slanted over mine and I whimpered into his mouth as he kissed me like he had a fire burning inside him and I was the barn he needed to burn down.
God help me, I caught fire with just one kiss.
He pulled back as I panted for him.
Then he bent at the knees, keeping those whisky brown eyes on mine as he picked up his toolbox and rose.
“You have my Venmo?”
I nodded with my jaw on the floor.
The way he smiled at me, like a wolf. “And I have your phone number, Carly. Would it be okay for me to call ya?”
“Uh huh.”
He purred his approval slow and low. “Good girl.”
And that’s how I started my submissive relationship with my Dominant Blacksmith.
I think I just peed my pants a little.
Thank you for reading my story. I write niche equestrian erotica on Medium.
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