Overlord Mare Novels & Stories

she began. "Not too long ago, a mama race horse, often called a mare, gave birth to three wonderful kids. Two males, called colts, and a female, called a filly. Their life was definitely going to be one of bliss and prosperity since they were the children of a talented and world-renowned race horse. They were supposed to have their whole life ahead of them. But one day, mama race horse made a big mistake while jumping over one of the steeples during an important race. She fell down and all her body weight came crashing down on her leg, breaking a number of bones. She was never going to be able to walk again, talk less of being able to race anymore. Just like that, one of the only things she

Roxanne changed quickly, her eyes shining with excitement. "You look beautiful in anything, my fair princess," Jaxon complimented her as she stepped out. He took her to the stable, where twenty horses of different breeds awaited. There was Sugarplum, a beautiful chestnut mare with a white blaze on her forehead, Noir, a sleek black stallion with a star-shaped marking on his nose, a proud Arabian named Zephyr, a gentle giant of a Shire horse named Thunder, and several others, each with their unique markings and personalities.

Her expression was unreadable, though the flicker of concern in her eyes betrayed what her lips did not. “You believe he is possessed.” Marek nodded once, sharply. “Yes. And whatever rides him now… if we don’t end it, Ashwood will bleed dry before the next moon.” Eloria paced toward the shelves lining her chamber, her fingers trailing across the spines of ancient tomes. Her lips murmured fragments to herself, half-remembered lines from spells and histories written long before Marek was born. Finally, she stilled, her hand pressing against one shelf as though the weight of memory bore down on her.

“I’m coming.” “Good.” He finally met her eyes. The look he gave her was pure warning. “Pick a horse. A quiet one.” She chose the chestnut mare, a pretty, calm, but with a spark in her eye that matched Isabella’s mood. Marcus watched her saddle up, every movement scrutinized. When she swung into the seat, the seam of her jodhpurs pressed directly against her already swollen clit. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning.

Horses are something from movies and racing tracks. That's going to change. Charlotte sits astride a mare; very pretty, with a black mane, tail and lower legs. The rest of her... "I didn't know horses come in pink." James, arms resting on the timber rail of the fence, gives me a side-look. "The colouring pattern is called 'bay roan'. I wouldn't let any of the locals hear you describe her as 'pink' if I were you." I don't care. I watch my wife riding her namesake.

Lian I was proving to be a somewhat decent equestrian with the fact that I somehow managed to successfully stay on Senora's back in battle, despite not having a saddle to help keep me in place. I had to laugh to myself when Senora made the mistake of biting the throat out of some disgusting creature from the underworld and she couldn't get the rotten burnt taste out of her mouth. After that mishap, she decided to stick with using her hooves to kill.

"Moving back to the City, so they told me." Jenny walks across, then around the pen, eyeing the mare from all sides. She is a lovely bay roan, with mane, tail and lower legs all in a glossy black and her face a shade of copper heading for pink. "She has a pretty face," says Jenny. "So she does," says Mrs Collier. "Take her round then, Riley." The Irishman gives a nod to the stable lad who clips on the lead-rein, takes her to the ring and with a click of the tongue, first trots the mare, then paces her.

she whispered, biting his lower earlobe, feeling the thrill of control surge through her. Trevor’s orders came swift and absolute. “Get Maria. Prepare the pack. Two hours. We celebrate together.” Amber’s heart, still racing with a cocktail of triumph and fear, beat in her chest like a drum of war. She turned away, back to the safety of her chambers—and then she saw it. A faint glow on her necklace, a signal she could not ignore. Dakota. The Warlock. The air thickened with dread as Amber raced to her car, Maria none the wiser to the storm that awaited. The Warlock’s cabin rose from the shadows like a predator waiting in the dark. When he appeared, graceful, terrifying, predatory, her stomach

And for all his good will, both mares suffered for it. Kilvic waved a frantic hand as the carriage arrived. He knew the moment the mares noticed him. Like most of their demon kind which were only used by the military forces in each kingdom, their attention was shown in the direction of their ears. It was a while before Tivltet, who sat at the front of his carriage with reins in hand, took notice of him. Kilvic made eye contact with the mares who seemed to regard him as if contemplating how much of a threat he would be before the peddler pulled them to a stop.

The stables were waiting. Oreon didn't bother to take a guard or retinue. He had saddled two horses himself—his massive black stallion, Midnight, and a gentle, dapple-grey mare named Mist for Eltonia. He lifted her onto Mist’s saddle, checking her stirrups with obsessive care. "Does it hurt?" he asked, looking at her shoulder. "If the reins pull too much, tell me. We stop." "It’s fine, Oreon," she promised, gripping the leather reins. She felt excited. She hadn't ridden in years, not since she was a child of the nobility, before she became a servant. "It feels... good."