Another interesting story I was sent, but written by a person whose English wasn’t their first language. I think it needed publishing in the right place and hope it reads well

The 23 year old Norwegian Ingrid Steerstorme cheered along with the crowd as the horses crossed the two mile finishing line. Fenella had invited her new stable manager and Gofer, to watch her and Trencher race. While Trencher had not won, the thrill of the competition had Ingrid all charged up. She clapped and cheered as the winning jockey and his horse posed for pictures. Fenella and Trencher drew a crowd for coming in second, and for her family’s reputation of raising champion race horses. The winner of today’s race, Dragonara, was one of theirs sold to an oil magnate from the United Arab Emirates so his son could play at being manager.

“Ingrid” Fenella beckoned to her to come up and be in the photo. Ingrid trotted over as fast as she could in the confines of her outfit at her boss’s commands and stood beside Trencher and smiled for the cameras. She hoped her attire wouldn’t betray her status. Unlike the other ladies in their Gucci, Givenchy and Chanel dresses, she had found hers in an up market charity shop in Arundel. It was a mottled grey scoop neck pencil dress, which exposed two inches of snow white cleavage with a black beret and black birdcage veil. To try and add some added classiness she had a black leather belt round the midriff section.

“Michael!” A booming voice was heard over the din of the reporters. An Arab in full flowing gear in his forties or fifties strode forward and shook the winning jockey’s hand. “I’m glad to see my family’s money has a not gone to waste.”

“Samed Basm.” Fenella Hashwillow, lady of the manor at Ernley Estate and Stud, whispered in Ingrid’s ear. “Heir to the Basm conglomerate of petroleum products.”

“Thank you sir.” The jockey replied. “And it’s Marco.”

“Come, let’s celebrate.” Samed clapped a hand on the jockey’s shoulders and led him away without any indication he heard the correction.

“I have to clean my tack first.” Marco protested, gesturing to his horse.

“Your tack will still be here after.” Samed said, not taking no for an answer. “And I have people for cleaning. It is not something my championship rider should worry about.”

Samed waved at some workers, who immediately went and led the horse away. Fenella’s people led Trencher away so she could be free to keep up appearances in the clubhouse. Ingrid slipped away while the crowd followed the winner and the runner-up. Going around to the stables she watched the horse crews remove their saddles and give the horses a thourgh wash down, storing them in stalls before leaving for the clubhouse. Is free food and expensive booze enough to get you away from your duties? Ingrid thought and hoped, as she watched them leave. Ingrid approached the stables that held Trencher and Dragonara.

“Hello there.” Ingrid stroked Dragonara’s muzzle. “You’re the real winner here, aren’t you? Not that jockey Marco or that puffed up buffoon Basm.”

Ingrid quickly looked around, to check if there were any other grooms still busy, before entering Dragonara’s stall. “You are simply magnificent.” She said while stroking his flank and body. She stroked down against his sheath and felt the knob of his hard shaft inside it. Thinking about his hard cock, or any animal genitalia got her heart racing. She stroked her hand back up his body and hugged him around the neck. She nuzzled her face into his hair. It was still damp from his wash but she could sense the warmth of his body. He smelled faintly of sweat and musk. She ran her fingers through his mane and kissed his cheek. The horse turned slightly in her direction. Ingrid took the opportunity and kissed the horse on the big rubbery lips. Somehow he knew what she wanted and licked her lips with his big tongue.

Trencher stamped, pawed the ground and whinnied. Ingrid couldn’t help herself any longer. “Has he told you about me?” she asked Dragonara, slipping her dress and head piece off, hanging it on the stall door. Her pale blue French knickers came off next, which she placed carefully on the water trough, glancing at Trencher in the neighbouring stall. He was already dropping, sensing what would be next. She knew he could smell her arousal. Her manicured lightly ringed hand roamed his side and down his flank. She could feel the large, hard muscles that made him a champion racer. She felt his large floppy, leathery sheath again. She could already feel the girth of his cock through the thin membrane. She stooped underneath Dragonara and rubbed his sheath gently, getting more and more excited as she watched the head of his cock appear.

“Magnificent indeed.” she murmured, eyeing his endowment. It dropped out semi-hard, curving, quivering toward the floor. Ingrid lightly licked the horse’s large, veined member. She started at the tip, where she could smell his muskiness the most, and went all the way, past the folds of his sheath, where her cheek nudged his massive, globular black balls. Her hand went up and round his rear, she had far to reach, being five feet tall, lightly caressing the bulb of his spotlessly clean arse hole. Then she went back to the tip and licked around his hole while lightly feeling the bulb of his arse hole, then reverted to gently jacked Dragonara off. Ingrid felt the horse getting harder in her hands. His cock head started swelling and flaring out, and his precum was flooding her mouth. She wanted so badly to suck him off and be drenched in his cum, but she knew time was short and it was risky.

She closed the lower portion of the stall gate, bent over, and braced her hands against it. The horse reared up and hooked his fore legs on the door, his weight shaking the entire thing.