Mare's Tales: Chapter 35 free porn video

Mare's Tales: Chapter 35 ? By: Beverly Taff Hello Dear Readers. I apologise if I seem to have been away from the story board for an inordinately long time. I have been writing another story in another genre on the Nifty Gay Caf? Site. This story is called Two by Two and it addresses other issues that are not to the taste of many readers on the Fictionmania site. 'Two by Two' runs to 15 chapters in the Bestiality section of the Nifty Gay Caf? site. It is a 'Carry on' from the 'Dog Day Afternoon' series and takes the theme further down the track of transformation and punishment. However, because of the lack of responses from the Dog Day Afternoon series, I decided not to post Two by Two on the Fictionmania site. The 'Two by Two story was basically an exploration of another avenue of sexuality that obviously does not appeal to the bulk of Fictionmania readers, (Including to some degree, myself.). 'Two by Two' is now temporarily in abeyance whilst I address another issue. Several readers have expressed their dissatisfaction with the ending to 'Mare's Tales'. It seems that a section of readers feel that Mare's Tales ended on a somewhat 'Politically Incorrect note'. These readers seem to be primarily American and they have mainly expressed their dissatisfaction with the inequality between 'Femi's and Real Girls'. I suppose it has something to do with the American Psyche that likes to see equality for all, (which I basically agree with,) and another aspect to that American Psyche which seems to prefer nice tidy, happy, 'Fairy Story' endings. This is something that I cannot always accede to. Perhaps we Europeans have become a little more cynical after having been longer in the business of history. We have become more reconciled to untidy and unfair endings where inequality and illegality have achieved a success that has later festered to spawn further conflicts. As American's come to terms with their recent acquisition of 'Superpower Status, they will perhaps begin to accept that most conflicts end in untidy and often unfair conclusions. I had thought that we Europeans seemed to be getting it together until recently; but then, who would have thought that we would see genocide in the Balkans in the very last decade of the twentieth century. Recent events Iraq will have shown American's that even the most idealistic motives don't always result in the hoped for result. America, as a nation is simply having to recognise the same lessons that the Romans, the Egyptians, the Persians, the Greeks, The Turks, the Russians the Chinese the French, the British and many, many others all had to learn in the amassing of their empires. The lesson is that there are very rarely any happy endings. Wars do not end wars only peace ends wars. However, I will try to please all of the people all of the time, (Sorry Abe!), and re-write a politically correct, happy ending to Mare's Tales. I don't think I'll succeed, (In fact I'm pretty certain I won't succeed,) but here goes nothing. (Oh heck! I think I'm going to cop it with this one!) All names and characters are purely fictitious and bear no intended connections to anybody or anything. Mare's Tales: Chapter 35. Character list. (To help my 'old farty' memory. It's been years since I wrote a chapter for Mare's Tales.) 1 Firstly there are Veronica, Jacqueline, Jennifer, and Cynthia. (Beverly's Centaur friends.) 2 Margaret. (Beverly's old doctor from her schooldays.) 3 Bernadette, Jeanette & Susan (Beverly's older children.) 4 Nicholette, Christine & Pauline. (Beverly's younger children.) 5 Jemma. (Jacqueline's first natural born genetically engineered centaur foal.) 6 Jemima. (A new character who is Jemma's own foal and my granddaughter.) The problems first emerged when I was quietly relaxing on my veranda overlooking the ocean. The setting sun had cast its last weak rays of warmth before settling into its oceanic bed and the cool chill of the evening breeze was beginning to nibble at my bikini bare legs. I had just taken a final dip in the pool and my bikini was still wet so as the chill breeze tickled my body my nipples had started to harden with the chill. Idly, I picked up my towel and book then picked my way barefoot across the marble tiles of the kitchen to make myself a salad as an evening meal. It was early Saturday evening and the other parts of the huge house were busy, as the children and grandchildren got ready for their various weekend activities. The west facing part of the house however, had come to be recognised as the 'old farty's' domain and only us 'older girls ' tended to gather there during the evenings. With our children out entertaining and our grandchildren out clubbing, it was usually quiet on a Saturday evening. I was surprised to suddenly hear the delicate 'clip clop' of Jemima's foal like hooves as she entered the kitchen of my private quarters. At nine, she was already shoulder high to me and considered me to be her granddad even though on the outside, I appeared to be all woman. "Hello darling what brings you here. Haven't you got a playmate or something for the weekend?" Jemima smiled then shrugged off my observation. She picked at a slice of apple and spoke as she munched. "Have you seen the news grandpa?" she asked. "No. It's Saturday. I just laze around on Saturdays." "There are demonstrations outside the city hall." "What about?" "Don't know'. It's summat about equality." I thought no more about it as I cut up more fruit and vegetables then dug some cheese out of the freezer. "Can I share that with you?" asked Jemima. She was a growing centaur filly and I knew from long experience, just how much a centaur could pack away. Jemima was not fat, centaurs were far too active ever to get fat, in fact except for the delicately blossoming breasts just beginning to bud under her crop top, there wasn't a spare ounce of fat to be see anywhere. You could have played 'Star Spangled Banner' on both sets of Jemima's ribs. "Be my guest," I replied generously. "You'd better dig a lot more stuff out of the fridge. You know what your appetite's like." As a growing centaur filly, Jemima ate about six times as much as me so she dug a huge portion from the fridge. In this she included about a dozen slices of assorted cold meats that I only occasionally ate. In fact she almost cleaned me out so I left a note for the Sunday maid to restock when she next came on. I helped Jemima prepare her salad and we settled down to eat. Idly I flipped the television on to see pictures of people waving banners outside our local government offices. "Is this it?" I asked Jemima. "Yeah. Some of the femmies are rebelling." "What about?" I asked, slightly ashamed that I had become somewhat reclusive now that my material needs were sorted. "Oh all sorts. Equal pay, better cr?che facilities at work, separate driving lanes to facilitate their lesser driving skills; you name it." "I thought we'd sorted all that." "Yeah but it's population pressures isn't it?" "How can there be 'population pressures' darling?" I demanded. "There was a huge drop in population after the comet and it still hasn't recovered." "Well perhaps I used the wrong choice of words," replied Jemima. "Go on," I pressed curiously. "Well there're all sorts really. It's like there's as many reasons as there are angry femmies." 'Hell!' I reflected. 'It seemed that some people were never happy.' "And?" I pressed. "Well, it's true isn't it? I mean. Even I feel it." "Feel what!" I was getting confused now. I realised that Jemima was young and not yet sure of her convictions but she seemed loath to actually come out and say it. "Well. You see it all the time. Femmies have to take extra care. Girls treat them like idiots and won't make allowances at junctions and stuff. Femmies have trouble driving and the RG's treat them like pratts. It's getting like the old days except it's the RG's who think they've got the whip hand. They're already beginning to behave just like the old masculine men did. You've been out there, surely you've noticed it." I had to confess, I hadn't. For several years now, I had been almost a recluse and only going out to serve my own ends. I rarely shopped or got involved with the nuts and bolts of life. The maids tended to nearly all my needs except cloths shopping and that did not take me much into the public domain. I simply whizzed to my favourite shops in my chauffeured limousine then came home and attended the occasional function. We five, that is, Jacqueline, Jennifer, Veronica, Cynthia and myself more or less let our children run the business although we still each held one fifth of the shares. We rarely visited the office; indeed, I had not been there for nearly five years. I had to admit to Jemima that I hadn't really noticed any unwelcome developments in society. Jemima explained, "The trouble is the femmies aren't organised properly, different femmies want different things but worse still, they seem to want them at different times in their lives. Once they've passed certain stages they want different things." "Is this general?" I wondered aloud. "Well it's difficult to say. There's different pressure groups and even some 'stupids' but everybody ignores those." "Stupids? What d'you mean?" "Oh mainly amongst the RG's; segregationalists, free lifers, humanists. All bloody sorts. Some even object to us centaurs but they're a tiny minority. Anyway, they'd soon get sorted if they tried anything. Us centaurs can give RG's a good kicking if it comes to it." I was shocked. Here was my own granddaughter declaring her sense of oppression. "D'you feel it when you're out on the street?" "Not often. Not when I'm amongst my friends and stuff. But on the public transport it has become a problem in the cities. If it's crowded then some RG's give out vibes about how much room we're taking up. The femmies don't mind. They seem to like tactile contact and are quite prepared to squeeze up. Anyway, if the trams or trains or busses are crowded, they often just plonk the children on our backs. It's the nicest way to start chatting. And the kids are safer up there out of the way of feet and hooves. Everybody except the RG's prefer it that way. The RG's are getting like the old masculine men. They just clam up and stare into oblivion when the transport is crowded. And their sex drives are a little too hot for comfort. Even I've been groped by RG grown ups and I'm still only a foal. Look at me! My pony tits are OK and anyway, RG's don't usually go for those, but mum's only just taken me for my first girly bra. You can hardly call me a sex siren can you!" Centaurs tended to develop slightly earlier than humans but the difference was only a couple of years. Jemima still had the gawky angled stringy shape of a foal. The kid was right, she was certainly no sex bomb; yet! Jemima continued, "It's about time you took a tram ride. I've seen whole tram loads of femmies and centaurs chattering happily away then the whole car falls silent when an RG gets on. It's weird grandpa." "What about centaur stallions?" "Huh! They're OK. Nobody but nobody messes with those. It's nice though, because the femmies almost look upon them like policemen. If a stallion steps onto a tram the atmosphere relaxes immediately but the RG's don't like it. You can cut the tension with a knife. The stallions are great with the children though. Always letting them sit on their backs. Sometimes even the femmies clamber on board if it's really crowded. It actually relieves the crowding when the rush hour is on." "So what's the problem then?" "The RG's seem to want it all. They expect higher pay and they expect the best jobs. I know that most femmies just want to rear the children but it's before they get married and go into milk that their problems are worst. Young single femmies have a hell of a life and little prospect of advancement. If the rare occasional femmie does want to pursue a career, she'll get nowhere! There's a sort of sublimal segregation developing. I've heard femmies talking about it everywhere. There's RG only clubs opening up everywhere. I've even heard snide remarks made about centaurs and I feel distinctly uncomfortable sometimes. Remember, us centaurs are still outnumbered by about five to one." "But the RG's can't do without femmies!" I objected. "They need them absolutely to have children. There're all those protective mechanisms we built in to make sure they could not be physically abused." "It's not the physical abuse. The RG's know they can't avoid the honey trap. Yes that's what they call it. Now they believe that they are being held in thrall to the wiles of the femmies and being exploited by having to work to support a femmie." I snorted angrily as I recalled the old days. "Huh. They don't know what exploitation is. Just ask the old women about how they were treated by the old masculine men. There are still some of them left out there even if the comet did sterilize them and advance their aging processes. The world's a better place without them." "Well you older ones may know that but memories can be short. Lot's of younger and even middle aged RG's don't much remember the old times. All they see is the new times. RG's resent femmies and centaurs I can assure you of that. I get it every day when I go to school on the tram. There're six other centaurs in our class and they all say the same. The boys all know it as well. They're terrified about puberty. They have to be really nice to the real girls because they know in a few years they'll go femmie and they'll be obliged to do as they're told." I shook my head at what I was hearing from my youngest granddaughter. So I resolved to check with my children that following Monday. I decided I would take the ordinary public transport route to our main offices instead of whizzing down in the isolated luxury of my limo. That way I might get a better feel of what Jemima was telling me. We made arrangements to travel together to Jemima's school then I would journey on to the office. It would be a shock to ordinary staff for I had been such a reclusive individual for so long, it was possible that many of the newer staff would not recognise me. Jemima grinned as she savoured the idea and we agreed not to tell a soul. She giggled with delight at idea of her grandpa actually traveling on a tram. I scolded her mildly and explained that I had not always been super-rich. Nor indeed had my childhood been a particularly happy one. She badgered me to tell her about all the old stuff so we chatted as we shared the washing up. It was the weekend and the regular daily maids had the weekend off but more importantly it was a chance for us to share a moment across the generational gap. After we put the dishes away, we settled on one of the huge centaur settees and I cuddled my granddaughter as we chatted further. "What about your cousin, James. He'll be going femmie soon," I asked. "You'd best ask him," replied Jemima as she snuggled up to me. "He travels on the same tram to school and he hate's RG's. The treat him like dirt because they know he'll soon go 'down' as they call it. I often have to look out for him in school because the real girls keep tally. When a boy hits his femmarche they call it payback time if he's made any mistakes. As he grows softer and more submissive he soon becomes defenceless against their superior strength. It's the RG's who keep the tally, and the RG's who decide what the 'mistakes' were. There's no escape for the boys. I feel sorry for them. Ask James yourself. Oh, and they also pick on him because a he's a rich kid. They all seem to have a jealous streak. It seems to be an RG thing." My heart sank, for I thought that by removing the violence and physical power of men I would create a fairer society. It seemed however that the same equations would always apply if it remained a matter of physical strength. This depressed me. I squeezed Jemima tight and we fell silent as an excellent centaur comedienne came on and poked fun at the RG's. Her material was hysterically funny but it illuminated a darker vein that seemed to have evolved in the new society. It seemed that little Jemima had an old head on young shoulders. Eventually, she fell asleep in my arms. It was utterly impossible for me, to carry a centaur foal to bed so I gently laid her out on the settee and made her comfortable as I snuggled a blanket around her and plumped some cushions under her head. As she lay there as innocent as the child she was, I couldn't help stroking her beautiful golden crown of hair that flowed all the way down to her waist. Finally I retreated into the peace of the library and dug out some of my old notes about our researches. I must have fallen asleep at some time during the night because I woke still sitting in the chair with the notes fallen to the floor. I felt as stiff as a board as the cold light of the Sunday dawn declared that I had once more been abusing my ageing bones. Reluctantly I crept into the television lounge to find that somebody had carried Jemima up to bed without disturbing me in my library chair. The house was silent around me as everybody slept in through the early Sunday morning. This was a time that I liked. As age overtook me, I didn't sleep well and I often took an early morning stroll around our extensive private gardens. This was my own quality time for reflection and I was deep in thought as I contemplated Jemima's words. As I strolled towards the pool, heard the soft clink of a coffee pot being filled and returned to the house to find Nicholette making herself some coffee. "Hello mummy. D'you want some?" I nodded and took the proffered cup as we settled beside the breakfast bar. I did not mention my chat with Jemima and decided that a surprise visit to the head office might tell me more about society's treatment of femmies and centaurs. More importantly, the journey on the public tram would. Traveling incognito, my eyes and ears could tell me more than a thousand carefully scripted and sterilized reports. I was old, not stupid and I knew if there were issues, it was always best to go to the well. Monday came but I appeared to follow my old routine and remain up in my room. Instead however, I explained to my femmie maid that I was 'Going for a walk in the garden'. I slipped out through the back gates and walked several blocks back up the school route that the tram took. Suitably 'disguised' I boarded telephoned Jemima and synchronised which tram we should board at different stops. Once aboard the tram, I settled amidst the other passengers to watch and learn. Two stops later, just outside our house, James and Jemima boarded. Sure enough, Jemima's words carried a harsh ring of truth. Firstly, James was bullied out of his seat by an RG of similar age and made to stand at the back of the tram. It was only then that I noticed that the boys were all standing at the back just like the old days in the colour bar of the old American south. I kept my counsel however and just continued watching. Next it was Jemima's turn. A pair of adult RG's boarded the tram a few stops later and casually poked Jemima right in her pony pussy as they motioned with their heads for her to move along the gangway to the back. Jemima squealed her protest but nobody came to her assistance. There were no other centaurs on the tram and the boys and adult femmies simply lowered their eyes nervously then stared pointedly out of the window. It was obvious that these two RG's were well known on the tram. After Jemima had lashed out with her hooves she was unable to turn in the narrow gangway to face her adversaries. One of them cursed and dug a short stick out of her bag and started swiping Jemima across the rump. Jemima tried manfully to fight back but hampered in the gangway she couldn't turn to face them. They continued swiping her rump as all the younger RG's looked on and smirked. Eventually I felt forced to intervene. "Will you two stop it?" I asked quietly. For a moment, they gaped with stunned expressions on their faces then they started a tirade of verbal abuse at me. "What are you some sort of horsy lover! Mind your own business you old bitch!" "This is my business," I countered. "You have no right to hit a young person!" "She's no person you stupid old hag! She's a horse!" By this time the whole bus had fallen silent as the passengers turned as one to stare. Some secretly wanted to support me but they were in the minority. The majority were RG's schoolgirls and obviously sympathetic to the adult RG's. I looked about me and decided to keep my counsel. I was obviously in the minority and I deemed it my job to be a witness. I would be no good to anybody if I ended up dead and these two were obviously a tough pair. I fell silent but at least my objections had stopped the abuse. Eventually the tram arrived at the school. All the children got off at the school stop and only adult passengers traveled on into the city. The tension in the tram was electric. All the femmies were obviously sympathetic to me but none had the will or the wherewithal to support me. The RG's obviously felt they had the might and the right to abuse. More importantly it was obvious to me that a sort of reversed apartheid had been developing in society right under my nose. Angrily I retained my temper until I arrived a few blocks from our main office. There I disembarked and walked slowly towards the huge towering edifice. The building covered the whole block and had become the headquarters of the corporation that we original five school friends had started so many years ago. Veronica, Jacqueline, Cynthia, Jennifer and myself rarely visited these days except for special general meetings. Between us we held one hundred percent of the shares but our children ran the show. My first surprise was to be met at the door by a security check that would have bettered St Peter at the pearly gates. I had no definite identity and I had not pre-announced my visit so I was subjected to the normal procedures that any ordinary visitor could expect. I fully realised that our company held some vital information about genetic engineering but I would have thought that I would have been instantly recognised. Instead I was forced to wait in a queue where I only had to listen patiently to learn of many complaints and injustices that seemed to be the very currency of the new society. The first example was the separated queues that indicated a clear step towards segregation and differentiation between classes. The first and obviously preferred queue was that of the RG's who sat in confident expectation of early attention to their business. The second queue comprised the centaurs who stood quietly in a line like a cavalry picket waiting for their names to be called. I watched and had to confess that they were dealt with as promptly and efficiently as the RG queue but there was a distinct atmosphere of superiority amongst the RG's. The third queue comprised the femmies who had clear identity tags and letters of introduction or appointments and finally the last queue comprised a rag tag of misfits and nobodies who seemed to have no proper business. Needless to say that in my anonymous disguise I found myself in the fourth and last queue. It simply remained for me to sit quietly and watch the whole process. As the injustices compounded by the different treatments increased, I first felt anger then guilt as I realised that this was my very own company that was doing this in clear contradiction of what my ambitions and aspirations had been. Kipling's words rang in my ears as I recited the poem silently to my self. 'He that hath a gospel, whereby heaven is won,' 'Cameleer or Carpenter or Maya's dreaming son,' 'Many wounds shall hurt him, mingling blood with gall,' 'But his own disciples will wound him worst of all.' Patiently I sat tight and resolved to somehow address the issue. As noon silently ticked by I finally lost my patience. Quietly, I approached the reception area again and placed a secret calling card that was only known to the top members of management. Then with no more ado I slipped away. At the first shop I bought myself a new coat to alter my appearance then I boarded a tram and returned home. There I made four protected phone calls and summoned a meeting with my four friends. All that Monday afternoon and far into the night, we talked and called our children in to explain just what had gone wrong. Various explanations were given but I still could not console myself to the treatment I had seen meted out to perfectly ordinary people who should have had quite reasonable expectations of equal treatment. We resolved that it was an unforeseen outcome of a plan that should have recognised that wherever there were inequalities of type or nature then those inequalities would eventually start to manifest themselves in the very structure of the new society, just as they had in the old one. If there were different sexes, then there would always be a 'War of the Sexes'. We concluded that it was down to us to try and resolve it. "Once more unto the breach dear friends," I finished as the kitchen clock struck eleven. The following morning five earthquakes struck the Hart Corporation as five determined individuals started to clean up the mess. After cleaning out the cancer that had grown right under our noses we finally resolved a way to set the biological balance straight. Our consequent researches quickly restructured the DNA triggers that had formulated the new society. My own grandson James was one of the first to be a guinea pig and he tested the new vaccine. Our researches proved accurate and instead of reaching the femmimarche, he continued in the same mould as his sisters. Certainly, his crotch evolved the customary vagina and he accrued all the normal femmie primary organs but, instead of turning into a placid plump sedate little butterball, he retained his classic athleticism and maintained a compatible physicality with his RG Sisters. James became Jamie but he retained his place on the school hockey team where his contemporaries were stunned at his prowess. It was a dream to watch him streaming down the wing with the same ability and skills as his RG sisters and yet possessing the same curvy flowing lines as them. To look at, there was absolutely no difference between Jamie and her contemporaries. After running the prerequisite tests upon a second batch of volunteers, we established the safety of the new vaccine then we addressed the main difference between the new femmies and their RG sisters. The new femmies still had their dicks in addition to their cunts, but their RG sisters were still only singly sexual. We realised it was important that all bipedal humans must have both sets of organs to ensure absolute equality. Another year's research finally produced the required set of vaccines and society now had the choice to determine their physical genders when and how they wanted. Each child grew up as a sort of sexless female throughout her juvenile years. Then as their late teens approached, they had the choice to decide what physical attributes they could take with them into adulthood. Almost the whole of society chose to develop both sets of genitalia except for a rare few that chose just the one. However all external physical attributes remained the same. Every individual, irrespective of whatever sexes she chose, developed the same lithe, curvaceous athletic form. Of course, there were differences in sizes and shapes but these differences were not dictated by sexual dimorphism. Very quickly the culture and language changed to accommodate the new developments and eventually, all humans deemed themselves to be of one sex. That sex comprised a vagina that led to a fertile womb, a supremely sensitive clitoral bud that normally remained sheathed and embedded. In the right romantic and delicately gentle circumstances this bud could become erect and used to impregnate a sexually receptive partner. Any stress or anger however by either partner would immediately 'deflate' the erection either through stress within the 'erectee' or special pheromones emitted by an anxious or frightened receptee. With all bipedal parties now being of the same build and functions, human sex soon lost its predatory aspect. Tenderness and love became the only factors to induce the right responses. Sexual violence and rape became unheard of indeed rape became impossible. Fully functioning and exceedingly sensitive breasts were naturally to be found on all bipedal single sex humans and they eventually evolved a new name for the new species of human unisex people. The word Hunie evolved. It described the human unisex nature of the new beings and these beings were all to enjoy the same status and physical abilities. All could share the same sports games and all could share the same interests based upon their own personal tastes. Naturally, as sex became a supremely gentle and emotional function, the Hunies naturally became more affectionate and tolerant towards their centaur sisters. Society had at last found a peaceful solution to the eternal wars of the sexes. As the centaurs recognised the advantages of the new Hunie lifestyle, they quickly a similar set of vaccines. Soon, each new centaur could upon reaching maturity, choose which vaccine to decide on his or her anatomical design. Invariably, the vast majority of new centaurs chose to have a stallion's penis, a mare's vagina and of course, a hunie equivalent between their forelegs. Thus could the new centaurs and Hunies always consummate any relationships between themselves, should such feelings evolve. I felt at long last I could truly rest in peace. Authors note. I hoped you liked this story. I received a lot of feedback about sexual inequality and social chastisement and it's quite obvious to me that this is a big issue amongst such as ourselves. I very much doubt that I will be returning to Mare's Tales, unless some readers can suggest 'spin-off' themes or ideas that might be pertinent to other parts of the story. Love and Hugs to all, Beverly.