“…your turn.” You can tell she has mixed feelings about leaving a job half finished, but her excitement gets the better of her. She comes crashing into your outstretched arms and you fight to get in front of her pointed muzzle. Her body snuggles against yours before she allows you to land the kiss. Any hint of dinner had long since been washed away by copious salivation; only the natural flavor of your mare and the smell of her spit soaked muzzle remained.