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"Ale! Ale! Ale! Ale!"

Pewter mugs thumped heavily against the table, approximately matching the rhythm of the chant. Some landed firmly, making the makeshift trestle shudder; others hit it at more of an angle, simultaneously spilling liquid onto the surface, anyone nearby, and the floor -- the ratios dependent on how much ale the wielder had already consumed.

Eight large horses occupied the table, and a perfunctory glance in their direction -- perhaps attracted by their incessant, tuneless chanting -- might make one think the table between them was smaller than the others in the tavern. In fact, they were enormous; if not for it being the final evening of the annual harvest celebrations, then one could equally have guessed them to be labourers from their tanned arms, shoulders like rain-smoothed hillocks, and dust-covered manes.

The chanting and thumping, loud as it was, barely carried ten feet from the horses tonight. The tavern was full -- overfull, in truth. Outside, a hasty erection of cloth and beams accommodated those who wished to take part in the revelries but had arrived too late to find space indoors. Through the open door, various shadowed lascivities could be seen by the light of torches that struggled manfully to remain on fire in the face of rain that showed no hope of lifting soon. Those indoors would do to consider themselves fortunate to be out of the weather -- if they were yet sober enough to care. Few enough, at this late hour.

The horses, for certain, had not been sober since there was still meat on the roast. Their huge bodies had provided some buffer against the effects of the strong winter ale, but with no need to pay barkeeps on this celebration night, and the next day a holiday, they had set to drinking with a single-minded focus which had obliterated that early advantage. About them sat other tables of revellers, none as drunk as they, but well on the way: a group of stoats from the mills up near the forest, a pair of fine-featured foxes -- husband and wife -- who ran the printing press in the Mayor's office, and a group of young cervines who were eyeing some does on the other side of the room and egging one another on -- with sniggers and whispered words -- to go and speak to them.

Between the patrons danced the servers. Only the most skilled were working tonight, and for good reason. They wove a sort of magic, keeping platters of drink and victuals miraculously aloft and unspilled even as their legs dodged snarling dogs chewing on bones, drink-addled celebrants who had slumped from their seats, and disembodied arms reaching through the chaos of bodies to pull mugs from their trays. Lithe males, all of them: the better to fit between the tightly packed patrons, and to avoid ending up in the lap of an overly lusty reveller. That system only worked so well, though: for some, a nubile serving boy is precisely what they wished to fill their lap -- and be filled.

Amidst it all -- his colourful stripes washed out in the ruddy firelight, and wreathed in smoke - sat the tiger. He'd been there since before the celebrations even began. A traveller, not a resident; only passing through, and unaware that the day was a holiday in this village at all. He would have preferred a quieter night, but he could make do. As the tavern filled up, and the debaucheries mounted, he'd kept his ale mug full, and watched the celebration play out with patience and focus. His eyes, golden glowing under darkened brows, flicked about, taking in the pieces that appealed to him.

The raucous table of rowdy horses got more than a few looks, and not simply for the racket they made: the big cat's gaze lingered on their powerful bodies, their dusky fur, and the obvious bulges between their legs. There was a lot to like there... but more to dislike. Drunken horses did not know their place. They were unruly, and would not submit when commanded. They could be broken, yes, but in such a large group, it would prove difficult. They would be emboldened by their friends. They would resist. And the cat was lazy tonight.

Pah! Equines.

He looked away, seeking out another that had earned more than a casual glance that evening. The pale-furred deer was on the other end of the room, unloading trenchers of food in front of a group of voles. The little creatures sniffed at the meals curiously as their matriarch chatted casually to the stag. He spoke back, unheard; a gentle smile on his face broke readily into a grin whenever a person said something that amused him. The tiger liked that. He was a typical cervine: easy to please, and happy to serve. Exactly the sort of person the feline was interested in right now.

He gave a clear nod at the deer the moment the cervine was looking in his direction again, and purred when he saw the cervine's face flush. It was much easier when the attraction was mutual from the start. He extended his feet below the table as he waited for the attractive servant to make his way towards him, flexing his claws leisurely and letting his mind imagine the things he could do to that slim, handsome body. Antlers always offered fun options. Perhaps he'd run rope around them and down the stag's back, restraining his hands and leaving his mouth free to entertain the big cat's barbed, tapered member...

The young buck appeared next to him, ears flicking about and smile more than a little naughty. He had a large tankard of ale in his hands, fresh from the cold room; condensation ran down the sides.

"More ale, sir?" His accent was strong; from the coastal cities. Rolled 'r's, like the sailors there. The cat inclined his head in agreement, and the stag began to pour -- slowly. Dragging it out. His hazel eyes flickered to the cat's golden ones more than once, and his soft smile rose into a distinct smirk as they exchanged knowing looks. Ahhhh, yes... this one would be delicious.

The feline slid a paw across the table and took his mug, pulling it towards him even as the stag kept pouring. The young male said nothing, following the mug dutifully, leaning further and further over the table to keep pace with it. The cat purred again, eyeing the arch of his body. Such fine features. One like this was too beautiful to be consigned to rough village life all his days. He could visit the great cities and have other males fighting one another to the death for the right to spend a night with him. The feline wondered if the young buck even knew of such opportunities.

"When did you work at sea, young master?" He didn't know the stag's name yet, and did not entirely care to. There was a certain thrill to strange encounters had in passing. "And you may call me Druff." For now. The 'sir' would return later, most definitely.

The pouring paused momentarily when the tiger spoke, and Druff knew why. Males like this stag knew the sound of dominance when they heard it. They would sense a thrill running through them, sense the way their muscles tensed and flex unexpectedly, like a weathercock turning to face a stiff breeze. It wasn't something they could control. It was natural. The dance of predator and prey, between the sheets.

"For three years, sir," the soft buck replied. "Until only recently." Druff noticed that he chose not to use the familiar name, like a natural servant. The pour resumed, only the barest trickle, dragging out the interaction as long as possible. "I was aboard the Lavent Spire, under Captain Olos. We toured the Fire Islands for spices and curios."

What luck; the tiger knew of Olos. The big grey wolf was a brash and loud master who ran a tight ship -- and offered up a tight ass to the aggressive tiger whenever he was in port. The feline had never been out at sea with him, so he could not say whether he was louder on the fo'c'sle or in bed. He suspected bed.

"And what were your tasks on deck?" he asked. One claw stroked up and down the rough metal of the mug.

"I was the lookout, sir."

That made sense. Small and lithe, with claw-grabs on his hooves to grip the rigging. But Druff knew Olos well enough to know that had been a secondary consideration when he chose the young stag for his crew. The feline leaned forward in his chair, lifting the finger up from the mug to stroke it along the buck's arm, making the smaller male tremble.

"Just a lookout?" he purred. "Even during those interminable months of travel when there is nothing and nobody to see, no matter how high you climb?"

The deer didn't answer. The dribble of ale had quivered when the tiger's finger stroked him, and the deer's eyes were blinking faster now, his black nostrils spread wide, smelling the cat. He must surely be able to smell the growing wetness in Druff's breeches at this distance.

"I think you had another job," Druff breathed. He extended one claw and circled the deer's elbow. "I think you worked under Olos in more ways than one." He raised one eyebrow, but the stag wasn't in a state to answer. "Keeping that horny mutt's cabin cleaned. Rubbing the wood down with lemons to fill it with the scent he liked. Laying his clothes out for him in the morning. Laying yourself out for him at night."

The deer gasped in obvious delight at the crudity, and the ale stopped flowing, his hands shaking too much to keep a hold of the earthenware jug. He put it on the table and looked at the tiger, fingers clasped over his belly, not moving. Druff gave him a predatory grin.

"How did his knot feel, young master? He's got a big one, doesn't he?" The tiger growled pleasantly at the memory. "It must have near split your sweet body in two. Although, I'm sure that after the first few weeks, you barely felt it. Probably started begging him to push it deeper every night."

The stag gulped, his small Adam's apple bobbing up and down. The cat blinked at him lazily, looking pointedly down at himself and lifting his eyes to make sure the deer was following his gaze. "You can get used to a knot, little thing," he purred, "but you'll never get used to barbs. They'll scrape their way deep inside you, every time, never letting you forget who's the predator... and who's the prey."

The deer was looking flushed, and one hand played awkwardly with the front of his cotton shirt. He spoke, finally. "I...I'venever been with a cat, sir". He did not sound at all displeased with the prospect.

Druff purred even louder. "My sweet summer stag," he said with a feral grin. "I have so many things to show you..."

A loud crash off to the side interrupted him, and all heads -- except those insensate from drink -- turned to look. At the table of horses, one stallion had tried to stand and only partially succeeded, sending his chair hurtling backwards into the wall as he staggered to the side, one foot flying out in a kick. The impact broke one of the chair's legs, and the brutish stallion stared at it in confusion for a moment. He had odd colouring: dark hair, and a darker mane, with stripes across his upper body that spoke of some cross-breeding in his ancestry. The tiger had seen that colouring before, when soot horses bred with their black-and-white cousins from the southern regions.

Standing, he looked like a mountain: a muscle-bound barrel of a stallion, intoxicated beyond sense.

"It was a bad chair!" he yelled abruptly in the too-loud manner of a drunk trying to seem sober. He frowned at the shattered chair again, then snorted, dismissing it with a vague hand. He moved towards the tavern door, then swayed, leaning against the wall for support. "I need to piss!" he declared to nobody in particular. The tavern door -- only six or seven yards away -- must have looked impossible to reach, because he grunted and put his hand to his breeches instead, pulling the leather ties loose with clumsy fingers. There was a noticeable lull in conversation when the cloth parted and his cock dropped out, thick and flaccid and equine, and the tiger rolled his eyes. The horse took himself in hand, nickering, aimed it vaguely at the wall, and began to urinate.

The rank, sharp odour of stallion piss cut through every other scent in the room. The tiger's nose wrinkled, and he gave a low, menacing growl. Fucking stallions. The big, uncultured ungulates had no sense of decorum. If he had the time, he'd re-educate every single one he met. He looked over at the stag, meaning to share a pithy witticism of the horse's vulgar behaviour, but he had lost the deer's attention. The servant's eyes were fixed on the horse, and his nostrils flared even wider than they had with the tiger, pulling in the stallion's scent with deep breaths. One hand was still gripping and releasing the material of his shirt, while the other unconsciously slid down and behind him, brushing at his pert white tail. He didn't even appear to realise that the big cat was still there.

The feline felt anger mounting, and his fur bristled. How dare that dumbfuck of a horse bring his irreverent behaviour in here! He had half a mind to get up and throw him out himself. Druff turned back to give the stallion a withering look -- only to find him already looking in his direction. But not at him; at the stag.

And the stag stared back.

The stallion was done pissing, but he'd not done himself up, so when he started taking uncertain steps towards the deer, his long cock bounced off his thighs on each step. It drew the eye and locked it there. The one thing horses had that nobody else could emulate. The thing that always seemed to excuse them their common, uncouth actions. It rankled the big cat.

The stallion finally reached the stag, having only tripped over one chair on the way. His pupils were huge, and the tiger could smell the alcohol on his breath from across the table. When he lifted a massive hand to grip the stag's antlers, the cat had had enough.

"I think your friends are missing you, horse," he said sharply. "Don't let us keep you. Why, I believe there's some warm ale still pooling on your table? You could lick it up."

The horse frowned at the words, for a moment seemingly not knowing where they were coming from. He looked about blearily before noticing the tiger, then smiled slackly.

"'s fine." His hand dropped from the stag's antlers to his muzzle, and then again to the top of his shirt. Fingers tugged against it, trying to remove it. He was focusing on it with every wisp of concentration he still had, but buttons were beyond him. With a growl, he pushed at the stag, and the smaller male staggered back a few feet. The tiger surged to his feet.

"Unhand him, horse!" The claws on both paws were out and digging into the soft wood of the table. "I must ask you to move on. My companion and I--"

The horse didn't even look at him. "Take 't off," he said, leering at the deer. The young male was rubbing a hand against his chest, where the horse had pushed at him, but he didn't seem in pain. He took a few steps closer, the top of his head coming to the horse's neck, and only his antlers making them of a height. His nose dipped close to the horse's chest, taking a deep breath, his muzzle sliding gradually lower. Towards the crotch. A shiver ran through him as he smelled something there, and he looked up at the stallion with an intensity that matched the horse's own.

"I... can't do that, sir." He tucked one finger into his shirt and dipped his head, shining eyes looking up coyly from under long lashes. "I can't undress here in front of everyone." He bit one lip, and his free hand slid around to rub his rear again. "You can't make me..."

The tiger snarled when he heard the gasp of pleasure the deer made as the stallion's thick hand gripped the cervine roughly on the upper arm. This was beyond the pale. How dare he! Such arrogance. The deer... the deer was his!

But when he stepped out from around the table, tail swishing and teeth bared, the stallion swung his head and regarded him with a blank expression. "Kitty?"

Druff hissed at the presumed familiarity of that term. "Let him go," he said through clenched teeth. The horse looked at him, then back at the stag.

"No venison for dinner, kitty," the stallion said, then laughed at his joke. "Look. Deer wants horse." He took his ale-fattened cock in the other hand, hefting it at the deer who stared at it with obvious lust. He had not given the big cat so much as a glance since the stallion had joined them. "Wanna fuck you," the stallion told the buck, and the stag's long moan was answer enough. The equine looked back at Druff.

"G'way, kitty."

The tiger shook with fury, moments away from slashing a clawed paw across the insolent equine's face. His tail flicked from side to side like a threshing scythe. But other patrons were staring. Two males expressing interest was nothing noteworthy, but a potential fight with a third was promising entertainment. Druff could easily get his revenge, if he so chose: the horse was bigger than him, but inebriated. And he had claws. But... that would simply be lowering himself to the same level as this horny drunkard. A tavern brawl? His lip rose in a sneer. He was better than that. He'd prove it.

Druff forced his rage back down, balling his paws into fists and stalking off to a more distant table. He thumped down into an open chair, startling the elderly badger already seated there, and glowered at the big equine.

The laissez-faire stallion continued to be oblivious to most everything about him. He pulled on the stag's arm. "Take it off," he rumbled, insistently. His other hand was pawing at the smaller male, feeling his chest, his crotch, his antlers. "Lemme see."

The stag quivered, doing nothing to prevent the stallion's groping exploration. "If...if I must, sir," he finally said. His slim fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them deftly, one by one. The horse nickered as smooth white fur was revealed, covering a small, firm form. The hanging equine cock swelled further, but did not entirely harden. The tiger was savagely pleased to see that the drink had affected him as it did anyone else. Good luck fucking him with that, you softcock stallion idiot.

When the shirt was entirely loose, the stag tugged the clothing aside, letting the horse see his upper body fully. The horse said nothing, gawking silently at the deer, eventually making the small cervine blush and look down. The young male was delightfully attractive, and the tiger ground his teeth as he imagined how much he would have enjoyed running his claws through that fine fur. Instead, he had to watch this brute of a male supplant him, because... because he had a big dick? The tiger had a big dick too! Of course, he hadn't thought to pull it out and piss over everything to attract a mate, because he hadn't been raised by troglodytes. His whiskers quivered, and his lips made a silent snarl, and he banked the fires of his fury. He would remember.

The stallion put his hands on the stag's shoulders and twisted, making him turn around. The deer's puffy white tail stood as high as it could, above a pert ass, and the stallion grabbed at it manfully, pulling it upwards and snorting at the deer's gasped cry. "Pretty tail," he said. "Pretty ass." A hand slid down the back of the stag's breeches and must have felt at his hole, for the stag groaned and arched his body back, pressing into the hand. The horse's cock had thickened yet further, a beastly slab of flesh now. It looked fit to split the deer in two even in its half-hard state. A cock like its master. All brute force, no finesse. The tiger would have slipped in far more easily with his tapered tip, tenderly penetrating at a pace the stag could manage, lovingly fucking him for hours, teasing out his climax. This horse looked as if he took pride in finishing as quickly as possible. Pah!

As the tiger soaked in his anger, the two males before him continued their flirting. The horse was pressing his exposed crotch against the stag's rear now, tugging at the sides of his breeches. The stag was alternately shuddering and murmuring to the stallion.

"Sir... I can't... not here... I can come to your room..."

"Wanna fuck," was all the thick voice could say back. "Wanna fuck you." The deer groaned, pulling back from the stallion unwillingly and tugging his shirt back over his shoulders, turning to face him.

"Sir, which room are you in?" he asked, but the horse either couldn't remember, or couldn't vocalise it. He pressed up against the deer again.

"Wanna fuuuuck..." His tongue slapped out and lapped along the deer's muzzle and neck. "Taste good..."

The stag nodded, taking the stallion by the hand and pulling him towards the door at the rear of the tavern, where the servant quarters must be. They passed Druff, and some errant neuron in the stallion's mind triggered at the sight of the cat. He gave a drunken grin.

"Gonna fuck your deer, kitty."

The tiger hissed back at him with flattened ears and slapped an ale mug off the table. But they were already gone, leaving the tiger to fume in silence. After a few minutes, the angry expression faded, replaced by a more thoughtful one. No need to fume. He could out-think a horse.

---

Arktisk pushed the door to his small room open with the arm that wasn't being gripped by the stallion. The big horse was holding him a mite hard, if truth be told, but it was worth it for the rest of him. Strong, dumb, hung and horny: he ticked every box the stag cared for.

"In here, sir," he said, and the stallion snorted and clomped in after him. There was barely enough room for the simple bed and small chest in the buck's quarters, which made it a tight fit once the two males pushed in. That just meant more of the stallion's body pressing against Arktisk, though. He was perfectly fine with that.

With the door pushed closed, he took a moment to look at the horse he'd snagged. What a stud. He might be bleary-eyed and swaying a little from drink, but that didn't make his massive body any less gorgeous, or his cock any less thick. The black and pink meat between the stallion's thighs was trying to harden, but couldn't quite get there. That was alright. The stag enjoyed playing with soft males. It was thrilling to see them growing and hardening before having them fill his needy tailhole.

The stallion pressed forward again, rubbing his cock against the stag's clothes and smearing his clear pre-cum over him. "Wanna fuck," he snorted, grabbing at the deer's crotch and massaging the hard cock there. The horse might be fighting through the alcohol to get erect, but the stag's modest member had been nearly hard all night, thanks to the tiger's flirting -- and the potent smell of stallion stud had rocketed him to full mast.

"I want you to fuck me too, sir," the deer whispered. "But, we must get naked first."

The stallion nickered, pulling hard on the deer's breeches, nearly unbalancing the cervine. "Lemme see your tail," he grunted. The deer smiled shyly, nodding, undoing the knots at the front and allowing the horse to pull his pants off. There was a deep rumble of satisfaction from the equine when he saw the stag's proud pink member jump out into the air, but he immediately dropped one big hand onto the stag's shoulder and another onto his side, turning him around, this time pushing him roughly forward too. Arktisk fell hands-first against his pallet. His tail was grabbed again and pulled up, and a plump horsecock pushed firmly against his hole. Hopelessly too soft to penetrate, but so thick...

The deer moaned happily as the male's thickness rubbed around his rear, lifting up to have the flare squish between his ass-cheeks, then lowering down again to make the shaft press along the crack like a sausage between two slices of bread. The stallion's animalistic snorts and hard tugs on his tail were sending shocks of pleasure along the buck's spine, and the drunken male odour of him flooded his nose on every breath. The smell of a champion stallion.

The harvest celebrations included several displays of physical prowess, for those without the temperament to spend months growing prize-winning vegetables. Arktisk had sat in a tree earlier, watching the games. Well, some of them: he'd been entirely transfixed by the sight of the stallions hurling massive things incredible distances, lifting boulders twice their own size, and wrestling. Ohhh...the wrestling. Their bodies were shining by the conclusion, covered in sweat. It had glistened on their shirtless forms like the oil of the gods. The stag could smell the remains of that now: dry stallion sweat, and ale, and dust and tangy pre-cum, all mixed into a heady scent. And that was ignoring the other scent, the one so much muskier and more wonderful, which he had almost reached when he'd sniffed the stallion out in the common room.

The false fuck continued for a few more minutes, making no progress in terms of penetration, until the deer finally spoke.

"Sir... huff... let me help you..."

The stallion seemed a little frustrated that his thrusting wasn't generating as much pleasure as it usually did, and he took a half-step back, letting the stag get to his feet and turn around. He put a hand to the stallion's cock, fondling the underside lovingly and stroking the balls below with his fingertips. What a load they must carry. He tucked his fingers into the sides of the horse's loose pants, pulling them down easily, revealing the stallion's full glory. The tumescent, mottled cock. The turgid flare, gooey with its drooling liquids. The tremendous shaft, pulsing to the huge male's heartbeat. The way the skin of the sheath was pulled taut by the weight of its passenger. The powerful thighs that framed it, ready to thrust into a willing hole.

"You are beautiful, sir," the deer murmured. He pressed a hand to the horse's chest. "Master." He rested his head against the stallion's body, listening to the thumping of his heart, and then stood back, pulling at the jerkin as the horse had done to his earlier. "Take this off for me?"

The horse grunted and started squeezing his arms through the jerkin's holes, trying to pull it over his head. He seemed to have entirely forgotten about buttons now. That was alright. Stupid worked for Arktisk, when the result was as perfect and muscled as this. The stallion fought briefly with the concept of 'over' and finally tugged the clothing off and threw it aside. He stood nude in the semi-darkness, filling the small space with his presence, his smell... and his cock. Arktisk sighed happily as he ran his hands over that body, feeling its strength and masculinity. Every few seconds, he'd drop a hand to fondle at the horse's cock and balls again, unwilling to leave them unattended for too long. They overflowed in his palm so wonderfully, like scooping up a king's treasure. He slid over the stallion's dark hair, feeling the ridges and canyons of labourer muscle underneath, and through his mane, stroking the rough hair.

"You're so strong, master," he said. "So much stronger than me. Surely you could make me do whatever you wished... I'd be completely unable to stop you..."

He took the stallion's one hand in his own, lifting it to his antlers. The fingers gripped instinctively. The other he pushed down to his rear, where the horse had inexpertly fingered him earlier. "Are you going to be my master, sir?" he asked, looking up at the unfocused blue eyes. The hand at his rear grabbed a handful of flesh and tugged him forward, making him gasp and pressing his own dick against the horse's monster. "Yes, sir," he moaned. "Control me. Make me pleasure you, you gorgeous fucking stud..."

A hooved finger pushed roughly into him, and the stag cried out. A little pain was normal at first; more than compensated for by having his antlers forced back, raising his muzzle for a sloppy kiss. The stallion's lips and tongue smacked loosely along his own, and Arktisk opened his mouth to let the drunken stud find his way in. The two males moaned, tasting one another, completing the sensorium that their noses had started.

The stallion's taste was fantastic. Ale dominated, but under it, Arktisk could still taste the fruitiness of the dessert apples and the sweetness of the rosewater-soaked hay the male had eaten for his meal. A light, beautiful taste -- such a contrast to his rough, powerful body. While stallions might not eat meat, that didn't make them any less of a predator in the manner that the deer craved right now.

The finger squirmed deeper into him, making him moan and suck harder on the stallion's tongue. Oh, fuck, it felt good. His puff of a tail was as erect as the stallion was not, signalling to all that he desired to be bred. In his building lust, Arktisk briefly considered going back and inviting the handsome older tiger to join them. Having an experienced male like him slamming his barbed cock roughly in and out of the deer's greedy anus while his mouth was full of stallion would be a unique experience...

"Get me hard," the stallion grunted. Or, at least, that's what the stag inferred, since the male mumbled it through a clumsy kiss. The horse seemed to be somewhat aware that the drink was affecting his performance. The hand on the buck's antlers pressed downward, pushing him to his knees. The flash of sadness when the stallion finger slipped out of him was forgotten as soon as his nose pressed into the stallion sheath. Here was the source of the perfect muskiness he'd scented before. This was stallion. Arktisk felt lightheaded as his sensitive nose was forced deep into the folds of skin surrounding the stallion's cock. The big male smelled, simply, of sex. Of confidence, and daily fucks, and potency, and virile cum sprayed into every willing hole...and splattered back out when he withdrew. Soaking back into the dark, inviting skin. Waiting for a horny stag to enjoy it.

"Make me smell you more, sir," he begged, and the stallion's grip tightened on his head, and pushed him even deeper with a grunt of effort. The horse moved his hips about, not only making Arktisk smell his sheath, but rubbing the skin against his fur. Marking him with scent. The deer whimpered with delight, letting the bigger male cover him with his smell. He slipped his tongue out as the flesh slid past, wetting it and tasting the dry, delicious skin. It felt like little electric sparks dancing across his tongue.

His hands came up to fondle the horse as the hands holding his antlers pushed his muzzle around. One cupped the balls, holding the large orbs gently between his fingers, tugging ever so gently on the sack. The skin was perfectly smooth, apart from a line of fine dark hair that ran along the middle. The weights within shifted lazily between the gaps of his fingers, warm and heavy. The stag wanted -- needed -- to drain them more than almost anything.

The other hand took the thick equine cock, stroking along it and rubbing the palm under the hefty flare. Smearing it with horse lubricant and reaching behind to spread it over his tight hole. It might take a while to get this stallion hard, but Arktisk would not let this evening end without getting the horse filling he wanted. He couldn't imagine how this horse would feel inside him. Like a god, a furious fire, a raging flood. His cock was tremendous, even flaccid. The corona was firm, dotted with little fleshy knobs and soft as doeskin. Partway down, the medial ring bulged out like a vein, by itself wider than any male member the deer had had for ages. The cock went on and on: dark, virile flesh dropping from its musky home and hanging like an invitation. Asking to be made hard, and ridden, and emptied of every drop of seed...

The stag's head was pulled back abruptly, and his eyes widened, looking straight up at the stallion. Was it his imagination, or did the horse's eyes look a little more focused? The equine's expression was still lustful, looking down at his plaything in silence. Arktisk sensed a hand moving below his field of view...and then flesh slapped against his muzzle. He stiffened. It happened again, on the other side. He couldn't look down enough to see, but when it happened a third time, he felt the edge of the corona and understood. His eyes closed, and he relaxed, taking a sharp little breath whenever the cock hit him. It was so big that it knocked his head aside a little on each impact. Thwack. Thwack. Stallion cockflesh against deer muzzle made a beautiful sound, like a slab of beef hitting a board. It was solid and dependable. Arktisk felt wetness on each cheek where the impact deposited drops of the sweet lubricant that was oozing from this stud like treacle.

"You got a sexy muzzle," the stallion growled, speaking at last. The cock-slapping did not pause. Arktisk dared to stretch against the hand gripping his antlers, to face more of his mouth towards each slap of the penis, trying to steal a lick.

"Thank you, master," he murmured, between the slaps. "I'm glad that my muzzle pleases you. You have a beautiful cock, master."

The force of the slapping penis grew harder. "Deer slut likes my dick?"

Arktisk groaned. "Yes, sir. I adore your cock, master." The horse was swinging his semi-flaccid cock like a length of wrung fabric. It stung a little on every impact now, but the stag didn't mind. A little pain was tolerable; a reminder that the stud before him was the master, and the stag was his to use. "I love your horsecock, sir. I mean...I love all of you." Slap. "You're beautiful." Slap. "You smell incredible." Slap. "You're so big..." He whimpered, ears flat, tail flagging high. "Please take me, sir. I need you in me. I wish to be your mate tonight. You are so...everything. You deserve only pleasure and satisfaction." He tightened his hands a little on the stallion's fat nuts. "From me. Right now."

The slapping halted, and the deer quivered with anticipation. It was time. He made to get to his feet, ready to turn and receive every inch of this equine king -- but instead found fingers thrust roughly into his mouth, pushing deep and making him gag with the unexpected sensation. Then -- his mouth still spread wide in surprise -- a fat cockhead slapped onto his tongue, and long inches of horsecock started slithering down his gullet like a warm, wet snake.

Arktisk's eyes bulged as the stallion's flesh filled his throat. His hands flew up to grip the shaft, trying to control it, but the stallion's hand grabbed one wrist and pulled it away, and took his antlers in the other. The remaining hand was not nearly enough to get a proper grip on the horsecock, and the stag's nostrils flared wide in fear. The member was so thick; already his airway was almost blocked. He swallowed in panic, trying to expel it, but only lubricating the smooth flesh more and help it slide deeper. The corona bulged out at his neck, pressing his throat as wide as it doubtless had endless males before him. The deer made muffled noises of alarm, his breathing reduced to rapid, shallow panting, sucking air through the gaps between the flare and his flesh.

The horse was not fully hard, bless all the gods. If he had been, there would have been no hope for the stag. As it was, his chest was heaving, and his mind shook with fear, and confusion...and lust. He was getting enough air, for now. Just. If he kept breathing as fast as he could, he would probably survive. Something screamed in his blood, something strange. He felt a little lightheaded, but in a way that heightened the other sensations. He could feel every vein of the cock inside him, the way they pulsed powerfully to the thumping beat of the stallion's great heart. The way his body was being stretched by it felt...right. He loved it. The stag was at this stallion's mercy, filled by his cock, exactly as he'd wanted. He could barely breathe, and half of him was sure he would die.

But the other half of him was begging for more. Begging for even more inches of horsecock to push down into him, squeezing through his maw and filling his gullet. The corona scraped painfully over some sensitive part deep inside, and he didn't care. He wanted more. As half of his mind screamed in terror, he pushed forward. Driving more of the cock into him. The air gaps vanished as the medial ring slid inside, and he could not breathe at all. His vision grew blurry, black and white spots appearing from nowhere to join a growing buzzing noise in his ears. He pushed on. Deeper...more...thicker...

The horse pulled him back, and the stag gasped at the cold air, coughing. His vision stabilised, the buzzing retreated, and he felt himself again. For a moment. The cock slid back down once again, and he whimpered and whispered two words -- voice hoarse from the rough treatment of his throat -- before dick engulfed him once more.

"More, master."

The horse began to fuck his throat in earnest. The relative softness of his cock made it easy. Long, smooth thrusts of his hips -- aided by his firm grip on Arktisk's antlers -- ensured the pre- and spit-slicked flesh had no trouble pushing deep inside, and sliding back out again. Arktisk's mind did not know what was what anymore. He bounced between almost choking, gasping for breath, and feeling that perfect fat cock filling his throat until it cut off his air, paused, and slid back out.

The stallion fucked his face with a skill that belied his drunken state, his motions originating from a deep instinctual place that overrode all other faculties. He snorted and whinnied, hands holding the deer's face perfectly still as he fucked it hard and deep. Arktisk's hands rose of their own accord, each taking a stallion ball in hand and massaging it. He could not speak, but he could show the horse what he wanted. Fingers curled around the massive globes, stroking and squeezing and tugging once again. His world shrank to horsecock and stallion nuts. He felt like he was floating above the ground, looking down on himself servicing this horse master in his shabby little room. He could see the intense expression on the stallion's face: teeth gritted, eyes screwed shut, spittle drooling from one side. He could hear himself, too: gagging on the monstrous dick with wet, gulping, swallowing noises, and gasping snorts of his own.

The masculine weights in his hands were moving of their own accord now, the smooth skin contracting, testicles rising. He helped, lifting them on their journey upward to deliver their sacred gift. They were exactly as big as they needed to be for such a virile master. Arktisk's floating form could imagine seeing through them, to the seed churning inside, eager for release, ready to burst forth and impregnate anything and everything in its path. But no mere mare would receive the stallion's load today. Only him. Only he and his greedy body would taste and feel and smell the ultimate expression of stallionhood. The thought of it was making his hard, neglected cock jerk about, and his hands pressed the balls upwards, wishing it to happen, needing it so much...

The stallion had not fully hardened yet, but that would not stop him from climaxing. His flare grew fatter, blood-filled and hot as sin, blocking the stag's throat all by itself. His hands tightened, pulling the deer's face closer, forcing his cock deeper into his mate and holding it there. He was making needy noises, too: hisses as he pulled air through his clenched teeth, and grunting whines that grew shorter even as they rose in pitch. His balls disappeared up into his body cavity, and the stag's hands returned to his shaft, wrapping around it like a ribbon and trying to push it deeper. He was breathless again, running on borrowed time, but he needed this. The stallion master had to fill him just like this, squirting his hot gift straight into him. It was natural. It was what prey deserved.

Arktisk's heightened senses felt it all, as if in slow motion. The stallion's body went stiff, and the buck's lips first felt the cockflesh grow a little thicker, and then swell suddenly on the underside. Like a quarrel, something sped down the cock, felt all the way by the deer's oversensitive flesh. The flare grew at the end, and then another heat spread inside the deer. His eyes closed in bliss, and he surrendered fully to the sensations of hot, musky seed sliding down into his stomach, and his own unattended prick squirting its small load all over the floor.

If he was to die here, at the height of orgasm, suffocating on stallion cock as a horse master pumped his seed into him, then so be it.

But Beinir looked down on him with grace, and today was not his day. The stallion's body pumped itself empty with an intensity that must have made the horse as lightheaded as the stag, for he suddenly released the deer's antlers and staggered back. The motion ripped his cock out of Arktisk with a violence that made the young buck cough, which in turn brought up stallion cum from his soaked gullet. The unique muskiness flooded his mouth, and he moaned in delight, swirling it through his mouth with his tongue. The master's taste; his reward. He had served him well.

The stallion had fallen onto the narrow bed with a thump and was breathing heavily, arms splayed wide. His eyes were half-closed, and his groans of pleasure faded in moments; as his breathing slowed, the stag realised with alarm that he was falling asleep. That would not do. The rude pallet barely had space for the deer alone; there would be none left if the massive equine passed out on it. Not to mention the punishment that would result if the tavern keeper found a patron still in his room tomorrow.

"Sir?" Arktisk said querulously, pressing against the stallion's body. The firm flesh moved, but his eyes did not. "Sir!"

One eyelid rose, the orb behind it big and bloodshot. "Hngf?"

"Sir...forgive me, but you must leave." The stag wrung his small hands. "You have a room prepared. Do...you recall where it is? The bed there is far more comfortable than mine."

For one horrible moment, the stag thought the horse was already asleep. But the eyes fluttered open, and with flailing limbs -- and a near-fall when his hooves slipped on the cum the stag had sprayed onto the floor -- the horse got to his feet. His erstwhile mate helped him out of the room, shoving his discarded clothes into his arms as he pecked him on the muzzle.

"Thanks for the hot fuck, handsome." The horse grinned back at him like an idiot.

"Fucked t'deer!"

"Yes, you did." Arktisk watched the horse stagger off and shut his door in relief. Hopefully, he wouldn't fall to his death from the landing. He wouldn't bet on it, though. Stallions were wonderful fucks, but by all the gods, they were as stupid as anything.

---

Druff was still not asleep when the door thumped open. His mind had been churning all evening, making plans. He jumped up in bed, his heart leaping when he saw a figure outlined in the moonlight. But it wasn't the stag. It was far too big.

When he heard the hooves clopping closer on the wooden floor, he knew. Fresh anger flooded his blood, but he controlled himself. He could use this.

"You are in the wrong room, sir," he said in a tone that one might use to point out an interesting flower.

The horse paused, his darkened form swaying slightly. Still very drunk. Of course. What stallions gained in temperance at the start of an evening, they paid back with an extended period of intoxication. Long after other creatures had sobered up to a painful headache, stallions would still be enjoying the fruits of the barrel.

"Kitty." The horse must have recognised his voice. "Not ma' room..."

"No," the cat drawled, trying hard not to let each word drip with venom. "Not your room." You inane equine fuckhead. "My room. Perhaps your room is...further?" Or outside, in the stables, with your brothers.

The stallion had already moved on from the complex topic of who belonged where. "I fucked your deer, kitty," he said, giggling. "Nice deer. Nice throat."

He staggered forward, and the cat stiffened; moments later, his face was smushed against cum-soaked stallion cock.

"See, kitty," the stallion said. He smeared the cock all over the cat's face. "Fucked deer. Nice throat. Felt good. Ugh...need to..." He grunted again, stepping back. "Bye, kitty," he muttered, weaving towards the door and managing to leave without walking square into the door frame.

The cat was almost too shocked to be angry. Cold cum soaked half his face, and put his pads to it, feeling it stick to them and pull away. Ugh. Now he'd have to wash again.

He tried to ignore the way his cock had thickened at the smell of the stallion's seed. Stallions were dumb and oafish...but their cum smelled wonderful. A shame they were almost impossible to break.

Almost.

"See you very, very soon, horse," the tiger whispered.