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The otter covered the back of his mouth with his paw, trying not to let the patrons of the inn see his yawn. Even this far from the city center most of them expected their servants to be quick of foot and quicker of thought, even if they looked like they hadn't seen sleep in the past week. It wasn't that they actually weren't allowed sleep, of course: it was just a busy job. From serving the patrons in the main room from shortly before the sun came above the horizon to when it sat in the middle of the sky at noon; then up to the bedrooms to get things cleaned up and in order for the new day's round of travelers; then down and around to the stables to take care of all the business needing done there... as he bustled from the bar to one of the tables up near the far wall, the otter surreptitiously lifted his shirt to his nose and took a sniff. He didn't smell like it, at least. A quick yet thorough bath in one of the spare tubs helped with that.

At that table one of the patrons, a broad-shouldered lion with his long cloak curling down around the feet of the chair, lifted his tankard without looking at him or the other servants. The otter raised the full one in his other paw even though he wouldn't be able to see it. That was one of the rules that the owner of the place had set in place: never let a customer see the bottom of their drink. Always bring them a new one before they can decide if they want it! The heavy metallic clunk of the new filled tankard settling against the wood of the table brought the large cat's ears flicking sideways, and then the otter thought he heard a grumbled "thank you" before the huge paw came out to wrap around the drink. He bowed his head, swiped the empty one away, and started back towards the bar.

Again, it wasn't that they weren't allowed sleep. That had been a rule at one of his past places of employment, though that one he looked back on as almost slavery. The otter smirked remembering it, how he thought he would be able to make if not a name, then at least some money for himself in the richer district of the city. Instead what he found there was the loudest, the rudest, the most impatient people he had ever encountered, as well as the ugliest faces... or at least they seemed that way, always contorted into scowls and sneers at his appearance. Never let a customer see you, had been the rule there, issued to him in hushed tones. That's why I have you working the floor, Luke. Brown fur blends in with brown wood. By the gods, don't let them see you.

The sound of the bell jingling and then again against the front door brought the by-now reflexive head-nod out of the otter, though he was too focused on his current task to properly greet the new customer. One thing he by far preferred about this inn was the stables, something unmanageable in the establishments within the walls, and especially not in that richer section. Those of bluer blood can't tolerate the slightest of unpleasant scents, Luke had found. That, and in this part of the country it was seen as rude and impractical to take your mount within the city walls, which left places like this one just beyond the walls with stables larger than the inn itself, housing the mounts of all the visiting travelers from all around.

He liked the peace of working with the animals. Luke slid the tankard in among the others waiting to be washed, then double-checked the other cabinet to make sure there still were enough for the rest of the folks out there tonight. Customers could be loud and needy and rude, while the animals... it was harder, nastier, busier work than he had originally imagined, but there was something satisfying about getting it done. With a trained hand they responded to his touch and his presence like an old, comfortable friend, often even if it were the first time that particular animal had stayed at the stables.

Sleek, powerful muscles kept taut yet at the same time relaxed beneath smooth, strong-haired hide, wide haunches coming up to the center of his chest, all different kinds of colors and patterns... of course, most of the patrons rode horses. That was the standard throughout the land, for a number of different factors once listed to him from a persistent merchant of said beasts one night: favored for their many traits superior over other similarly-sized creatures, such as their responsiveness and relative ease of handling, not to mention the appreciable speed over every commonly-encountered terrain along the roads between the main cities, and then they have a few other respectably well-endowed traits, if you - but Luke never found out what those traits were, since right at that moment the merchant, who had kept on drinking until he could not longer even find the bottom of his tankard, tripped over the foot of a support pole and tumbled head-first into a pile of hay, where he remained until the following morning. He smelled quite strongly of horse urine once he had stirred awake, a scent with which Luke had become quite familiar in his time working here, and then offered some extra payment for the inconvenience and embarrassment before heading on his way.

Horses were by far the most common mount brought to the stables but by no means the only. There were also the big, meaty riding dragons, flightless beasts that Luke had never seen before he had come north out of the main peninsula of Mora, his home country. Those were rarer among the patrons in this part of the city, but mostly favored among students at the academy and their teachers, as well as a few certain nobles... and then, alongside those, the similarly large yet more sleek lizards, apparently a carry-over species from the near deserts of Maldeth where they skittered across the dunes, fast and unseen. Still at home in the relative heat here, Luke had cared for one a few times. He liked the way their skin felt, especially right after their morning baths, and he also enjoyed the way that they-

"Luke."

The otter jumped at the voice, nearly dropping the tankard that he had forgotten he had picked up, and then quickly tightened his face back into the comfortable, pleasant smile he used for customers. As soon as he did so, though, the façade dropped and a true smile took its place. "Inks."

The striped hyena across the bar did a small flourish with his cloak, the movement briefly showing how he still wore the looser, more traditional outfit of his species beneath. A good friend of the otter's as well as a common patron of his inn even before Luke worked here, Inks made his living traveling around the area and sourcing certain kinds of goods for museums, scholars, the eccentric, and the like. A purveyor of strange and unusual artifacts from strange and unusual places. The brown-furred hyena leaned in close over the bar, smelling as usual of dust, grit, and ancient stone.

"Looked like you were off in your own world for a bit there. Don't want your boss seeing that, you know."

"I know, I know." The otter glanced down at the tankard, having forgotten what he was going to do with it. "I'm sorry. How can I help you?"

The trader straightened back up, placing his paws on his hips. "You know exactly how."

He was also a favored patron of the owner of the inn. Luke nodded, grinning, and set the tankard down so he could reach for the logbook. "Alright. Yes. Same room as usual?"

"If that's possible, yes. And I need you to attend to my horse. Brutus needs some attention, but I'm ready to get off my feet as well."

"Oh." Luke paused in flipping through the pages. "I can't. I've been assigned to take care of the floor here tonight, and-"

"Don't you worry about that." Inks waved a paw. "I already spoke to the big man and gave him a little extra convincing. You're good to go."

"Well, first I need to..."

"No, no you don't." He held an arm out to block Luke from making his way back out onto the floor. "He's got some needs that should be tended immediately. You do remember everything, right?"

Luke chuckled, moving Inks's arm out of the way. The hyena let him, and stepped briefly aside. "Only the best of the best, right?"

"You got it. The best feed, the best bedding, the best stall..." In the stables here there stood a few stalls specifically separate from all the others, designed for particularly skittish mounts or for those with certain requirements by their owners. On more than one occasion Luke had pushed his way into one of those stalls for the early-morning rounds of the stables, only to find both the mount and the owner occupying the same space. Sometimes the scent curling his nostrils told him just why that stall had been requested. "...the best attention."

Luke stood up on his tiptoes to hang the tankard up along the wall, then turned back to the hyena. "Alright. What's this about immediate needs?"

Inks crossed his arms. "Come on, Luke. We just came back from beyond the border. There's plenty of streams and brooks in between there and here, and then I wanted to make it back before nightfall so we didn't really have time to stop..."

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"And then, also because of that, I wasn't able to give him - you know, Brutus, the stallion - the right attention that he needs at least once daily..."

"Mister Inks."

The hyena paused, paws intertwined in front of him, cloak drifting open to show his smooth belly and the puff of his mane coming down over his shoulders. That was part of the hyenas' traditional outfit: light and airy, open and free. Luke intentionally kept his eyes on his muzzle. He was already well-acquainted with what Inks had further down on his body.

"I understand. I'll get it done."

"Right now?"

"Right now. I will check with the boss, though. It's not that I don't trust you" - Inks had been the one to demonstrate, multiple times, just how to do these tasks; how could he not? - "but it's just a matter of course."

The trader clapped his paws together, raising the ears of a few of the other patrons in the inn. "Wonderful. Will you be attending on me tonight, too?"

"It depends on how long Brutus takes," Luke replied, lowering his voice. He dropped it to nearly a murmur as he passed by the hyena. "And if I can get back in without taking a bath first, since I know you like the way it-"

"I do." In that moment both of them paused, then Inks came forward and drew the otter into a quick embrace. Luke felt himself surrounded by his familiar, friendly scent, warm and dusty. "Woof. I missed you, Luke. You're always a big part of why I look forward to coming back through Mora."

"I missed you too." The otter slid a paw up beneath Inks's cloak. "And not just for the extra gold you give the inn, nor for the special time with your horse. I should be getting to it, though, if you say it's immediate."

"He just needs a break," Inks said, sinking back onto one of the stools, "and you do too. Have fun."

In hardly five more minutes Luke found himself striding out around to the stables in the back of the inn, holding his arms around himself against the approaching chill of night. Nothing too cold, just a chill noticeable against the humid heat of the day; the gravel set around the pathways crunched beneath his footpaws, adding another sound to the jumble of noise from inside as well as the general sounds of nature from out here.

It was the sounds of the animals that hit him first, with the scent soon to follow. The otter briefly wrinkled his nose against the pungent familiarity, though very soon grew used to it again. This was where all of the new workers made their stands, of course, as the universally least desirable position at the inn - but, again, Luke enjoyed it somewhat, and for more reasons than someone might think. Inks had caught on to that quite early and used it for both of their benefit. As a trader of goods of indiscernible origin, he had to be adept at reading faces and interpreting thoughts.

Before he had stepped out of the room, Inks had pointed him towards the third private stall, down the way and around the corner from the main stables. Luke swiped up his tools on the way there - the bucket, the towel, the brush, and the soap in one paw, with another bucket of water in the other - and then pushed that door open with his shoulder, quickly setting the things back down against the ground. Just before he turned around to see if he had counted correctly, a set of warm, wet lips and broad flat teeth nipped at his shoulder, then neck, then ear. He chuckled and reached up to pat the horse's muzzle, then turned to greet Brutus more properly.

If he wasn't outright friendly with the otter, Brutus was at least familiar with him. Ever since that first time, during which Inks had requested to watch, the hyena had specifically requested Luke be the only one to clean, treat, and handle his horse, in all the same ways that had been requested that first time. He had been unsure at first, yet very eager: Inks had hooked onto that and brought it out of the otter, guiding him around through his horse's mane, along his back, over his haunches, down under his belly, back into the stallion's thick sheath and heavy balls...

Luke swallowed, forcing himself to pick up the brush and start with the familiar rhythm through the rugged, thick hair of the beast's pelt. The grooming would come first with everything involved, and then the feeding and watering, and then he would be making his way back in to wait on the hyena himself. Luke let his mind wander as he worked, just like usual, his paws and body working through the usual rhythms: neck to shoulder, shoulder to chest, neck to shoulder again, chest to belly, back and forth again and again. He murmured to Brutus as he did so, too, keeping the horse aware of his presence and comfortable with it.

He grew used to the scent, the strong pungency of tired, well-worked equine, and it stung his nostrils just as it filled him with the same feeling it always did: the appreciation, the enjoyment, the comfort... the slight excitement. Luke took a couple steps to the side as he worked down Brutus's body, keeping his eyes stoically averted as he slid the brush around the horse's wide rump and in towards his back, with his other paw lifting the brushy tail bound at base away. Naturally, though, a few stray glances made their way in, his eyes tracing over the also-familiar shape of the thick-muscled rim of the horse's tailhole, only further accentuating the excitement growing between the otter's loins.

From there he made his way around to the other side, trying to maintain the same rhythm and pace, but throughout it he continually glanced down at the mount's hind legs. Brutus dipped his head down and adjusted his stance every now and then through the brushing, each movement sending quite a noticeable ripple and jiggle down through that particular part of his body: the closer he came the more Luke imagined he could smell it, too, that pungent aroma turning instead to one thicker, heavier, muskier, wafting up with each movement. He glanced around himself even knowing nobody would be able to see him in this stall, then reached over with a footpaw and pulled each of the buckets closer. Then, slowly, he dropped to his knees, careful not to position himself directly beneath the horse's body.

There it was, then. The part of Brutus's body with which Luke was likely most familiar, as Inks often specially requested he pay extra attention her: the plump, velvety sheath, the wrinkles of smooth skin bunching up near the tip, the stretch of flatter flesh leading down along his loins and pouching down into full, heavy balls, each one nearly filling both of the otter's cupped paws. Luke swallowed again, now definitely unable to draw his gaze away, and just watched for a bit: he could see the horse's pulse thumping through the side of his thick sheath, as well as the slow rhythm of the beast's breathing in the way those balls rose and fell, rose and fell just enough for him to be able to see.

The empty bucket he brought forward, positioning it roughly within range of the feral stallion's sheath, while the other he just left forgotten at his side. Luke scooted forward on his knees a bit, paws poised to touch and heft and handle, but still he hesitated... then reached down with one, adjusted his pants, and went for it right after, one paw coming up beneath one of those balls and the other settling into soft yet firm flesh at the base of the horse's sheath. Brutus twitched with the touch though Luke made sure to stay slow and careful in his movements.

Intense, concentrated heat, moist and humid with sweat and the natural oils of the horse's body, immediately seeped into and clung to the fur and pads of the otter's paws. He licked his lips and came in a little closer to more easily massage the heft between the stallion's hind legs, bringing both paws back to rub at that heavy hanging sack. The heft pushed back against his paws just as the thick, leathery skin slid over his pads, the pair of weights inside moving and swinging just slightly with his touch and with that changing warmth.

Both of them in his paws, kept contained within the supple, slick skin of Brutus's sack, the weight and warmth... Luke swallowed again and brought his muzzle forward, fingers and thumbs constantly, slowly, carefully working back and forth over the dense skin and flesh, rubbing and massaging. Even before his head had come fully beneath the horse's body was his muzzle flooded with the rich, cloying odor of feral horse, so close to the miasma consuming the rest of the stables yet noticeably different in its own way. Here there was a brighter, sharp touch to it, one that came out more strongly as he came closer and closer... and then which pushed its way back into his awareness right as the soft velvet of his nose touched against the wrinkled leather of Brutus's loins, into the spot right where his heavy sheath met his heavier sack.

The otter's maw fell partially open, thick breaths coming in through his nose and then dripping out through his mouth while he still worked his paws along the stallion's underside. Above him Brutus made a sound somewhere between a huff and a snort, sounding to Luke like a noise of gentle exasperation - gods, he's doing it again, or something like that to Luke's ears. He couldn't help but still think about that pucker of tight, strong muscle up beneath the horse's tail, though, and while he dug his nose in against slightly sweat-slickened skin Luke slid one paw up behind Brutus's sack, over and against the thick-haired pelt, following the line of wrinkled skin up... but, of course, he couldn't quite reach it, and instead just dropped it back down to squeeze those balls up against his nose and lips again.

Acrid wasn't quite the right word for it. He moved back a bit, still able to feel the clinging slickness of the horse's sweat and oils, and flicked his tongue over his lips. It was definitely sharper, yet at the same time deeper, earthier... the otter nuzzled back up into the warm, firm flesh, loving the way it pressed back against his face and muzzle, and then started working his way up along the underside of the stallion's sheath, one paw remaining in place and the other leading his muzzle. Here the skin and flesh became softer and more velvety, though inside there still pulsed a firm thickness, growing and tightening the more attention he put to it.

Along the way Luke swallowed again, already able to taste the horse on his lips and tongue. He pushed his nose up along the line of the stallion's sheath towards his firm, strong belly, then moved back down again. "Don't you worry, Brutus..." Luke murmured, his breath washing right back over him tainted with that earthy musk, "we'll get you all cleaned up just like your owner requested. It's just... I have some other things I need to attend to, first..."

He tilted his head partially to the side, watching himself bring that other paw forward and cupping it around the end of the horse's sheath. That was one of his favorite parts, honestly, though it required a thorough bath to himself after: digging his fingers into the tight wrinkles of sheath skin there, with or without one of the cleaning sponges in his paw. That first time, Inks had shown him how to do with a cupped pair of fingers and thumb instead, bringing his face and tongue in afterwards to make extra certain... a bit of an unorthodox method, but one that Luke found he enjoyed at least as much as the striped hyena guiding and demonstrating for him. The scent there, of course, had been much stronger, much more pungent, and definitely acrid as opposed to the musk clinging to and dripping between Brutus's hind legs now.

Still carefully yet a bit more eager he worked his paw against the end of the horse's sheath, squeezing and rubbing, coaxing the horse's length steadily out. The wrinkles of skin stretched and unfolded, the smooth shiny black leather skin began to meld to a softer, warmer pink with spots of brown, glistening in streaks with gathered sweat and a bit of natural grime. Luke licked his lips again, this time catching the soft skin of the stallion's sheath in the same movement, bringing that sharper taste more fully into his muzzle. His paw pushed steadily back against the blunted head of the horse's shaft as it came, growing and sliding out of those wrinkles of skin, filling his cupped palm with that intense, wet heat... then, though, he paused where he was, lips pursed against warm skin and nose buried between sheath and body. The weight and warmth was there, but not the firmness. He glanced over, swallowed again, then pulled back and looked between the horse's legs just in time to see Brutus adjust his stance, widening his legs, lowering his body closer to the ground - and then the first spurt of hot, fresh piss sprayed right out into Luke's paw, splashing right back against his muzzle and shoulders.

The otter gasped with the sudden sensation, the heat of the mark immediately cutting through the chill of the night, and dropped his paw away from the stream. Once released, Brutus's heavy shaft dropped further down and swung slowly in the air, spraying the ground as well as Luke's knees with that rope-thick stream, rich yellow and steaming in the night. The scent quickly wafted up and hit him as well, not so much replacing the bite of the stallion's musk as adding to and covering it beneath its own, rich and pungent still with that earthy, grassy touch to it. Luke wiped the back of his paw against his muzzle, smearing some of it across his lips by accident, and scowled against the sudden bite in his throat - but, still, he couldn't take his eyes off the show in front of him, the horse's thick length still smoothly spraying out into the growing, frothing puddle at the floor of the stall.

The last time Inks had stopped by Luke had done all of this quickly and easily, gathering whatever messes into one of the buckets and then disposing of it after, but now... the otter squirmed, glancing to his side to see the other bucket still sitting there where he had first dropped to his knees, by now out of reach with how closely he had come beneath the horse's body. Above him Brutus tossed his head and huffed again, perhaps from relief for finally being able to drain himself. Luke looked up at him, swallowed, then again dropped his gaze back down to the fast stream in front of him, the heat from it emanating out and warming the front of his body.

Then, slowly, he reached forward and took the base of Brutus's shaft in his paw again, fingers unable to wrap completely around it, meat soft yet firm at the same time. Around the back he could feel the force of the horse's stream, too, a faint rushing of the hot liquid through him as it poured out. His other paw came up again, hovering nearby yet not closing the distance; the otter licked his lips again, swallowed again, leaned in, took a deliberate, deep breath of the musky scent of fresh horse's mark, and then brought that other paw up beneath Brutus's blunted head.

It poured out over his palm and between his fingers, quickly soaking completely through the fur of his paw and spraying out around it. Luke shivered, enjoying the heat, the scent, the sensation, then closed his eyes, straightened up, and gently angled the entire thing towards his body, spreading his fingers around Brutus's head to concentrate the aim of the stream more fully at himself. It nearly pushed him back with the force of it, the spray emptying quickly and heavily out across his chest and belly, easily cutting through his fur and to the skin beneath - and it was thicker, stickier, almost, than what he was used to receiving from Inks and the few other patrons with whom he indulged in this kind of thing.

The otter let his breath out in a slow, steady sigh, straightening up further and tilting his head back to let the stallion douse him down, fresh piss streaming down his chest and body, arcing down along his thighs and pooling beneath him. While Brutus continued draining himself across his body, Luke slid his paw steadily down along the horse's still mostly-soft length, squeezing in along the slick, soft skin and flesh, feeling his pulse and the force of his stream, letting the scent continue to soak into his fingers and palm.

A slight adjustment of his grip along the underside of the horse's head, a little tilt and angle of his other paw there... and that stream of piss sprayed directly along Luke's own shaft, already twitching hard between his legs. He shivered with the sensation and lifted up into the wet heat, the scent by now flooding his head and awareness and filling him with something else, something more.

Before he could stop himself the otter had dropped his paws from Brutus's hanging shaft again, instead placing one on his thigh and wrapping the other around his own length dripping with piss, and then he leaned in and touched his nose and lips right to the medial ring in front of him, still soft, close to the end of the stallion's sheath. He breathed in fresh, rich horse musk, swallowed again, then let his tongue drop out of his mouth and start to lead him further down, sliding easily over already-slick, warm skin. It curled down over the rim of the horse's head and down beneath, coming close to the source of that mark, with his lips following close by... then he closed his eyes, pulled in a slow breath through his mouth, tasted that fresh piss on the air there, and continued down further, until that hot stream sprayed directly along the tip of his tongue.

That sent a hot shiver down his back, the taste suddenly blooming over the odor of it. Bitter enough to make his nose wrinkle, still earthy, with that same notable, characteristic salty bite, though that part was less than he had expected. Luke swallowed down that first spray, felt it coat his mouth and throat, shivered again, then moved down a little further and this time closed his mouth directly against the end of the stallion's shaft, the force and volume of the horse's piss quite quickly filling his maw and ballooning out his cheeks, until the rich yellow poured from the corners of his mouth and dripped down his chest. He held it there rather than drank it down, letting the taste wash over him and curl his nose and lips, though at the same time it kept him hard and twitching; the otter squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed once, twice, a third time, small gulps still enough for him to feel the thick heat of it rolling down his throat and into his belly.

The fourth swallow pulled an unintentional cough and splutter out of him, forcing him to release that mouthful and a half of stallion mark out across his chest and the growing pool between his legs, but it seemed that Brutus had finished up, as well: still holding the horse's shaft in one paw and wiping his mouth with the other, Luke both watched and felt as the stallion twitched, gave another push and another spray, and then just hung down there with the last wide drops plopping down into the puddle beneath. Luke braced his paws against his knees, taking the moment to catch his breath and let the rest of that sharp taste drip out of his mouth, though most of it already coated his tongue and throat.

He expected to see the horse drawing back into his plump, wrinkled sheath when he looked up, though saw quite the opposite. It hung there a moment, swinging and swaying with the horse's breathing and the last few drops, then pulsed and shifted. Luke wiped his mouth again as he watched, his own arousal still staying at its peak as Brutus's began to grow. This was something he had seen and initiated many times before as well, though it still caught his interest and attention to see it happening without him having to touch the horse any more than he already had, to see the long, thick shaft continue to drop out of its sheath, to grow to its full girth, to unfold a bit... and then, with a firm throb, to swing up and tap against the underside of the stallion's broad belly, and then again with a pawing at the ground from Brutus's front hoof and a toss of his head.

Luke smirked, coming back to himself, and shuffled forward again. Both paws still on his knees he pulled himself to his feet, wobbled a bit, brushed himself down, and then patted the side of the horse's body with one paw, using the angle to reach down underneath and trace his fingers up the line of that shaft with the other.

"Yeah, yeah..." he murmured, again breathing in the muted natural scent of the animal. A second later his pads brushed over the rim behind Brutus's head; he pressed in there, reached down a little further, cupped the head in his palm. "I know. Your owner wants me to take care of all your needs."

As if hearing and recognizing these words, Brutus tossed his head again and gave a buck forward, nearly pushing himself through Luke's fingers. The otter moved with him and chuckled, already half-bending down again: he angled the horse's length out from under his body so he could more easily work at it, the one paw remaining at the head while his other ran back and forth along the length, pads sliding easily across warm, supple skin, moist and slick with having been kept sheathed all day.

The otter murmured softly, as much for himself as for the stallion, while he worked. He let his eyes drift half-shut as his arms picked up the familiar rhythm, his paw around Brutus's head rhythmically squeezing and rubbing, fingers pulling along the rim behind and then palm pushing forward, while his other pushed back as close to his sack as he could reach from here and then forward again, fingers rolling over the ring along the way. His upper body braced against the horse's and his muzzle sideways on him, he could feel every reaction and response through the beast's body, from the little intakes of breath to the soft huffs, from the shifts in posture to the downward bucks, from the growing tension to the shivering anticipation. Luke tried to grind forward against him too, though only found hot yet empty air where he pushed his hips. If he angled the horse's length just right, though...

...he shivered with the sensation, another throb pulsing through Brutus's length as soon as Luke rubbed it against his own. His paw wasn't large enough to take both in the same grip, but still he went on, replacing his cupped palm with his own shaft and sack and body, pulling Brutus in against him and pressing forward as both paws now worked along the shaft, drawing forward and pushing back. He could still feel the heavy, cloying heat of the horse's piss soaking his chest, belly, and groin, and now smeared some more of that straight from the source across the underside of his twitching length, pulsing against the warmth of Brutus's as both of them came closer to their peaks.

Luke had worked with horses before, and this one in particular: once he had figured them out, they were fairly easy to take care of. He smirked, licked his lips, and leaned over a bit further, yet again changing his grip with a paw returning to the head of the stallion's shaft and the other coming down to work at himself. With his paw squeezing and working, palm pressing forward against the blunted head, Brutus started to snort and shiver, almost, muscular body pushing down towards the ground, hind legs shaking and tensing... and then entire body giving a firm thrust forward and down once, second, a third time, with Luke having to bend at the knees to follow him.

It was that third thrust that did it, the hot, thick seed suddenly spraying out against his cupped palm, fingers stretched around Brutus's flared head, and pouring down into the yellow puddle at his feet. Luke gasped, more out of satisfaction than surprise, and did his best to turn that aim upon himself again. Still pawing himself off, he took the second spurt, and then third and fourth directly against his lower belly and below, the thick fluid clinging to his fur and rolling down in waves, the smell heavy enough to cover the bite of the piss.

Luke let Brutus's shaft drop out from his paw as it began to retract back into its sheath, squeezing out a last lazy rope of his load as it went. He watched that, briefly imagining himself lying down beneath the horse to catch all of the rest in his open maw... then closed his eyes, hung his arm around the beast's body, and got back to work on himself, the thick coating of fresh horse's cum providing a slick, sticky lube, paw sliding fast and hard, the noise of the movement filling the private stall with his own panting. It didn't take himself long, either, and instead of return the favor he turned himself to the side and nearly buckled at the legs when his own peak washed over him, spurting out his own much less voluminous load out across the thin coating of hay over the stall's floor. He tightened his grip on the stallion's body as the pleasure washed through him, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing him to grit his teeth, until it was done a few thrusts into the air later.

Naturally it took a moment for the otter to catch his breath, half-hard cock hanging out in the air and dripping with his own load as well as Brutus's, with the same clinging to his fingers too. He looked down over himself, swallowed, sighed... he had only tugged his pants down to bring himself out into the air instead of taking them off completely, and now the fabric was of course as deeply soaked as his fur. Inks paid for a new set of clothing last time, though, so maybe he could do the same tonight. Still shaky on his feet, Luke shook off his paw, looked at it, then pushed off from Brutus's body and started around towards the buckets.

The stallion eyed him as he went. He patted his snout and gave his most innocent smile. Yet again he thought he picked up tired exasperation on Brutus as the horse averted his eyes and snorted, though didn't retreat from the touch.

"We're not quite done yet..." the otter said, looking over his shoulder at the horse. All he could smell was him, musk and sweat and cum and piss, soaking into and clinging on his entire body. "I've gotta let this dry at least a little bit before I go back in. Can't be dripping all over that nice wooden floor... and, besides, I've just greeted you now." He took Brutus's snout in his paws and leaned down, briefly touching his forehead to the stallion's before pulling back, another huff blasting out across his chin and neck. He chuckled. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I've got the soap here. You're about to get my paws right back where they were a second ago - hold still..."

As he knelt back down, he idly wondered if Inks would want to see this, too. Then the otter realized - well, he'll just have me give him the same treatment as I'm giving his horse. Just like every other time.

_ _

And we'll both love it.