FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

--1

For the third time since she'd gotten it, Isabel picked up the letter that had been dropped on her doorstep that afternoon. Left with all the clandestine secrecy as a battle plan or an obsessive threat, it simply appeared at her door, accompanied by a knock from an unknown courier from the village she once called home. Though she had peered out into the wintry night, she could see not a thing; whoever had left the note did not wish to be seen.

The doe carefully unfolded the parchment, and again, she read it. The message was clear, but it seemed so very unreal to her; time had a way of slipping through her fingers, it seemed. To confirm the terms at hand, she led her hazel eyes along the handsomely-written lines.

Dearest Isabel,

The time is upon you to make a decision. In one week, you will have been away from our save haven for a year proper. Your time for sowing your wild oats is over. If you wish to remain outside of our care, you need not respond, nor return. We will not seek you out, nor will we condemn you.

If you wish to return, we would be pleased to have you with open arms, yet you know our ways - return with a life from outside our clan to keep our blood strong. Know that the father will be shunned, as will you if you appear at his side. These have been our laws for years, Isabel. We will bend them for no one.

May life be fair to you in either choice, dear Isabel.

Isabel gaze was sullen, but it didn't threaten to cry; by no means was she weak-willed, yet the world proved a difficult place to navigate on her own. Though fortunate to have received work as a tavern wench, an employ that furnished her well enough for a small cottage and food to eat, she deeply missed the comforts and the care of her village.

A matriarchal colony, it was an inversion of the male-dominated world, and men who were not born inside its' walls were shunned with great prejudice. As a lady who grew up in such an environment, Isabel was first hard-pressed to quell her true feelings at being put to work and leered at by drunken and usually married men, but she soon felt a notable ambivalence to their lewd interests in her body; a hushed and short-lived rumor spoke of how she had laid with one or two men from the pub, but nobody, not even the caribou's closest friends at work, dared to ask. Whether it was out of decency or because her answer might spoil the gossip was unclear.

--2

Isabel wanted to return home to her village; her mind was already made up on that, but there was the pressing matter at hand. A child... Settling back into her chair, her body warmed by the fireplace, the doe closed her eyes and fell into deep thought. From whom?

It was a question that gnawed at her, and the more she thought of faces and bodies and scents, she began to feel a sensation, a familiar burn in her loins, an indescribable sensation that existed between pleasure and discomfort.

The doe took a deep breath, pouting out the ample swell of her bare chest; after a tiresome day tending the tables, she almost always wore a soft nightgown, but the letter was such a distraction that she didn't bother to slip anything on after doing away with her work dress. Isabel had no shame in her naked body, however, and the lack of clothing brought her a strange contentment, helping her to relax and think more carefully.

In this moment of thought, Isabel pictured a barrel chest belonging to a man of menacing height. Biting her lip, shivering, thinking harder, she forced the memory to come in greater clarity; at the same time, her hand ran down her slender belly, and then she traced the folds of her cunt.

In the ethereal haze of the memory, which was fast changing into a fantasy, whether she realized it or not, Isabel looked up, and she was vaguely aware of some handsome, solemn features, but what stuck out to her most of all was his rack. It was pure instinct - the greatest catalyst for lust.

Yes, she thought, caressing her folds with greater insistence; moisture began to seep from between the lips. Yes, that rack, that's the mark of the man I need...

Though the mystery buck's antlers were magnificent, they also proved burdensome on nights when he had too much to drink. Ordinarily a surprisingly agile creature who ducked for the pub's supports, all of the wenches - Isabel included - easily knew when he was drunk, for he incessantly caught his horns on the wooden beams.

The doe thought of the first time she'd seen him get caught up, and a smile parted her lips, yet this thought was gone quickly; on any other night, she would have had a great interest in cute antics, but not that night.

Reaching out, she lay her hands upon his chest; she had never seen him shirtless, let alone naked, but there he was in the fur. The creases of his muscles twitched under her fingertips, and the broad cavern of his chest resonated with a mighty, lewd rumble at her touch. Though she wished to glance down to see his manhood, she was transfixed by the pompous display of his rack.

Harder and harder, she rubbed her folds, and she began to pant and writhe in the chair.

He put a hand on her, cupping her cheek with his palm, stroking down her snout with his thumb. In that vivid moment, she looked into his eyes, not upon his rack. Suddenly gone was that dreamy haze, replaced by blinding clarity.

In reality, she no longer rubbed herself; two fingers were buried up to the knuckle, fast becoming saturated with musky juices of a doe in heat. At her self-abuse, Isabel grimaced and whimpered, writhing ever more in her chair.

In her fantasy, the beautiful buck - Walter, that's his name, I remember hearing his friends call him that - had begun kissing her. The feel of his tongue, despite how thick and wet it was, felt loving and unobtrusive, and she caressed it with her own. Both her hands came to rest upon his wide snout, stroking through the short fur there, down to his cheeks, beneath his eyes.

His face was ruggedly handsome; Walter was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes upon. She knew this now.

In the kiss, he still fondly stroked her, yet no longer on her face. Instead, he rubbed down her flank, starting beneath her armpit, brushing past her breast on that side. The caribou felt the hard, precious metal of his wedding band on her flesh, but the taboo feeling of it did not drive away her lust, instead spurring it.

She added a third finger to her cunt. She moaned freely and whispered the praises of her fantasy to her empty home.

Walter's heavy hand neared her hip. He wasted no time teasing her there or grasping her bottom; his fingers slowly moved around to her front, and they brushed across the lips of her snatch, and Isabel felt the most incredible gratification...

--3

The Stag Pub was very much alive on any given night, but Christmas Eve was ever a crowded occasion. Not a single table lay unoccupied, and the patrons - not all deer, and not even predominantly - all drank in noisy contentment. Songs came in off-key rounds and bodies stumbled to the floor in limp heaps with great frequency, but there was not a single syllable spoken in anger, nor did any fists fly that evening; it was truly a Christmas miracle.

A full compliment of lovely wenches - all deer, and all elk, for that matter - met the steady demand for more drinks, pouring and serving them at the counters and to the tables. A few able-bodied young men, also elk, waited close by to swap out emptied casks for fresh full vessels from the cellar - these strong young bucks earned their keep that night.

Walter and his circle of friends were not an uncommon sight at the Stag Pub; in fact, they were there almost every night, always drinking a few rounds before heading home; the rumor among the wenches was that their respective wives were intolerable with a sober head.

Their aptitude to flirt with the ladies who served them their drinks did not help with the rumors that abounded, ones which called into question the character and fidelity of the bucks.

Never once did any of them leave the pub with any women, yet they were flirts to the core. As a pack of handsome, fit, and well-to-do men with fermented drinks, it was their prerogative to let their hungry eyes drift where they ought not, and no matter how much those wenches played coy and spoke in private derision of such adultery, each and every one of them, spoken for or not, wished for them to make good on their little remarks just once.

--4

"And another round for you boys," said Eleanor, eldest of the serving wenches, yet not a day past twenty-five. She smiled fondly and set down the tray that was in her hands; carved of dense wood and bearing four leaded glass mugs brimming with ale, it was much heavier than it looked. Each one of the bucks took a glass, and the doe took the empty tray, which she then tucked under arm.

For but a moment, she watched as the four of them took slow, fond drinks from the mugs in near synchronization before setting them down in a crescendo. Whether it was a ritual to celebrate a new round or simply coincidence, none of the wenches could tell, but they did it without fail.

"Busy night, Eleanor?" one of the bucks, named Rowan, asked. His tone was surprisingly amiable; for as lewd as they could be, they were never patronizing. That was one such reason why the wenches all enjoyed their patronage.

"Only slightly," the doe answered with a coy smile, drumming her fingertips on the edge of the tray. "I take it you boys will stay here until closing, just like every night you decide to hold these chairs down?"

The boys all chuckled, sans Walter, who simply smiled in a way that exuded silent dominance over the female mind; it made Eleanor shiver imperceptibly.

"Christmas Eve's as good a night as any to spend in the bottom of a mug," said John, another one of the bucks, his words morose, his tone anything but. He sounded rather happy, but he wasn't drunk at all.

"Anything to keep me away from my wife," said the last of them, Clifton; his shuddered words earned a riotous laugh from the other bucks - Walter included, to a lesser degree. Even Eleanor couldn't help but giggle, though she demurely covered her snout so as to not seem unladylike.

"Oh, don't laugh," Clifton said in faux-horrified tones, earning a brief pause from the other bucks. "It's terrible. I'd met her on a drunken evening, and... And let's simply say I had no choice but to take her hand."

Eleanor couldn't keep from grinning; she was regarded among the patrons as the most lenient of all the wenches, often proving herself to be a capable tomboy. The simple truth of the matter was that she enjoyed the company of men, especially ones so bold as Walter as his cronies. "Adultery, Cliff, is that so?" Eleanor chided in a low and morbidly curious tone, unconsciously bending over to lean closer to him; her bust was held fast by a surprisingly fine dress, yet it was purposefully slack around her throat - it was no secret or surprise that a look down into her cleavage was very effective at earning tips.

Clifton's eyes were affixed to the crevasse of Eleanor's bust, but, unlike most men who had wedding bands, he was not shy with his eyes. "Maybe that's the word I'd use," Clifton said in a distracted tone, his words no longer so morbid.

Eleanor, with her free hand, trailed a digit up beneath the buck's jaw and eased him into lifting his head, allowing their eyes to meet. Though he was several years her elder, Eleanor had a charismatic dominance that worked on every man who came into what she considered to be "her" pub.

The only man who could not only resist, but counter Eleanor's wiles, was the formidable Walter - and he never vouched for his men. He always allowed Eleanor to put them in their places, and he was as passive as ever in this case, sipping his ale as he observed.

"You're a lecherous and foul creature," she said, but her words were not derisive; they actually seemed to hold some admiration.

"I've been told that," Clifton said with a blushing grin, and Eleanor eased back. She stood straight, and she reaffirmed her grip on the tray.

"Have a nice evening, boys," the doe said fondly, turning on her heel before sauntering away. As she walked, the bucks eyed her hips, and the sight of it made them all thirsty enough for a drink each.

--5

Isabel rose from her chair to legs that gently quaked. Beyond that subtle instability, she seemed to drift as she walked, as if her hooves were not on the floor, but hovering centimeters above it.

Clearer than ever, she could see the handsome face, trace the beautiful body, and hear the powerful, if not reserved voice; it all added up to spell Walter. He was the perfect man, and she knew that she needed the perfect way to attract his attention, to earn what she presumed to be a selective eye.

He must be picky, she told herself as she popped open the trunk which contained the entirety of her outfits.

A man as handsome as that must have so many unspeakably fine women fawning over him. She didn't despair in this thought, however; with afterglow warming her body like a fermented drink, she felt only a calm demeanor, an almost clinical thought process that defied her thoughts of sex. It brought balance to her lewd and chaotic desires.

As she knelt nude before trunk, she pawed her way through neatly-folded dresses. All prim and proper, all stuffy, and all obscuring the sweet curve of her hips, the delicious length of her legs, and the swell of her chest. Indeed, those outfits would appeal to a sensible, God-loving and -fearing man, but she had no desire to win His approval, only Walter's.

Think naughty. Think crude. That led her to think of appearing nude, but before that idea went very far, her hand brushed something hard and metallic. It jingled as she disturbed it, and with a smile spreading over her pretty face, one that turned into a grin so dirty as to be unrecognizable on pretty Isabel, she realized that the answer to her dilemma was right there.

She pulled the bands of sleigh bells out from the very bottom of the trunk, upending her carefully arranged wardrobe and thinking nothing of it.

A Christmas tradition in her village, it wasn't uncommon at all to see every single caribou dressed gaily in jingling bells, both male and female alike. Isabel had taken her set with her both as a memento, and with the intention of perhaps wearing them to work on Christmas Eve; it was with a small, ironic chuckle that she realized she would be doing just that.

Fondly, she stroked over the fine, red leather of the choker, and her thoughts turned to her village. With a smile, she the bells to her chest, and she reminded herself that soon, she would be home - but first, there was business to attend to.

The caribou dressed herself with care and composure, fitting the choker around her neck before doing the same with the two anklets, which fit perfectly just before the second bend of her hoof-tipped legs.

In the mirror of her vanity, she admired her form, coveting her own body, as it were; she smiled cutely, she grinned, and she posed and wiggled her short tail. Despite being largely satisfied, she decided something was missing, yet there was nothing else in the trunk of use to her.

Her walk back to the den was accompanied by a subtle and unmistakable jingle, and the sound made her smile and briefly think of home again

Once more, she seated herself in her chair, and she closed her eyes for a moment of relaxation. The warmth of her afterglow had worn thin, but she still felt calm and in control of herself, and she was glad for that rationality. She also acknowledged that, when she was in the clutches of Walter later on - it was not a question of if, but when, - she wouldn't have much use for rationality and level-headed thoughts anyway.

With her eyes closed, Isabel felt that fantasy returning to her, but abridged; she could see that handsome buck's rack again, and she felt his hands on her body, palming her flanks, pawing at her in a manner that seemed calm and collected, but was really quite aroused.

Despite wanting to fade into the lust and enjoy herself for a second time, she opened her eyes instead and forced away the vivid pictures - she had an idea that couldn't wait, she knew what the final touch was, and she stood up.

Up on the mantle of the fireplace was a reined harness, one beautifully crafted out of leather in a shade that did not quite match, but certainly complimented the bands of the sleigh bells. It was an heirloom from her mother, and her mother, and so on to the point that Isabel wasn't sure what generation it was from - what was clear was that it had been made with care and skill, and that it was quite antiquated.

As she reverently slid it over her muzzle and fastened it behind her head, she recounted the little tale that her mother had told her when it was entrusted to her, a cute bedtime story about Saint Nicholas' enchanted caribou, from which Isabel and her kind supposedly descended from - or were at least related to. It was nothing more than a sweet anecdote to justify the harness' existence, but it reminded her of home yet again, and it brought a smile to her lips.

Yet again, she took to her bed chamber, and she admired herself in the mirror of her vanity. The reins of the harness hung over the front of her shoulder and down to her belly, and she acknowledged with a cute smile that Walter would notice her. She had never been more sure of anything.

--6

The dress she chose to obscure her nudity was not necessarily flattering, but it didn't have to be; it would do for the walk to the pub, and that was all she needed it for. On said walk, she expected to be chilled to the bone, but no; while she was indeed cold, she felt a great warmth in her body. It was her arousal, and she knew it. Feeling the cold, wintry air on her needing body made her realize just how tender she was, how sensitive her flesh would be under strong, masculine hands, and she made quick tracks to the pub.

Once there, she walked around to the back of the pub. It wouldn't do to enter through the front doors, her sleigh bells jingling, the harness secure around her snout. She was a gift for Walter - and perhaps his usual group of no-good husbands, the more she thought of it.

Around back, she walked along the rear of the building, guiding herself with a hand on its' surface. She tracked through the snow until she felt not frozen soil, but the heavy wooden doors of the cellar, not opened in a season. With surprising handiness, she reached into the snow atop the doors, and she tugged upon their rings with all her strength.

The doors budged on their rusty hinges, sloughing off the fresh layer of snow, which slid to either side of the then-sloping doors. Though the cellar door had the capacity to be barred, nobody ever bothered to do so, and that laziness was her advantage.

After descending the stairs hurriedly, she pulled the doors shut behind her, and one final wisp of snow dusted her front side as those wooden slabs settled into place. She turned, and then she peered through the musty, tersely-lit cellar. Above, she heard clanking mugs, footfalls, and rowdy laughter - exactly what she expected.

Determined as ever, Isabel left the cellar. When she peered out of the door to the pub proper, she caught sight of Eleanor, loitering near the counter, and after a few whispers, she had her fellow doe's attention.

"What are you doing here? What are you wearing on your face?" Eleanor was as incredulous as Isabel was clandestine. The caribou pulled her friend into the cellar and pushed the door close to shut, but not all the way.

"The pub is closing early tonight," Isabel said, her tone harboring a sureness that Eleanor had never heard coming from her.

"Isabel," Eleanor blurted out, finding herself discordant just from the authority in the caribou's tone alone, "I'm completely baffled. What do you mean closing early? Why?"

Isabel could feel herself growing weary. The sensation was not impatience - she felt like she could have, if necessary, explain herself to Eleanor - but more like a subconscious urging to push things along. In retrospect, she would look at it as her body's way of reminding her that she wanted Walter, and more crudely, sex. Sex with Walter, to be specific, but the root of it all was sex.

"Eleanor," she said with a smile so subtle as to be unnoticeable, "please just trust me. In a few moments, Walter and his friends are probably going to shoo everybody out of the pub." Isabel was startled by how clearly the idea hit her; Walter didn't seem like the type to want to play exhibitionist, nor was he the kind of man who would be refused his way if something he truly wanted presented itself. The fact that her plan seemed to be writing itself inspired a momentary grin, one Eleanor incredulously returned before resting her hands on Isabel's shoulders.

"What, do you know something I don't, dear?" Eleanor asked without a hint of irony, leaning closer to the caribou.

Again, Isabel was stricken with a lewd thought, one which made her laugh. Yes, there's going to be a fight. A fight about which one of them gets his hands on me first! "No, no, Eleanor," she forced herself to say, gently removing the elk doe's hands from her shoulders. Then, with boldness Eleanor would have never expected a quiet girl like Isabel to have - Isabel herself was still trying to reconcile that confidence - the caribou removed her snow-dampened dress and tossed it atop one of the caskets.

With wide eyes, Eleanor took in the nude reindeer before her, her mouth working, but saying no words. She was stunned. Isabel smiled cutely and stepped out of the cellar. "Be ready to lock up," she said back to Eleanor, her sleigh bells jingling, "that's all I can say."

--7

Isabel emerged from the cellar unnoticed, a momentary anticlimax after all the thought she had put into that night. Nobody in their right mind stared at the entrance to the cellar, but as she stepped around the counter and into the view of the patrons - almost all of them male - silence began spreading through the room like a wave.

Over the lessening voices and hushed whispers, her jingling sleigh bells became all the more audible, their charming tones adding superbly to the surreal scene as it unfolded. The caribou walked slowly, her pace simply casual, her expression one to match. The doe's lips were pulled into a tiny smile, only the most terse acknowledgment of how outrageous her behavior was. She swore she could feel the eyes roaming her body, making her tender flesh crawl, but not with disgust. It was an incredible sensation of liberty, and like most things she felt that night, it only compounded her arousal, which had not once begun to wane.

Isabel walked through the crowd; they parted to allow her, and by that point, even the rowdiest of drunks exhibited rapt attention and utter silence. From the corner of her eye, Isabel spotted Eleanor, leaning against the frame of the cellar door as though her legs would not support her; she was grinning.

For the caribou, a thousand years passed as she walked across the planks of the floor, the gentle clop of her hooves completely masked by the hypnotic jingle of the bells; years, decades, centuries came and went at an agonizing speed until, at last, with no herald but silence, Walter came into view.

His men stared; one's jaw was agape, but the effect was lewd, not comical. Another licked his lips. Walter simply looked, his body dismissively side-saddle on the chair. One hand hung loose over the back, the other absently clutched the handle of his mug, half-empty. Finally, she stood before him, and she let her smile overtake her face. Here he is, she told herself, and you're not day-dreaming this time.

--8

"Hello, Walter," Isabel said sweetly, inching closer to the handsome buck, her hands at her sides. Out of his view, her short tail wiggled.

"Hello, yourself," Walter said quietly, reaching for and grasping the lead of the rein with an air of possessiveness.

Isabel's heart no longer softly pattered; it thudded like cannon fire in her chest. The heat returned to her loins in full force, and she was certain that Walter could smell her. In fact, in those heightened emotions, she found herself remarkably perceptive, and she saw the buck crinkle his nose as if smelling a fine wine before a taste. He was smelling her, whether he realized it or not.

He tugged upon the rein, drawing her in; on one of his meaty fingers, she saw his tarnished wedding band, and it only made the emotions and the arousal more visceral. She stepped closer to him to without question, for that evening, Walter owned her. Case in point, the buck trailed a digit down the smooth plane of her stomach, ceasing centimeters from her needing mound. "Got a fire lit in your body," Walter whispered, his eyes trailing up from where his finger rested, across the doe's breasts, and then into her eyes, "don't you?"

Isabel could not find words; they were somewhere in her head, she knew that, but they were buried under arousal. Slowly and deliberately, she nodded, her face calm, her eyes wide and primal.

Walter's fingers moved away from that nearly-gratifying spot, and they instead flicked one of the thigh-mounted bands of sleigh bells, forcing them to jingle, putting a smirk on his face; it said what a cute touch to Isabel. Still gripping the rein, Walter tugged Isabel even closer; despite the fact that he was sitting, he was still taller than her, but only by an inch - rack not included. He kissed her on the lips, and she kissed back, the meeting of lips shallow but sweet.

After the kiss, Walter looked to his left at Clifton, then to his right, where he saw John. All it took was a subtle nod of his head, and his boys jumped to action. In only a short time, they corralled everybody to the doors and out into the cold night, pub staff not included.

Isabel watched with much too obvious interest as the three smaller bucks shooed the others out, often by intimidation alone, sometimes with physical force. The rest of the room could have easily turned on them and won, but they didn't dare - it was a breathtaking display of suddenness and masculinity. The caribou grew wet from it, and she pressed her thighs tightly together with her one remaining shred of shyness.

Eleanor could not look away from Isabel, but she slunk to the front doors and locked them; she, along with the rest of the pub staff, retired to the wench quarters above, baffled by the events that had conspired, but unquestioning of what seemed to be Isabel's Christmas wish.

Alone with the four bucks, Isabel suddenly felt tiny, and her brash nudity struck her all at once. What a foolish idea! she began to think, her cheeks lighting with crimson blush.

The three smaller bucks closed in around her and Walter, the percussion of their hooves menacing in the new stillness of the pub. Yet, as she laid eyes upon Walter anew, and she realized the moment was so real, everything became all right again. She gingerly lay her hands upon the buck's broad shoulders; even there, she felt muscle ripple beneath the thin, snug fabric of his shirt.

Walter pulled her in again, and their lips met for a second time; with no audience but his closest friends, Walter took what he pleased from that kiss. His tongue, several sizes too thick for Isabel's maw, was made to fit nevertheless. It filled the lovely caribou's maw with its' writhing, wet girth, stimulating her and then some; he slapped it against her palate and her own tongue with little regard for the concept of technique, and he rumbled with an abundant, rotten lewdness.

To Isabel, there was nothing sensual or gentle about the kiss - and she loved that detachment. The doe pressed against to his form, her breasts compressing against the mountain range that was his chest. After cruelly ending the kiss, Walter held the rein with one hand, and with the other arm, he squeezed her close in possessiveness.

Isabel wrapped her arms tightly around the buck's body, his frame so wide that she could just barely touch her hands together behind his back. His sheer size was unreal, almost impossible, and defiant of all sensibility in its' very existence

He did not kiss her, but he huffed his hot breath upon her face. His free hand, the domineering mitt that would no-doubt take anything it pleased, rubbed down the caribou's spine until it reached her behind. Beneath her short tail it went, clutching her taut rear, which grew even more tense for his masculine grip.

Isabel closed her hazel eyes, and she allowed rational thought to waver under the weight of instinct and raw lust. So close to the buck, Isabel was assaulted by Walter's musk; heavy, fermented, off-putting to some but a heaven-sent scent to the right nose, it intoxicated her. It made her melt against him, and her short tail wiggled in testament to her content submission.

"Best Christmas gift I've had in my life," said Walter in his gruff, resonating tones, earning a chuckle from two of his men; the other, Rowan, just grinned and took a sip of his drink.

Walter's hand did not stay idle upon her behind for long; it slid down the taut plane of one cheek, into the warm crease where buttock met thigh, and from there, in between her legs. She subtly eased her thighs apart, and suddenly, there it was - the touch she would have killed for, Walter's thick finger tracing over the dampened lips of her cunt.

She quivered and cooed, rendered stiff by the pleasure. Her own digits were softer, more skilled, yet to be touched by that handsome elk was to be innocent all over again - and then promptly be stripped of that innocence.

"Hot. And wet," Walter stoically reported, rubbing over her folds again and again, persistently grinding against them in a way that made her legs grow weak, soon quaking at the knees, yet before his touch became too gratifying, the buck ceased, and he merely clutched a thigh, unable to touch his own palm around it, but he was close close.

Rowan, Clifton, and John all sported erections that struggled against their trousers, but they paled in comparison to the swollen lump in the crook of Walter's legs; every throb was almost painfully visible. The buck allowed Isabel slack with the rein, and with it, he put several inches between them. Her pouted breasts close to his face, he leaned low, and he snuffled his hot and moist breath across them.

Her nipples were stiff, and in a lovely shade of pink that peeked cutely through her downy fur. Walter kissed one; Isabel moaned. He dragged the obscene, inarticulate slab of his tongue across the other, matting down fur and teasing flesh; the caribou was, ironically, more reserved this time, responding only with a gentle coo, yet the pleasure was most certainly there. He then eased his wide snout between the doe's breasts, and there, he planted a kiss that sent a shiver up her spine.

As he delivered this affection, he undid the tie that held his trousers up, tugging one of the loose ends until the knot let loose and the fly began to part. Then, slowly but steadily, he rose to his hooved feet; Isabel stepped back to allow both room for him to do so, and for herself to stare.

Entirely casual as his trousers dropped and left him nude from the waist down, Walter stood before Isabel with those pants pooled around his ankles, exposing his erection, mighty and hard just as he was, and proportionate to his body in only the best way.

--9

Isabel's eyes were fixed most hungrily upon that manhood, which oozed a great wad of slippery pre with every single throb. She moved her hands down and clutched it gracelessly; her actions were irreverent, sexually ravenous, not at all gentle nor ladylike.

Walter rumbled with some sultry sound when he felt her fingers on his shaft, which was too large even for both of her hands. He set one of his own strong hands upon her jaw, gently clutching her face with the fingers, rubbing her cheek with the thumb. When the caribou spared a glance up at the buck's face, she saw that he was grinning. It was subtle, noticeable only at the corners of his mouth, but it was unmistakable.

The sight of it made her blush, and that fire burned in her cheeks even hotter as she knelt, almost without thought. Walter released the leash, something Isabel found disappointing, yet tolerable. Upon her knees, Walter's colossal erection throbbed close to her lips and her tender, sniffing nose; she bumped the former to the buck's great, wide glans, slick and glistening with pre, and she planted a kiss upon it.

At the tail end of that slow and sensual kiss, she allowed some of that flesh past her lips; none of the shaft, merely a portion of the tip, but Walter quietly huffed and tightened his jaw at the feeling anyway. Isabel was not a stranger to oral pleasures, but a man of Walter's size was new and unusual to her; it made her actions seem adorably inexperienced. Though it wasn't the first time lovely, young caribou had tasted such a thing as musky, masculine flesh, it never had felt as right as it did with Walter.

Walter's men watched with great interest as the big buck's member slowly disappeared beyond the doe's lips. Walter filled her maw so well that she had no hope of keeping all of the assorted juices within her mouth - and she made no attempt to do so.

Thick rivulets of saliva and elk pre ran down her chin freely, sullying the curve of her breasts and the warm gap between that was her cleavage. The liquids warmed her tender flesh there, treating her to abstract, taboo sensations, yet they were also simple and crude pleasures.

Inches and inches of turgid flesh slid into Isabel's maw, between flat teeth and against a soft, hot tongue, the blunt tip soon to push against the entrance to her throat. The caribou moaned in old pleasures rekindled, one hand still clutching what remained of Walter's cock, the other resting on his hip.

"How is she, Walter?" said one of the boys; exactly whom was not something Isabel knew.

"She's excellent," the big buck answered, laying a hand upon the modest rack of Isabel's antlers. He curled his meaty fingers around them, using them not to force himself on Isabel; rather, the gesture seemed affectionate, even as masculine as it was.

Isabel thought they might next ask when their turn was, and the more she thought of it while Walter's mighty, throbbing erection slid into her maw, she distantly hoped they would have their ways with her, as well.

When the wide tip of Walter's member butted up to the unyielding entrance of Isabel's throat, a small grunt resonated in his chest, yet Isabel didn't give him the gratification he had hoped for. With obvious unease, she pulled her head back, and the buck didn't force the point.

Walter eased off of her rack and instead let his hand clutch the back of a chair nearby. What he felt of that hot mouth was more than enough to please him; slowly, but with rising comfort, the doe started to bob. She took Walter's soft moans and shifting hooves as proof that she was doing it right, and with that, she took greater liberties with that cock. Her boldness ever growing, Isabel sucked crudely, but earnestly; with a soft hand, she groped in rhythmic squeezes on the base with all her strength, earning more heated groans and rumbles from her mark. Her other hand still squeezed down on the buck's hip; his balls might have been something better to explore, but the idea didn't occur to her, nor did it to Walter.

In a loose circle, the other men watched with impish grins and hungry, buzzed gazes, the groins of their trousers bulging hugely with throbbing lumps. Rowan, his behind pressed against the edge of an adjacent table, had taken to idly fondling himself. Clifton and John stood opposite of the mating pair, their hard bodies close to one another, their shoulders bumping when they happened to lean; those two huffed hard and did nothing to hide their interests or obscure the bulges of their erections. Isabel wasn't aware of it, yet their scents were mingling with Walter's own, playing hell with her instincts; though not consciously, she wanted, and would not be satisfied without, every last one of those bucks.

Walter began to tighten his jaw, the only sign of such great pleasure on an otherwise stoic, almost disinterested face. Even his eyes were as cold as the wind that seeped in through the drafty sills and cracks, but when Isabel looked at them, she could see the lust and the wanting. She supposed it was the look he might have given his wife at some point in their lives; that only added to the chill of his gaze, and like a real chill, it made her shiver.

Harder, now, faster and with more eager skill, Isabel bobbed and sucked in great snatches on Walter's member. The caribou savored the feeling of his blunt, oozing glans and throbbing shaft upon her tongue, defiling delicate and virgin flesh in only the most rude ways. Just as Walter's tongue had taken inventory of that feminine maw, so did his penis, leaving the taste and scent of dick and musk on her breath and tongue.

Down below, where none of the men looked - they were all focused so intensely upon Isabel's wet muzzle - the caribou was almost absurdly wet. Down her thighs and over the leather bands of the sleigh bells ran thin streams of female juices, rife with incredible amounts of female musk. There was so much liquid that one might have thought her body was preparing itself for Walter's oversized manhood. The doe was aware of just how wet she was, and mentally, she remarked on it in disjointed, base thoughts, but she put it next to all of her other thoughts of unease and shyness, and she proceeded to ignore it in that regard.

Isabel heard the soft sounds of fabric hitting the floor on her right, and a tiny glance showed her that one of the other bucks had dropped his trousers, exposing an erection as hard and ready as Walter's, but smaller, more manageable, and more-or-less ideal for her body.

That can come later, she thought, closing her eyes once more, returning her full attention to Walter. His oversized cock was what she wanted, what she had trudged through the show in the middle of a bitterly cold night for. She heard another soft impact, and then another, and finally a fourth. With her curiosity getting the better of her, she glanced again; Clifton and John were nude, their clothes in an uncaring heap on the floor. They stood side by side, their hard bodies positively beautiful in the lantern light.

Almost as beautiful as you, she thought, glancing back to Walter's stomach before letting her eyes close once more. From her left came the sound of more clothes hitting the floor; this time, she didn't have to look, and she didn't. Rowan had shed his pants, and all that left were his and Walter's shirts.

And my bells, Isabel thought to no one but herself, something she might have spoken were her mouth not so occupied. Walter joined his two boys in complete nudity; with his free hands, he untied the collar of his shirt, and he pulled it up and off with surprising ease for a buck with such a large rack. He then stood nude, his eyes gazing down on Isabel, and the timing to move on struck him as absolutely perfect. He took hold of her rack in both hands, and he eased her back.

One of the bucks on the sidelines chuckled at her obvious reluctance, the way she tried so hard to keep her lips around that cock, how she licked at the tip like candy when it finally exited her maw, but she was unaware of the derision. She looked up into Walter's eyes with great need and overwhelming lust, but the look he gave back was almost reassuring. He unhanded her rack, and she stood; once more, he took the leash of the rein.

--10

Walter led her but a few paces away, toward Rowan. His face began to light up with interest, but Walter dismissed him with a subtle shake of his head. Disappointed, but not dejected, the smaller buck stepped aside, though not far out of the way; he sat his nude, muscular behind down on the surface of that table, his hooved feet resting in the adjacent chair.

Walter didn't seem to care just how closely his boys wanted to watch, and Clifton and John weren't shy about letting their hands wander to each other's bare shoulders, a masculine embrace with clothing on, but something more ambiguous otherwise.

It occurred as strange to Isabel just how suspiciously comfortable they were with one another, compounded by all of that unquestioning subservience to Walter. Though she said not a word on the subject, the concept aroused her, for she had heard tales of men lying with other men, and on such a night of exploration and boundary-crossing, she embraced the taboo notion. If men as handsome as Walter and his bucks wanted one another, that was perfectly fine with her.

Isabel looked upon Rowan as she stepped up to the table. His lips were twisted into a coy smile, and his erection throbbed in his lap, its' subtle twitches enticing to Isabel in myriad ways. The doe met his eyes with an obviously hungry gaze, and the buck licked his lips in arousal, but Walter gave the caribou no quarter to change her mind, and Rowan wouldn't have dared defy him, not even for a girl as lovely and pliable as Isabel was.

The largest buck set his masculine hands upon the doe's shoulders, and he eased her down against the ale-stained surface of the old, sturdy table. Never once did Isabel resist; she quite compliantly bent over its' edge, and she allowed her arms to rest on its' surface while her breasts pressed against it, treating her to tingles of pleasure as her stiffened nipples rubbed into the rough grain of the wood.

The leash for the rein hung over the edge of the table, but Walter off-handedly tossed it up beside the doe's arm before his strong, possessive hands took hold of something else entirely. With a touch that Isabel assumed had known many women and maybe men - that idea was impossible to ignore, lingering at the forefront of her sexual fantasies now - the tall buck squeezed the caribou's ample hips, his fingers curling around so that the tips were agonizingly close to the warmth of her cunt while his thumbs pressed shallow ruts into the pliable flesh of her rump cheeks.

Isabel shuddered and huffed, her short tuft of a tail wiggling invitingly and involuntarily. Walter couldn't help but grin, first at Rowan, then down at the lovely girl's body. He leaned back and tilted his head down, and he was just able to see her obscenely saturated folds, dripping, drooling, waiting for a man, any man at all, but Walter in particular. He took one hand off of her hip, and with it, he clutched his mightily throbbing shaft.

Walter shuddered from a cocktail of sensations as he pressed the blunt, dripping-wet tip of his member to the lips of Isabel's cunt, which reluctantly parted to allow the elk inside. Isabel moaned from beneath, and though the sound was not entirely pleasurable, it was not one of complete pain, either.

Walter was aware of the duality of her little cry, but his idea of sympathy was to drive himself in deeper, which he achieved not in lewd bucks of his pelvis, but with steady pressure. Fluids squirted past the threshold of Isabel's folds as Walter's colossal member steadily entered, inch after inch of throbbing, stellar flesh disappearing into the damp pink of the caribou's body.

The beautiful doe still moaned, her small body quaking with those sounds, but the pain seemed lessened. From overhead, she heard a low rumble in the elk's chest, a most subtle sign of the buck's enjoyment of that entry. Even though he was vocally passive, Isabel could tell how much he liked her tight body, the reasons obvious to her, but also subconscious; she felt him throb inside of her, and she felt the veins of his flesh bulging hugely into her loving, deep pink as he tunneled deeper into her, soon to hilt. Something she loved were his frequent and voluminous wads of pre, squirting into her snatch with all the weight of a lesser man's climax; these sensations sent shivers up her spine and saw her coo with moans, but she acknowledged in a more subtle, primal manner that those great squirts promised a colossal orgasm, and a staggeringly high chance that she return home with a new life inside of her.

Soon, Isabel felt Walter's sturdy hips against the pliable, hot flesh of her behind, and she felt almost surreal in her contentment. It was stunning to think that that great, handsome elk, whose endowment must have hung somewhere close to his knee, was inside of her; that oversized manhood, buried up to the hilt in her slender, tight body, throbbing intimately against her most delicate and untouched of flesh.

Isabel cooed a moan to him, and she tried to speak, but her words failed her. The caribou decided she didn't need words, however; her body was content in doing all of the talking for her, and she intently pressed back into the buck's pelvis, wiggling her hips as she did so, her tail doing a similar dance against the chiseled wall of his abdomen.

The elk stud moved his hands from Isabel's hips with no sensuality; he simply lifted them set them upon the table, bending over his young Christmas gift as he did. He dragged the thick muscle of his tongue over his lips in a moment of anticipation, and then he started to pull back, withdrawing the heavy flesh of his cock in a slow but steady motion of his hips.

Isabel quaked beneath, her lovely body tense, her breathing short and hasty. The doe was aware of every sensation, no matter how small; she felt her passage already tightening back up as that enormous obstruction slid back, and she shivered as the buck's voluminous pre trickled along her walls, mingling with, but still discernible from, the warm moisture of her own juices. Very soon, that big buck cock was almost free of Isabel's body, the blunt curve of the tip just wedged into her entrance before it was roughly pushed back in, spreading open that pretty doe all over again. Isabel gasped, then moaned; Walter just closed his eyes.

The caribou was fast lost in the buck's lovemaking. She expected him to be self-serving and uncaring, but he was not; every one of his steady thrusts ground his throbbing length upwards into the doe's body, putting nearly blissful pressure on her sensitive walls. Though the doe cooed and moaned her praises to the handsome buck endlessly, they were almost inaudible over said buck's gruff noises - panting, huffing, rumbling and the scraping of hooves on the dusty planks of the floor.

In the rising pleasure of that quickening lay, his hand found the leash of the rein, and he gave it a tug up and back; Isabel gasped and her eyes grew wide, and like a slap on the hip, it made her clench, and hard. Soon after came a gasp and then a noise that could have only been a pleasurable whimper; whether it was that noise or her clenching, gripping cunt that spurred Walter on, Isabel didn't know, but the end result was wonderful; he started to actually fuck her.

No longer focusing on her pleasure, letting it come as a consequence rather than a specific goal, the studly elk pounded his strong hips into the taut curve of the caribou's behind again, and again, and again. Even though coarse fur, the sound of flesh on flesh came in constant, heavy smacks, a spanking most lewd for Isabel's sweet behind, but one she took with great pleasure, and maybe even a little bit of pride.

Isabel had known a few men who spoke during sex, be it in gentle, loving words or harsher swears to coincide with that sweet pleasure, but Walter was setting himself apart from them. The only noises he made were ones of animal lust, and ones she had grown used to, but still found exciting. Rumbles, huffs, kicks and scrapes of hooves that gouged the tired planks of the floor - the sounds sent shivers up Isabel's spine, quickening her already quick breathing, speeding up the tempo of her heart.

The doe felt like a hummingbird, panting and throbbing beneath Walter as she was, dying for a little nectar, but not the sweet kind. Her fingers curled into her palms, balling her hands into fists, and her breasts compressed again and again into the cool, dead wood of the table.

Suddenly, she was aware of the coming warmth, the fire in her loins, not satiated but fanned by the hammering thrusts of Walter's hips. She started to whine and coo beneath him, noises without articulation or thought, and utterly submissive.

Walter leaned over her more completely, pressing his chest to her back for a few nearly suffocating moments, his hot breath washing over the top of her head as it had when all of that debauchery was just getting started. The sound of him sucking in air and exhaling it so heavily was almost deafening, and though she was certain she was simply imagining it, she heard the heavy, labored cannon-fire thudding of his heart.

From behind, a noise stuck out to her, striking her with it's uniqueness; the clattering of racks, the sound of a duel between two males, but no war cries accompanied it. She heard it again, and then it was followed by a scrape, and another clattering; she opened her eyes, and she looked to Rowan. That buck looked past the exhibitionist delight of Walter and Isabel with hungry intent. Just briefly, Isabel wondered what was going on, but her pleasure caught up with her, and she sucked in her breath in a sharp, suffocating gasp.

--11

Isabel tensed and quaked as her orgasm first struck, and she knew, like a calm before the storm, that it was to be a release unlike any other. She cried out with it, an explosion in her loins rather than a burn, a quick and violent sensation of overwhelming pleasure that sent her cunt - stretched tight around Walter's member - into spasm.

The buck groaned at a volume to match Isabel's cry, and once again, all eyes were on that breeding pair. Walter raised himself up and off of Isabel's writhing, cooing body, and as he pumped, he admired the raw eroticism of her gestures. Despite making no attempt to be sexy, she writhed and groaned, clenching and unclenching her fists in a rhythm that queerly matched that of her cunt, which Walter continued to rut away in.

At last, the powerfully clenching walls of the caribou's passage were too much for Walter to bear; had she not orgasmed, he might have held out longer - much longer, he told himself - but that was not the case. His heavy, virile balls drew up close to the warmth of his crotch, and he tugged hard on that leash one more time, jerking Isabel's head back and her body taut. She gasped, and the great buck's face was pulled into a grimace, one he broke with a moan when his orgasm properly struck him. His body shuddered and tensed, his arm on the leash yanking ever more cruelly on that harness.

In view of John and Clifton, Walter's ass cheeks clenched hard, dimpling themselves, and he started to shoot his seed. Isabel gasped, then moaned, and finally, with a happy and content smile, she cooed. Walter's load came in the form of a great number of thick, sloppy ropes, one after another, the product of unknown days and weeks lacking in release. In bliss, Isabel thought that the load might never end, that Walter's masculinity would see her filled to burst with his thick and gratifying semen, yet as good things were apt to, it came to an end. The last rope shot just as hard as the first, and then the remainder steadily oozed out in a steady drool, but the doe was pleased with Walter's bounty.

In such a tight, young girl, there was only so much room in her body for a man's seed, and Walter's was exemplary in its' sheer size; a colossal amount of discarded semen dripped in heavy, sticky webs that splattered noisily to the floor, soon leaving quite a puddle, one that would no-doubt become a mystery stain, yet an immortal reminder of Isabel's incredible night.

There, hunched over Isabel's panting and shuddering form, Walter entered his afterglow and regarded the warmth of it with a rumble of contentment. Slowly, he eased Isabel down with the rein, and then he dropped its' lead onto the table. Then, slower than that, he stood up, allowing his broad back to straighten out and quietly pop along the spine.

Rowan, Clifton, and John all watched in stunned silence, and indeed, the only sounds were that of tired Isabel's panting, Walter's huffing, and the bitter howl of the winter wind outside.

Walter let his hands come to rest upon Isabel's hips, and, gently gripping them, handling the caribou with surprising delicacy, he slid his shaft free; in the near-silence, the wet, dragging scrape of flesh on flesh was easily heard by all, and when Walter's cock was entirely free, it flopped out of Isabel's warm pink tiredly and slapped against the curve of his scrotum, followed shortly by a near-torrent of viscous seed.

Isabel sighed, feeling tired, but not satisfied, not even after Walter and that mighty climax of his. And besides, she thought, raising her head and locking eyes with Rowan, who met her gaze with a grin, I need to be sure I leave with a child growing inside of me...

Her eyes didn't convey everything, not by a long shot, but they said enough. Rowan hopped to the floor, his hooves making a noisy, striking clop, and he walked around to the caribou's backside. He took hold of her hips, and he eased his member against her cunt with surprising contentment, as if Walter's sloppy seconds were nothing new to him. As he began to enter her, he clutched the rein, and Isabel both blushed, and smiled.