FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

--1

Bradshaw pressed down heavily on his briefcase and both latches caught with simultaneous clicks. Inside was a decoy dossier of a presentation. Most importantly, he had a pair of tickets in his breast pocket, a bachelor party gift from colleagues and friends. They were something that he had put on his person and forgotten about in the drunk haze. Somehow they wound up in the bottom of his dresser drawer, and there they stayed through several years of his marriage.

Even after rediscovering the tickets, researching what they were for and determining that they had no expiry, Bradshaw first thought to throw them out. They were for a massage parlor in the mountains, a prestigious and above-level place if its website was to be believed, but Bradshaw had heard many an anecdote about what goes on in those places. It didn't help that the tickets had come from unmarried friends during his last hurrah for bachelorhood. After some thought he decided against throwing them away.

He had a career as a globetrotting businessman with a lucrative accounting company. In his many travels he met countless women who would have willingly offered him their intimate company, for he was a handsome elk and a massive stud as such, but never was he tempted. He kept his nose clean and always came home a faithful husband.

His clean record was why he felt so guilty for having lost interest in his wife. Some sex was had but no love was ever made. What they once enjoyed had become utilitarian in form and function.

The death of passion in his marriage set his resolve on using the tickets and he set up an appointment to use one. It occurred to him that faking a business trip to get a massage was amoral, but he talked himself into it and told himself that what his wife didn't know couldn't hurt her. There wouldn't be anything to know. An on-the-level, reputable "relaxation sanctuary" was where he was going.

Bradshaw told his wife that he would be close enough for him to come home if she needed him, but he doubted that she would. They shared a shallow kiss in the driveway and he quietly left.

The elk driving out of town now, leaving cultivated lawns and state parks for hilly terrain which led to mountains he'd looked at thousands of times but never explored. The view kick started his relaxation, took his mind off of his usual stresses and fully dispelled the lingering fear that he might not come away a faithful husband.

His GPS led him off of the paved road, onto a smoothly groomed dirt jog which led up to the secluded sanctuary. Bradshaw was calm when he parked and stepped out of his car and walked to the door.

--2

Every photo on this parlor's website had left Bradshaw somewhat prepared but the beauty of the sanctuary still surprised him. The reception area was tastefully done up in redwood, lighting soft and calming. There were no fluorescent bulbs in the building.

Seated behind the large, built-in matching counter was a lady dog, small behind the desk and in Bradshaw's presence. A thin smile on her muzzle as she observed the elk's careful walk. "Mister Broadhorn?" she quietly asked.

"That would be me," Bradshaw answered a pace back from the desk. He looked at her politely, tried to think of what breed she was. The answer would never come to him yet she was a weimaraner. She was middle-aged but her naturally gray coat of fur gave no hints. It was the look in her eyes which subtly betrayed her age and maturity to Bradshaw.

The weimaraner thumbed through a sheaf of papers on a clipboard before she found the one she sought. She folded the others back around the clipboard and held it out to the elk, a pen pinned under her thumb. "Sign in, please."

Bradshaw did, and his name was alone on the lined sheet. He handed over his ticket with the clipboard yet the dog never so much as glanced at it.

As she took the clipboard back she stood and her eyes never left Bradshaw. Around the desk and at his side now, barely chest-high to him. "This way," she coolly said and led him past double doors at the rear of the room. Down a hall and into a locker room, all places seen as richly-detailed as the foyer. "Disrobe, now," she calmly said to him, folded her paws over her belly and smiled a thin crease.

One eyebrow popped up and Bradshaw said, "I don't see any towels or robes or..."

Gentle, disarming laughter from the dog while she shook her head. "Before you can relax you need a hot, cleansing soak. I could offer you a towel but you wouldn't be in it long."

"I see," Bradshaw muttered and started to unbutton his cream-colored shirt. In slipping it off he revealed a chest that, though burly and athletic, was not explicitly muscular.

Trepidation stalled Bradshaw unbuttoning his slacks. The dog had politely turned her back but nudity in the presence of a strange woman shot a pang of guilt through him. Bradshaw naked but not terribly bashful now bent down, picked his slacks up and set them on a bench with his shirt. "All right," he said quietly.

Calm on the dog's face as the dog's face as she turned and took in Bradshaw's naked body without so much as roaming eyes. "And your wedding band, please," she spoke as she gathered his clothing and neatly hung them in one of the lockers.

A surprised but poker-faced Bradshaw compliantly slid his wedding ring off of his finger. He had forgotten what it felt like to have that digit bare and the new absence was jarring. The dog offered her palm but he ignored the offer and put it on the shelf of the locker himself. She wasn't offended as she closed and locked the locker.

"This way, now," she said and led him into a short hall which let out to an enclosed deck. Nearby under the roof was bench seating and further off, not enclosed like the deck, was a long in-ground pool. All of the deck had a breathtaking view of the forest and the mountains.

The dog walking up to the pool's edge with Bradshaw, now turning to him for a wan smile. "Please relax, mister Broadhorn. Enjoy the water at your leisure. You'll be attended to very soon."

Bradshaw peered into the clear water for a moment. When he looked back for the dog she had already walked off. The ambiance of the forest and the green smell of nature occurred to him. Deeply he breathed, took the clean air into his lungs and stepped into the pool. Against his warm body the water was clement and relaxing. Soon he sat down and settled against the wall, back to the deck. The warm water soaked into him and helped to loosen tense flesh and muscle. The warmth also coaxed his massively plump balls to hang low. So relaxed, their size was reminiscent of a pair of oranges.

Bradshaw let himself become engrossed in the peaceful din of the forest. He closed his eyes, sunk until the water touched his chin. Soon he slipped into a light rest.

--3

Quiet footfalls announced four young weimaraners. Each dog looked uncannily like the receptionist. None was older than 25 and all were lovely, dressed only in blue sashes which underscored and passed between their breasts, censoring nothing. They shared cute and coy among themselves as they neared Bradshaw. Their looks spoke of disbelief and good fortune at the stag's size and figure. Though mere masseuses, they took pride and great interest in their work. In merely glancing at Bradshaw they knew that their time with him would be a standard to hold other patrons to.

The dogs padded quietly and betrayed no competition, but despite such apparent equality a leader emerged as they stood behind the elk. This particular dog knelt behind and to the side of Bradshaw to avoid the points of his rack and she dragged a soft paw around his neck.

Bradshaw was thick and tough and so he wasn't prone to gentle touches. He snoozed even as the dog stroked over the dense tendons in his neck and groped the tense flesh of his muscular chest. In rest, his breathing deepened and a lewd rumble emerged to earn smiles from all of the girls but he never stirred.

A second set of paws joined in and twenty soft fingers roamed Bradshaw's broad chest, their paths changing little with each lazy rise and fall. Again came his soft rumbling and the vibration of his massive chest sent tingles through the dogs' fingers.

"Mmm," Bradshaw sleepily muttered, "hello."

Smiles appears and ears perked as the girls pondered this. One dog peered around him and saw him still dozing and merely talking in his sleep, face relaxed and content. She relayed this to the others with a little shake of her head and back those two went to calmly stroking.

Rest now came to a slow end for the stag after more gentle touching. The great stag yawned and opened his eyes. Regarding the touching paws whose owners he didn't yet see as waking elements of his dream now, shifting and trying to stand. The paws relented and Bradshaw realized they were not his dream.

Bradshaw settled back, slowly turned his head to the side and stayed mindful of his antlers. In turning he caught sight of one of the dogs kneeling silently, gazing thoughtfully upon him. Her face caught him off-guard and he thought he was looking at the receptionist from the front desk. He blinked away the sleep, looked upon her pretty face again and saw the youth in it.

He turned the other way more quickly than before and saw the other girl. With a bit more exertion saw this dog's naked breasts prominently. Out of politeness he kept his eyes from lingering. A tiny and perhaps unnoticeable blush glowed on his cheeks and it worsened when the girl smiled. She did so without malice or sexuality but Bradshaw straightened, eyes forward.

In typical silence two of the girls slipped into the pool with Bradshaw and left their sashes on. They knelt on the submerged platform Bradshaw sat on and leaned close on either side of him. Bradshaw was clearly aware of the girls but consciously fought it off. Whenever he did spare a look he did so without looking at their bare chests or the other niceties of their bodies.

The weimaraners in the pool moved close to the stag and lay their soft paws on his chest. Not in symmetry but skilfully all the same, they stroked here and there, traced creases of hard muscle and softly palmed tense flesh to relax it.

As their paws roamed them, Bradshaw's hard abdominal muscles stayed calm but he tensed when one girl's paw slid lower and the tips of her fingers just brushed his enormous sheath. Whether or not the touch was intentional, neither dog went there again and Bradshaw again relaxed and found his thick body slowly melting at their touches.

He was gently surprised again to feel not one, but two more sets of paws which came to rest on his broad shoulders. Intuition told him that they too were weimaraners. Unlike their partners in the water who languidly groped and rubbed the elk's muscular torso, the dogs outside of the pool took to the stag's shoulders. With skilled and silky paws they squeezed and kneaded tense muscle in his neck and shoulders.

Bradshaw responded to the neck rub with a low sigh and he indicated the sweetest spots by tilting his head. Whenever he craned to one side the girls kneaded especially hard on the offered flesh and their actions worked tension and anxiety out of the stag.

While those dogs worked on Bradshaw's thick neck and shoulders, those in the water began to lightly scrub the elk with their soaked paws. They worked down from the stag's torso, bypassed his loins but came dangerously close to his heavy balls as they each worked a thigh. Much like their poolside counterparts they began to traditionally massage the stag with gropes and kneads upon the dense muscles in his thighs, but this massage was cut short once they finally worked away from his groin and made it to his knees. Instead of doting on the rest of his legs they treated everything beneath his knees to only pragmatic scrubbing.

Bradshaw felt his unease crop again but dismissed the notion as hubris to assume that they'd linger around his crotch for lewd reasons. Interrupting Bradshaw's mental excuses was the dogs in the pool standing up, concluding their work for this moment. With sweet smiles they regarded him and added to their enigmatic charm. When they stepped out on either side of Bradshaw and their compatriots met them with small towels, the stag took this as his cue to also leave the pool.

He stood slowly with a stoic grace he often put on in the company of others, a calm facade perfected in hundreds of tense meetings. Stepping out now, planting his hooves on the submerged platform and stretching for comfort, unintentionally giving the dogs a show of his hard back and taut rear. They unabashedly watched him.

Bradshaw slowly turned to face the dogs who were calm as he expected them to be. Their interest was piqued but they hid it expertly. The dogs beckoned him wordlessly by emphasizing the massive terrycloth towel held between two of them.

The stag stepped out of the pool and harmlessly dribbled water onto the deck. When he neared the group the two with the towel padded close, wrapped the dense cloth around his middle and made him decent. Those two dogs held it to him and the other two worked it to dry his dense coat.

Like reverent concubines, the weimaraners with the towel dried Bradshaw's toned bulk from the neck downward, doted upon his chest and arms. Near his stomach they passed the responsibility to the dogs who had been in the pool with him. They dried his stomach and his lower back and allowed themselves longer, more thoughtful rubs through the towel.

The dogs came to Bradshaw's groin now and he was startled when one cupped his endowment. Despite being made through the towel and with great respect, her touch drew their eyes together and he studied her calm face, finding no lust. As quickly as it began the moment passed and they changed hands with the other pair of dogs again.

The pretty weimaraners kneeling on either side of Bradshaw now, toweling the stag's sturdy legs down the hooves, their drying touch on his behind brief. In the meantime Bradshaw reminded himself that the girls were only doing their job. The trouble was in getting himself to believe that.

By the time the girls stopped Bradshaw was dry aside from the odd swatch of fur. Still working in pairs, the two who held the towel last wrapped it around his hips and one of them firmly tied it about his waist where the ends met.

Bradshaw asked, "Are we done here?"

Though Bradshaw could tell none of the girls apart, one stood out as a leader again. She smiled, shook her head and took hold of one of his hands. His massive grip fully eclipsed her paw but the stag allowed himself to be led. Under her guidance he sat on a sturdy wooden bench beneath the awning of the deck.

First he merely sat on the edge of the bench, hands idly clasped on his kneecaps. He was quickly if not subtly persuaded to make himself more comfortable. From gentle nudges he scooted backwards until he touched the backrest of the bench. He stretched of his own volition, splayed his arms on the backrest's top edge.

Two dogs stood behind Bradshaw and the other two knelt before him. They each took his limbs into their paws and they furthered the relaxation they had started in the pool. Behind him they massaged down his thick arms and dug into freshly-washed fur, tight flesh and firm muscle to do their work. Mirroring their compatriots behind the stag, the two kneeling dogs were able to treat his strong legs to the same massage. From the hooves to just above the knee (and thus just past the bottom edge of the towel), they pushed their digits into his hard flesh and worked the tension loose.

In all of this skilled attention Bradshaw's eyes drifted closed and his body relaxed. Punctuating his contentment was a low rumble droning in his barrel chest.

It was reasonable to say that the dogs were working off of the elk's body language. One of them standing behind him began to work his neck where it met his shoulders. The other kept to an arm but with a bit more vigor, her palming and prodding most strongly on the bicep up to and including the armpit. Even the more intimate touches on his neck and in his soft armpit were tolerable for the stone-faced Bradshaw but when the kneeling dogs grew bolder, the elk tensed and created a vicious cycle. The more tense he became, the harder they worked on him.

The apprehension crept in slowly when he felt the dogs' paws sliding under the kilt they'd made of the towel, supple canine pads caressing his inner thighs and knuckles brushing the dormant flesh of his balls hanging over the edge of the bench seat. Although benignly, they kept working his thighs, inner and outer, top and bottom, avoiding his groin but not intently enough to never brush or bump it. Could they have been pushing their boundaries on purpose or was this just what they did?

Bradshaw's stoicism held up well once he dismissed the brushes against his manhood as accidental, but once his thighs had been so fully explored and the canines at his back had both taken to working his biceps and shoulders with their usual skill, the girls who knelt before him untied his towel and laid it out on the bench.

Unable to resist any longer, Bradshaw opened his eyes and looked down at the two weimaraners. His stoicism was visibly fractured and he made to say something in his defense or in resistance, but he couldn't think of a single word. By the time he did one of the dogs cupped the furred flesh of his sheath, and he huffed sharply. He couldn't explain away what was happening, the lewdness in her kneading much too blunt to be dismissed. Bradshaw took her touch in silence but not without trepidation. The massaging paw felt so good but his conscience weighed heavily on him. With thoughts that he was in a sleazy pleasure den reaffirmed, he wondered if this happened to all men who entered.

Bradshaw's penis was slow to wake as any giant was apt to be, but its thickening filled out his sheath and made itself obvious even hidden. Its appearance was a ways off but inevitable in the dog's skilled touch.

Stop, I'm married, he wanted to say but apprehension stalled his tongue. Harder now she kneaded his masculine flesh and the other kneeling dog joined in with a supple paw on his balls. Bradshaw's eyes closed now and he willed himself to speak: "I'm married." It came across with little inflection, more a statement than a warning. He clenched his hands into fists, realized his finger no longer bulged around a wedding band and knew how hollow his words had been.

From Bradshaw's sheath came his blunt, thick cock and its flesh was wet with pre. It wasn't exposed to the clement air of the poolside for long, soon enveloped in a warm paw, but the scale was clear to see for all four canines. Each tweak and grope saw Bradshaw's cock pulse harder and emerge more quickly. Pre dribbled from the tip, soaked into the weimaraner's paw and helped to slicken her soft pads and fur. Not fully aware of himself, the elk let his muscular legs drift apart, and in doing so better offered his loins to the dogs.

Inch after inch of plump stag meat emerged and so did a heady musk, the hormonal potency a far cry from what the girls were accustomed to. An elk bull's scent ought not have been so enticing to their canine noses, but Bradshaw's musk was more refined than that of the average man. His scent was attractive to them and every teasing touch elicited more of it.

From under Bradshaw's breath came a soft, content noise. He had since given trying to fall back on his marriage. Bradshaw opened his eyes, peered down his body and saw the two dogs at work. Unlike before, their eyes never came up to meet his. Both were fixated on his growing shaft, and by now the girl who had made it her duty to stroke let her paw glide tip to sheath. Already his length was beyond anything they'd ever seen. Bradshaw's shaft peaked at seventeen inches and curved slightly upward, its thickness that of the dogs' forearms. Styled with a blunt and dribbling tip, satisfying in shape, intimidating in size and enticing in every manner possible to all four of the dogs.

Desire was present but hidden in the dogs. Those kneeling before him were unfamiliar with his manhood but this mattered little, for their skill was impossible to ignore. Such soft paws which gave so many fine massages could deliver a handjob like no other, and in their grips Bradshaw was helpless.

Not in competition with their kneeling companions but eager to please, the two dogs standing leaned over Bradshaw's arms. Their supple breasts pressed against the backs of his shoulders and their paws now roamed over his hard stomach. They knew their particular touches were the last thing on the elk's mind, and they were fine with that, but their work was anything but meaningless.

Bradshaw's impressive genitals were tempered with great endurance, but to call the stag passive would be wrong. Amidst subtle huffs and groans he ground into the paws. Though not simply humping into their paws, he made it clear that he loved their selective massage.

With the ample room that the space between Bradshaw's legs provided, the canine with the more important job of stroking the stag off leaned in closer and used the leverage to more quickly work. With great skill, she masturbated him quickly, steadily, never sloppily. Had Bradshaw been the type of man to cheat often he would have realized that such skill implied a lot of practice.

Less industrious but no less eager than her fellow masseuse was the weimaraner kneading and teasing Bradshaw's low-hanging balls. Admirably she did her part for the sake of Bradshaw's complete and total relaxation. Unsure of where his pain threshold lay, she kept her work conservative and never squeezed too roughly. Here and there she tried to time her calm gropes to his pulse, not hard hard to do. Each beat of his heart conveyed thunderously in his genitals and this throbbing was another enthralling part of his masculinity.

Scraping hooves and a gentle short made Bradshaw's nearing climax abundantly clear. His shaft twitching in the dog's paw now, hardly a one-off occurrence but not a reliable one. Each twitch accompanied a spurt of pre to sully the hard chest the dogs had just cleaned.

Bradshaw was superb at poker faces and so his brief grimace was extraordinary. It was only a flash of clenched teeth, but it was telling. In the back of his mind he tried to justify what was going on and fool himself, pretend that in removing his ring he had undone his marriage and perhaps even his wife's existence Soon he was too focused on his nearing release to bother with personal excuses and he abandoned them.

The kneeling dogs were aware of Bradshaw's inevitable climax and ushered it in with faster and harder attention. Thick and strong as Bradshaw's shaft was, it felt only pleasure to be groped so tightly and pleasured so intently.

For all of the touches exotic and otherwise, Bradshaw was fully pliable to the dogs and on the verge. His orgasm chose now to strike and he announced it with a quaking moan kept inside clenched jaws and pursed lips, existing more in his chest as a rumble. He craned his head back, clenched his hands into tight fists and scraped his hooves on the deck when he erupted. One small, tentative spurt of elk seed shot forth and splattered silently into the fluff of his abdomen. Another came with the stag's true force and volume, a release to be expected of a man his size. This hefty rope made a massive streak on his chest and dirtied the paws that roamed him. Two more ropes of plentiful size came in slow succession to filthy his chest and stomach. The dregs came as a drizzle of potent semen which the now gently-stroking weimaraner smeared purposefully around the shaft.

This very specific massage now concluded, Bradshaw fell nearly slack in the bench and sighed. As he huffed contentedly in his afterglow, the dog who had stroked him off quietly excused herself. Ever reverent were the three which remained, idly caressing his body. Those behind him teased his calm shoulders. The one yet kneeling did the same to his softly trembling legs.

Bradshaw opened his eyes and was lucky enough to see the fourth dog return. Her paws were clean and in them were a pair of damp loofahs. There was no curiosity in Bradshaw's expression and he wasn't surprised when she and one of the dogs at his back began to slowly and thoroughly wash his sullied torso. It was testament to Bradshaw's endurance and masculinity that his shaft was still fully exposed, still close to fully erect, though it helped that the girls cleaned his loins with care and intent. When they were through, his satisfied erection did finally wane into the humid warmth of its sheath.

Further pleasant and benign treatments came next. One dog from his front and another behind his back left quietly and returned in short order with assorted items. One who knelt again had a screw-top glass jar filled with an eggshell-hued cream. The other held an opaque jar and a hand towel.

Such a personalized treatment even beyond the "hands-on" relaxation surprised and pleased Bradshaw. Two girls kneeling before him worked together, the one with idle paws lifting his leg. She couldn't hope to budge such a heavy limb but the suggestion compelled Bradshaw to move it where she guided it, on her shoulder. The hard ball of his ankle was just past her shoulder and he put only firm tendons on her soft flesh. She held the weight easily and gently palmed the rest of his foot, sans hoof.

From behind, Bradshaw heard the soft scrape of a jar unscrewing and then came the pleasant, subtle smell of honey. Brow furrowing while he pondered the smell, calm eyes on the dogs before him. The dog with the cream knelt the coffee table, a doubled-up towel laid upon it for cushioning. After popping the lid off of the jar she dipped her fingers into the cream and scooped a dollop into her palm. With a thoughtful eye on the stag's hooves she began to spread the cream and worked it in gently, smoothing it over every edge and into each crevice.

Similarly, the girls behind him rubbed his rack down with the honey-scented paste, still a curiosity to the stag. After a light coat was spread on, one dog took the hand towel and began to buff his antlers. Immediately it occurred to Bradshaw that they were using beeswax to buff his rack to a fine sheen. As with any stag, his antlers were a source of pride and he let a twinge of a smile cross his stone face for a moment. Pampered to utter contentment, Bradshaw closed his eyes and rumbled deep in his chest.

Behind Bradshaw was the only dog with idle paws, not rubbing nor holding nor buffing. She softly took one of Bradshaw's own heavy hands and massaged his palm, rubbed his dense joints and soothed the pains which typing reports put into hands.

Bradshaw felt perfect complacency in this moment. Everything was perfectly aligned in his favor, four desirable ladies pampering him like concubines in a harem to satiate every need a man had. He no longer thought of his wife or his wedding band alone in the dark locker. All over his extremities the dogs rubbed, buffed and polished. Their efforts required minimal input of him, only that he open his eyes and switch legs for the team before him. This arrangement, he thought, was well worth the fib he'd told.

The final touches were now complete, and so it was that Bradshaw's hooves were moisturized and detailed, his rack buffed and waxed to a mild sheen, his hands expertly kneaded by surprisingly strong weimaraner fingers. He peered downward at the kneeling dogs, eased his leg off of the supporting shoulder and peered into the eyes of the other as she wiped excess cream from her hands. She had a sweet, knowing smile on her face.

Even now Bradshaw couldn't them apart. Their scents were too similar, and though their features weren't perfectly identical he hadn't paid enough attention to pick out their subtle differences. When one knelt at his side on the bench, face coy with the usual smile, he saw her not so much as an individual but one member of the small group. Even Bradshaw noticed that something was different about her mannerisms, however. All of them moved with an air of purpose, but kneeling at his side, this particular dog seemed more languid. She pawed at his thick neck and chin and affected a more intimate touch than a massage.

A small amount of unease plagued Bradshaw who now gazed away, and he absently stared at his ring finger. Though bare, the outline was still obvious, the fur a less vibrant and dense like grass walked on too often. She girl at his side followed his gaze, widened her smile and clasped his heavy hand with her small paw. Bradshaw closed a gentle fist around it and eclipsed it. Their gazes met now and she parried his stoicism with cool detachment. She studied his eyes as he studied hers. The intent stare was broken up when she stroked his snout. He nuzzled into her touch.

Soon she lay her soft pads on his nose, and in reply Bradshaw wriggled his nose and snuffled. Hardly noticeable was the widening of the girl's smile, accompanied by a pat on the stag's broad nose. Bradshaw's eyes shifted between her rubbing paw and gentle gaze. He was certain that he saw a little fade on her ring finger, a worn-down quality familiar to him. His eyes fixed on that feature prior to her drawing her paw away.

Did she know what he'd realized? She leaned in, eyes half-closed when their noses met, precluding a kiss. Once her lips met his, but he stayed passive until she kissed him again and spurred him to kiss back. Bradshaw didn't his thoughts plague him for long. As he saw it, there was an understanding implied in her affection towards him, a mutual need being met. He didn't wonder or want to know what was spurring a married girl to want a married man and the desire for secrecy went both ways.

It was with confidence rather than unease that Bradshaw put his free hand on her. His other hand still held her paw but had since lightened up, their fingers instead interlaced. He hadn't touched any of the dogs yet, had only been on the other side of it, so her form was new to his ponderous fingers. Her slender flanks, supple breasts and curved hips were perfect to him. Faced with the opportunity to remove her sash, he left it and felt her through and around it instead.

She pressed into Bradshaw's touch, flit her tongue over his lips and spurred the stag to return the affection. She welcomed his thick tongue, too large for her mouth to be comfortable, but his overwhelming size was much of his appeal. The pretty dog shifting over now, straddling one massive thigh, knee resting on the bench between his legs to put herself closer to front-and-center. Meanwhile her free paw caressed the stud's flank, perused the softened and relaxed muscles of the beautiful male.

Bradshaw's tongue was lewd in the weimaraner's mouth just for its size which was overwhelming enough to dominate her with even the smallest of laps. She welcomed it and the stag didn't question the complicity. On his thigh he felt her loins against him, hot and ever so slightly moist. That she wanted him was no secret.

The stag wondered absently where the other girls were but he was much more focused on this girl's form and how pleasant she felt against him. He thought the others were watching nearby but they had actually left, a concession for the married dog and perhaps the ultimate form of catharsis for a frustrated but not outright unhappy husband.

Her free paw stroking where it pleased, over his chest one moment, flank the next, neck and cheek also favorites. Together with the kiss, the petting escalated. Bradshaw's hand more bluntly touched her hips and rear while hers clutched his bulging sheath. His size enthralled her more than ever, for what better partner was there for a size queen dissatisfied with her average husband than an elk bull like Bradshaw?

The touch on his sheath made Bradshaw close his eyes sharply. A supple paw on his groin, his heavy genitals sullying her naked ring finger for a naughty thrill. Just as naughty was his own ring finger sweetly embraced in the digits of an unfamiliar girl.

Bradshaw was no longer unsure or afraid, and his penis made its appearance much faster under these circumstances. It was still a game of rubbing and kneading but it went at a quick pace. Soon his flesh emerged into the clement air, dribbling a runner of pre. All throughout this emergence the dog kept up the kiss, even tilted her head to lock muzzles and deepen it. Eagerly she palmed his cock, stroked from the bottom inches to the blunt glans, always struggling with the size but savoring it for the same reason. Of similar pleasure was his tongue.

Soon Bradshaw was erect in his entirety, seventeen inches of swollen stag meat ready and willing, hungry for more than just a paw. Rather than move her lips away from Bradshaw's to gaze upon it, she explored that mighty cock by touch alone, soft paw roaming, smearing that viscous pre in its wake. Their hand-holding ceased and the dog lay her newly-freed paw on the stag's chest. Bradshaw took the opportunity to grasp both of her fine hips. What came next was obvious and the kiss deepened in excitement, but just as quickly as it had picked up they mutually eased out of it.

She glanced down, perused Bradshaw's waiting meat and then smiled at him, her smile jaunty for a mere second. Bradshaw found himself smiling back. It was tight and difficult to see but she caught it.

Smoothly the dog unhanded Bradshaw's member, braced her paws on his shoulders and swung her leg over, putting her at a wide stance to straddle his thighs which he obligingly eased closer together. She was intimately in his lap now, his shaft pressed tightly between their tight bellies. Softly she kissed his chin and snared him with her pretty blue gaze.

Stoic though he was, Bradshaw had handsome and soulful eyes, and with them he gazed without deviation back at the dog. They shared a kindred feeling and a need neither would dare acknowledge. Whatever the case was for either of them, when the weimaraner lifted herself and pressed the stag's blunt tip to her folds, they shared a pleasurable shudder, reserved though they were about it.

Easing herself down now, her delicate pussy spreading wide for Bradshaw. They found the progress slow but rewarding and they shared two sides of the same pleasure; Bradshaw's member held tight in such a small partner while the girl savored the overwhelming stretch.

With a few inches sunken into the dog and many more to go, Bradshaw palmed and kneaded her fine hips, strong fingers teasing the supple curves of her rump cheeks. Eagerly he touched her, pulsed inside of her tight body. It was plainly obvious that he wanted things to move along, which he knew the dog couldn't quite handle yet. She was wonderfully tight but not quite as snug as she could have been, for the stag wasn't the first unfaithful husband she'd fooled with. She had experience in taking men of his size, though each was still a fresh challenge. Bradshaw had no idea of her experience beyond his intuition.

She held onto Bradshaw, lifted herself with her legs and slid almost entirety off of the stag's meat. Carefully she paused just before it could slip out and afterward ground back down a little deeper than before. For the next repetition Bradshaw assisted her on the way down by gently pulling her down and grinding up. For the first and only time in his presence she made a soft noise, a mere pleasurable squeak.

Many minutes went by and the lovely dog still pulled up slow and eased down to take the stag slowly and savor every inch she could wriggle inside of her. Blush brightening now, eyelids growing heavy. She kept her paws on his shoulders, squeezed needfully, stimulated the stag by making him feel strong and necessary.

The dog settled down onto Bradshaw's cock again and by then had managed more than half of it, a rough ten inches throbbing within her and spreading her deepest reaches open. She took much pleasure from the stretch, her snatch wet around the stag, adding to his copious pre for a comfortably slick ride. Grinding down and working the stag's shaft deep inside of herself, no longer pausing to rest or savor how far it was already in. For all of his throbbing and the occasional involuntary snort, she could tell that Bradshaw's pleasure was quite far along. Likewise, her walls tingled with pleasure and more of his penis disappeared into her with each descent.

He was already in deep and going even deeper, his mighty cock opening the dog up well. She was almost taking his entire length, almost putting that beautiful pussy flush in his lap, and he couldn't think of anything to say or do in this perfect moment. Only one thought struck him as he sank deeper and deeper into pleasure with her, an observation that he hadn't felt such passion with his wife since their wedding night. Bradshaw pictured her face now, pretty and thoughtful. He closed his eyes to hold onto the image but he never told himself he was having anybody but the weimaraner in his lap.

Neither was the type for vocal sex, the dog less so than Bradshaw. Her endearing muteness was so complete that had she not let a soft cry slip earlier Bradshaw would have thought her to be truly speechless, but despite a lack of words or even guttural sounds, they huffed and panted to each other.

Every inch of Bradshaw's shaft was in the dog now. Deep within her loins she felt Bradshaw's thick, married meat throbbing and holding her open, grinding on flesh her own husband might know the existance of. Riding Bradshaw now had no ulterior function to stretch and ready herself. It was all about riding the handsome stag until the messy end.

Bradshaw's hands deviated from her hips. She needed no encouragement or help but he still ground up into her when the urge struck. His fingers still felt like new from the massage and with them he teased gracefully over her softly-bouncing breasts. Keeping pace with them was hard, but not impossible. Once she opened her eyes to him, met his lazy pupils with a needful lust he hadn't seen in any of them prior. She closed them just as quickly but Bradshaw had seen beneath her mask.

With so tight and wet a girl bouncing on his shaft and the taboo long buried, Bradshaw knew he wouldn't last much longer and the idea didn't plague him. Everything was for the sake of his complete relaxation, after all.

Still quiet save for the odd huff, the girl rode Bradshaw hard and fast. She wasn't wholly accustomed to the size but she took some pleasure out of that discomfort and difficulty. Back arching now, head high, docked tail wiggling, her pleasure on par with Bradshaw's.

All of Bradshaw's pampering came to a head. He let loose with an undignified but heartfelt grunt and came for that particular dog, the most attentive of them all to his needs. She still rode his shaft even as he loosed his load into her. Hot elk semen jetted in rope after rope into her tight passage and made her ride all the more needfully. He scraped his hooves against the boards, ground his taut ass into the bench seat and tensed every hard muscle in his naturally-built body.

The dog's grip shifted and she hugged about Bradshaw's thick neck. So much of the elk's seed was wasted, excess sullying the stag's loins and even the floorboards but enough of it stayed deep inside of the dog where it could be savored.

All through Bradshaw's blissful release and partly into his afterglow, the weimaraner kept riding admittedly more for her own benefit, but Bradshaw stayed rock-hard for her. Just briefly she wondered if she might work a second load out of the stag even so soon, but that line of thought swiftly ended when her own orgasm struck. Whole body shuddering, flesh tingling from ears to toes, weight dropping and pussy engulfing Bradshaw's member. She lay against the elk as, in orgasm, her cunt gripped and treasured that elk cock.

When afterglow had left them they regarded one another with no shame but noted respect. Softly she bathed Bradshaw's genitals, the third and last time for the day. After the fact she nodded, smiled and left the elk quietly, relaxation concluded.

Bradshaw knew it was time to go home. The care of the dogs left a small smile on his face. When he dressed he put his wedding band on first and it felt like an old friend. In the foyer the receptionist smiled coyly but pleasantly as he signed out. "Good day, mister Broadhorn," she said. The stag replied as politely.

--4

When he pulled into the driveway, Bradshaw saw no movement behind the curtains, no peeks to see who it was. Early in their marriage his wife had anxiously awaited his return from business trips with hugs and kisses. That hadn't happened in months.

Bradshaw walking through the front door now, the lack of a greeting beyond a call from the kitchen was no discouragement to the stag. He followed her voice and the smell of stew to the kitchen and saw her at the stove. She looked over her shoulder and gave him a smile that was pleasant. He returned it with an unnoticed jaunty flair and she turned back to the stew, stirred it with a wooden spoon and brought out an appetizing smell.

Quiet on the tile despite his hooves, Bradshaw snuck up behind her. One hand beneath her dress cupped her rear and another found a breast. She dropped the spoon onto its rest and pressed into the stag. "Bradshaw," she crooned to him, as surprised as she was aroused.

"It's been too long," he rumbled to her and nipped at her neck with flat teeth. In front of the counter he had her from behind, almost fully clothed but still so intimately. The doe recounted such passion only from their honeymoon night. Bradshaw recalled the weimaraner and felt not guilt but a gratefulness he couldn't quite place.

As Bradshaw came into his wife, he shuddered and held her close. From below him she gasped, "I love you."

Bradshaw told the truth. "I love you, too."