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Forest's Secret

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

5th October, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

It was fall, and the yellow, red, and tan leaves were fluttering to the forest floor. The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp leaves, fungi, and moss. Here and there, scattered and distant, were the grunts, groans, and other sounds of the yearly cycle. This was a magical time, for it was the peak of the rut, a season when the woods pulsed with the primal energy of life and desire.

It was also terrifying if you happened to be a deer.

Among the towering trees and underbrush, moved a buck, a robust whitetail deer, who moved with grace and purpose. His ears twitched, hyper-alert to the slightest scent that was off, or the unnatural sound. He grazed contentedly on the tender leaves. His antlers, magnificent and branching, glistened in the fading light as he paused to nibble at the foliage. The forest was his home, his sanctuary, a world filled with adventure and danger, where instincts ruled the day.

As he ambled through the undergrowth, thoughts of does fill his mind, his urges undeniable and strong. He'd claimed six this season, and he anticipated many more. The forest had been good to his kind, their numbers swelling year on year. His ear flicked as a strangeness swept over him. He froze, mid-step, still as a statue.

There was one—she wasn't a doe. For seasons beyond his recall, the one who was not a doe had shared his rut. Her furless, white skin, her touch, the way she stroked him, the sweet treats she offered, how he would do things with her, and how I would claim her as a buck claims a doe.

These thoughts surged through him, igniting his urges to mate.

His off-hoof slowly came down, pressing delicately against the leaves as he shuddered again, his arousal growing beneath him, as he sniffed the air, picking up the strong pheromone scent of an oestrous doe.

She's close, very close—young, her first rut...

He moved rapidly, instincts overriding his common sense, warmth soaking his belly fur as he dropped his nose to the forest floor, weaving and dodging around trees, drawn ever closer, compelled by instinct and desire.

*

As the afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows across the forest floor as Harold adjusted his hunting gear. He was a stout man, his belly protruding like a small barrel, and he cursed under his breath as he struggled to fit his rifle into the narrow gap of the strap that hung over his shoulder. Every year, he told himself this would be the year he would get back in shape, but the allure of beer and the couch had always pulled him back into comfortable habits.

“Damn deer, always taunting me,” he muttered, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He'd been out here three times already this season, and every time, the deer had slipped through his fingers. The thought of another year without a trophy mounted over the fireplace gnawed at him.

His mind wandered to Meagan, his wife. They'd been married for twenty-five years, and while their connection had once burned bright, it had since faded into routine. For the past ten years, she seemed...distant, her laughter a ghost of its former self. He couldn't help but wonder if she shared his frustration if she too felt trapped in a marriage that had lost its spark.

“Maybe if I got a big buck this year, it'll rekindle something,” he mused, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He should be focusing on the hunt, not the state of his failing marriage.

Harold stepped deeper into the woods, the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath his weight utterly failing to mask his approach. He paused, adjusting his cap as he scanned the thicket for movement. A part of him hoped to catch a glimpse of majestic antlers, but another part of him felt a strange sense of unease. The woods held an energy about them today, they had for twelve years, a buzzing undercurrent that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, like he wasn't the hunter, he was the prey.

“Just the excitement of hunting,” he told himself, exhaling slowly to calm his racing heart.

He settled into a thicket that gazed out at a clearing, the sun filtering down through the branches, dappled light dancing across the ground. He propped himself against a sturdy tree, rifle at the ready, and tried to focus on the task at hand. But his thoughts drifted back to Meagan. Would she even notice, or care, if he brought home a trophy? Would it matter?

Just then, the rustle in the underbrush snapped him back to reality. Harold's pulse trembled as he adjusted his grip on the rifle. He peered through the foliage, straining to catch sight of any movement. His blood hammered in his ears at the thought of finally encountering a deer.

Suddenly, a buck emerged—majestic, strong, a perfect specimen. His antlers caught the fading light glistening like polished bone. Harold's breath hitched. There you are, he thought, excitement and disbelief warring in his chest.

But something wasn't right. The buck didn't flinch, didn't bolt. Instead, it just stared, completely still, as though it knew Harold was there. Not just knew—recognised him.

The buck's eyes bore into his, intelligent, far too knowing. Harold felt his pulse race. Is he... grinning?

His fingers tightened around the rifle. He'd dealt with the odd game before—injured, tamed—but this...this wasn't like any deer he'd ever seen.

“You?” came a voice, deep and sardonic, rolling out from the buck's chests. “Shoot?”

Harold froze, his breath catching. Did it just—?

The buck's lips curled. “Your wife... she's waiting.”

Harold staggered back, his eyes wide, his heart slamming against his ribs. “What the—?”

A light chuckle escaped the buck, as he lowered his head and shook it from side to side dismissively, then raised his head and stared at Harold again. “Do you think she's still yours?”

Harold lifted the rifle, his hands trembling. He aimed, heart pounding, ready to reclaim some part of himself he thought he had lost. But as he lined up the shot, a strange fear took hold in him, rooting him to the spot.

“You call that aiming? No wonder Meagan's been so lonely all these years!” The buck's mocking laughter rang out.

Harold twitched, the stag's words lashing him like a scourge. “Shut it buck... she always said I was a good shot.”

“With what? Certainly not a rifle—or anything else for that matter. “Go ahead. Your wife says you can't even hit the toilet from twelve inches...”

The buck stared as if knowing Harold wouldn't pull the trigger.

Harold trembled, trying to ignore the sarcastic, narky buck's words. Despite his frustration, he couldn't. His hands lowered, trembling.

“Fuck you buck,” Harold grumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I have a short barrel, and I haven't seen my sights in twelve years.”

“Sorry, but you're not a doe nor a...well, let's just say you'd be mind blown if you knew...” Snickered the buck with a knowing glint in his eyes. “That does explain a few things,”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” He muttered, frustration boiling over. The buck stood before him, obviously enjoying Harold's inner turmoil, and Harold could swear it was grinning at him.

Then the forest erupted with the cacophony of rustling leaves, distant calls and the crack of gunfire, breaking the spell. With a snort, then a flick of his tail, the buck turned and bounded away into the thicket, leaving Harold alone in the clearing, rifle in hand, and a bewildering sense of disquiet.

“Just a deer,” he reassured himself, but as he watched the creature vanish, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was no ordinary hunt. “I've been out here too long, must have a touch of sunstroke.”

*

Meagan wandered into the quiet glade, the hem of her loose blouse fluttering in the breeze, her knee-length skirt brushing softly against her thighs. She sat on the fallen log, her hands nervously settling in her lap as a familiar thrill rushed through her. The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp leaves, but it wasn't the forest that caused her heart to flutter—it was the knowledge of who would soon emerge from the shadows.

Then, she heard it—the unmistakable sound of antlers scraping against bark. His specific call. Her breath caught, and the blush that had already crept into her cheeks deepened. Her secret lover had come, as he always did during the rut, for the last ten years.

From the cover of the trees, Buck appeared, his sleek form and majestic antlers cutting through the fading light. His dark eyes gleamed with affection and mischief, a look that was entirely too knowing for an animal, yet only they shared this secret. With deliberate grace, he bowed low, folding one leg beneath him, his chin grazing the ground in a display of reverence to his human lover.

Meagan smiled, a warm flush spreading through her. “You always knew how to make an entrance,” she teased, her voice soft but full of anticipation.

Buck rose, stepping closer. His body radiated warmth, and as he pressed against her, he nuzzled the side of her neck with a tenderness that belied his wild nature. His broad, slick tongue flicked out, trailing sensuously along her throat, leaving her skin tingling.

She giggled, despite her years, like a girl with her first crush. “You know I miss you every moment you're gone,” she murmured, leaning into him, inhaling his musky scent.

With a soft rumble deep in his chest, Buck began to explore her exposed skin more eagerly, tracing her collarbone with gentle licks, his touch light but full of meaning. Meagan gasped softly as his muzzle moved lower, his breath warm against her blouse as his tongue found her wrist, tracing the delicate lines of her veins.

“You always know what I like, don't you?” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed as the pleasure stirred within her.

Buck nuzzled her belly through the fabric, his lips grazing the soft skin beneath her blouse. He shifted, guiding her to lie back against the soft moss, his large body hovering protectively over her. His broad tongue continued its slow, deliberate path, moving from her ankles and up her calves, grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Meagan shivered, her body reacting to his touch with an intensity she hadn't felt from her husband in years.

Which each pass of his tongue, his breath grew shorter and more intense. His antlers carefully pushed up her skirt, his leathery nose brushing against her hairless labia. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent, feeling his pulse quicken. His tongue began to lick, then twirl, exploring her, his lips brushing against her folds with a firm, but gentle pressure. His tongue rapidly flickered over her clitoris, making his mate squeal and writhe beneath him.

My mate, my human mate... His mind reaffirmed, drawing out the passion and pleasure of pleasuring her, his tongue tasting her, savouring every lick and sensation. With each moment, Buck brought her closer to the edge of pleasure, knowing how to ignite the passionate fire within her without rushing the moment. He licked with purpose, tracing circles that made her breath hitch and her thighs tremble against his furred neck. His years of learning her body were evident in every calculated move, every affectionate nuzzle and lick.

Meagan gasped, her hands gripping the base of his antlers as he brought her to the brink of ecstasy again and again, only to pull back, leaving her trembling and aching for more. “Please, Bucky,” she whimpered, her voice breathy with need and lust. “I need you.”

Finally, with one last lick, he pulled his head back, stepping carefully on either side of her, his warm chest rubbing against her blouse. He could smell her receptiveness, her eagerness to make love with him, and it inflamed his primal desires.

Meagan's fingers slid beneath his belly, tenderly taking his trembling length in her fingers as she carefully coaxed him forward. She shuddered, feeling his penile length twitching in her fingers, then when he pressed against her and started to mount her, she squeezed her muscles down on it, heightening the pleasure.

Bucky pressed forward, but as he did so, his instinct took over too quickly. With one swift snap of his hind hips, he sheathed himself inside her warmth. The suddenness of it hit them both and Buck groaned, his body trembling as he released his seed deep inside her in a wave of sharp, uncontrollable pleasure. He'd lost control, climaxing before he could fully satisfy her.

“Bucky!” Meagan gasped, her hand flying up to slap his neck, though her tone held more frustration than anger.

Buck's ears flattened against his skull, shame burning through him as he shuddered and panted. His pale lips trembled as he looked down at her, guilt etched across his features. “I—sorry,” he stammered, his voice thick with embarrassment. “It's...rutting season.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, his body still over hers. Meagan sighed, her frustration evident, but as she looked up at him, her expression softened. She knew him—knew how deeply his instincts ran, but also knew his determination.

Before she could utter a word of reassurance, Buck lowered his head once more, nuzzling against her with renewed tenderness. His breath was warm against her skin, and without missing a beat, he began again, this time slower, more deliberate. His tongue flicked out to soothe her, lapping at the sensitive skin of her throat and neck, working to erase the moment of shame with his affectionate devotion.

He moved against her, his endurance as a buck allowing him to make up for his earlier misstep. Meagan trembled beneath him, feeling the pleasure building within her as he found the rhythm that had eluded them moments before. This time, he was more careful, more controlled, drawing her closer and closer to release with every movement, each gentle thrust and lick.

Finally, with a gasp and a cry, she reached her peak, her body shuddering beneath him as waves of pleasure overtook her, his groin and thighs suddenly wet and slick with a mixture of her fluids and his sticky seed. Buck pushed himself fully against her, through every moment, his eyes locked on hers, fascinated and entranced by the emotions that filled her, as they shared the final, intense connection of their forbidden love. As the tremors of her climax slowly subsided, she sank back against the moss, buck trembling as he continued his enthusiastic, yet passionate lovemaking with her.

Meagan gazed up at him, her quivering hand reaching up to stroke his cheek. “You... always know how... to make up for things? Don't you?” she whispered, her voice filled with emotion and warmth, her hands moving to encircle his shoulders, as she pulled him firmly down.

Buck twitched and nuzzled her cheek in response, his eyes shining with affection as he pressed his muzzle gently against her lips, his tongue flickered and swirled, exploring her mouth as they shared a deep, passionate kiss.

How many times he had brought her to climax, each more intense and primal than the last, Meagan couldn't say. Nor did Buck seem to know, his body moving on pure instinct, flooding her with his hot seed again and again. At last, utterly spent, he collapsed onto her, gasping, his powerful form trembling. His breath came in ragged bursts against her ear, matching her own laboured, quivering breaths. Meagan's sweat-slick body lay beneath him, exhausted and helpless, yet utterly fulfilled.

Her hand, shaking, found its way to his furred cheek, a tender connection amidst the rawness of their passion. For a long while, neither spoke, the intensity of their shared lovemaking leaving them speechless, words swallowed by the enormity of what had passed between them. Only the rustling of the leaves and their slowly calming breaths filled the quiet glade, as the last light of day slipped beneath the horizon, wrapping them in its embrace.

Meagan felt a familiar warmth settle over her, the thrill of their secret still humming in her veins. And yet, beneath the surface, there was that constant undercurrent of guilt and shame. She loved these stolen moments with him—craved them even—but as the intensity of her pleasure ebbed away, the reality of what they shared crept back into her mind. She closed her eyes, her thoughts flitting to her husband, to the ordinary life she returned to after these wild and passionate encounters. It was a life that never stirred the same passion in her, but one that provided comfort and stability. Could she ever give this up?

Her fingers stroked Buck's quivering ear, her fingers moving in a soothing rhythm. He nuzzled her, his large eyes soft with affection and admiration. He didn't understand the conflict within her. To him, it was simple—she was his mate, the one he had chosen during the rutting season, year after year. He loved her, as much as he could understand love, and each time they were together, it felt right to him, no matter the strange, forbidden nature of their mating.

“You're always so gentle, afterwards,” she whispered, her voice soft and filled with emotion. “you make it feel...like its okay.”

Buck blinked slowly, his head tilting slightly as if to say, isn't it? His tongue flicked out once more, licking the side of her face, and Meagan giggled despite herself, brushing the back of her hand across his whiskered muzzle.

“God, Bucky,” she murmured. “What are we going to do?”

He nudged her hand, his penis inside her quivering, almost like he was trying to distract her from her thoughts. Buck stood over her, his sleek form catching the last glimmers of daylight filtering through the trees. He gave a low grunt, a sound she had come to understand as a call—an invitation to leave her worries behind and embrace the present.

With a sigh, Meagan pushed against his chest, and with reluctance, Bucky stepped back, shuddering as he slipped from her well-pleasured depths. Meagan stood, shuddering, smoothing her skirt back down. She didn't have an answer, not today. But she knew she couldn't stay away from him. Not yet, not ever.

Buck watched her with steady eyes, and as she turned to leave the glade, he followed her, a silent guardian and watchful, protective mate. This was their time—fleeting, intense and filled with desire. Whatever came next, they would face it together. For now, in his mind, that was enough.

Megan paused, then turned and crouched down, placing her hands on his cheeks and gazing into his eyes, before she gently kissed him once more. “Bucky, you can not come with me, your place is here, mine is... out there. Our worlds are too different, my sweet, feral lover. They would not understand, they would hurt you, kill you... I can't let that happen.”

Buck twitched, then lapped at her forehead with his tongue, before he turned away and walked several paces, before he stopped and looked back at her, his heart breaking with longing. He understood her, in his limited way. What they had, what they shared, it was theirs, it was wonderful and passionate, but he knew, instinctively, her warning.

There would always be the rut, next year...

He bounded off back into the woods, vanishing like a ghost deer into his home.

Megan stepped out of the woods, following the path into the fading twilight, she felt a pang of guilt again, but it was dulled by the memory of his touch, the pleasure they'd shared. Perhaps it was wrong, but it was also theirs, and she wouldn't let it go. Not yet. Not ever.

END