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• ZOO - Call of the Wild

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

26th September, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

In the soft light of dawn, the Whitestone estate stood like a sentinel amongst the sprawling expanse of forest, its ancient trees whispering secrets to the wind. Eleanor Whitestone, the only daughter of a noble lineage, walked through the estate's sprawling rose garden. Her cloven hooves, soft against the dew-laden grass, barely disturbed the tranquil silence. She wore a teal blouse with ruffled black detailing around the chest area, adding an elegant and slightly formal touch. The blouse was secured by a red oval brooch at the collar, and a wide, ornate leather belt cinched around her waist. Her long skirt, a dark shade of blue as to be almost black, whispered around her furred ankles with each step. Her chosen clothing blended with the earth and trees she loved, yet beneath that composed exterior, a secret stirred.

Her paw paused over a deep red rose, the flower glistening with morning dew. Slowly, she leaned down, her delicate fingers brushing the velvety petals. Bringing the rose to her nose, she inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed as the intoxicating fragrance filled her senses. A faint tremor ran through her, as the scent awakened something far deeper than a mere appreciation for its beauty.

She glanced quickly around, her heart quickening and black-tipped ears twitching—not out of fear, but out of the thrill of indulging in something she knew she ought not to. The estate was quiet, the manor still asleep, and no eyes were upon her. Her breath caught as she plucked a petal from the rose, its crimson hue vibrant against her pale fingers.

With a flicker of hesitation, Eleanor brought the petal to her lips, pressing it against her tongue. The sweet, faintly bitter taste spread across her mouth as she chewed softly. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation with a guilty pleasure that sent a shiver down her spine. Another petal followed, and then another, until the once perfect bloom was stripped bare, its delicate beauty now consumed by her secret indulgence.

Her mother had once caught her as a fawn, scolding her for ruining the flowers meant to adorn the manor halls. But even now, as a grown doe, the forbidden act still brought her an illicit joy—a small, private rebellion against the weight of her duty.

Eleanor wiped her lips and cast one more furtive glance around the garden, as though the very earth might betray her. But the garden, the manor, and the woods themselves, remained silent, its wild heart pulsing in tandem with her own. The quiet thrill of her secret indulgence lingered, yet it left her feeling... incomplete. There was something more she longed for, something beyond the sweet petals of a rose. A deeper hunger stirred in her—one she didn't fully understand, but could no longer ignore.

As she stepped from the garden, passing through an ornate wrought-iron gate, and wandered down the path towards the woods, her thoughts drifted to stories of her ancestors. Tales of their bond with the wild, of the land and creatures her family had protected and watched over for centuries. She could feel it—the pull of the forest, of something untamed and ancient calling to her, beckoning her deeper into the shadows of the trees.

As she wandered, attuning herself to the wonder of the natural world around her, peace and serenity filled her young heart. But suddenly, her body froze mid-step. The snap of a twig and a rustle in the underbrush shattered the tranquillity. Her heart skipped a beat as she turned her ears first, then her head, towards the sound.

Emerging from the thicket, a majestic figure stepped into view—a feral whitetail buck, his antlers towering like the branches of an ancient oak. His muscles rippled under his sleek hide, his eyes dark pools of intensity, locking onto hers with a gaze that sent a shiver down her spine.

For a heartbeat, Eleanor stood rooted to the spot, her breath catching in her throat. Her chest tightened, the air around her suddenly thick with tension. She could feel her pulse in her ears, her body responding to his presence in a way that was both alarming and strangely exhilarating. Every muscle in her body tensed, as though ready to flee, but beneath that instinct was something deeper—an involuntary pull towards him. It wasn't fear that held her in place, but something far more primal.

Her breath quickened, each inhale shallow and uneven, as her gaze travelled over the buck's powerful form. There was an undeniable magnetism between them, an ancient force that transcended words and reason. Her lips parted, though no sound escaped her, the sudden heat in her cheeks betraying the surge of emotions she struggled to comprehend.

He tossed his head, his antlers gleaming in the dawn light, and let out a low, resonant snort. The sound reverberated through her chest, stirring something deep inside her—something primal, instinctive. It was as if the very earth beneath her cloven hooves hummed with the same rhythm, urging her, compelling her, towards him, towards the wild heart of the forest where rules and decorum no longer mattered.

Her body betrayed her, a faint tremble running through her legs as the world around her dimmed. Only he remained in sharp focus, his eyes never leaving hers, drawing her into a silent exchange that spoke of desires she had long suppressed.

Forbidden, illicit desires. Desires and thoughts that made her cheeks flush and to her shame, her body heated with an unfamiliar warmth, creeping upward from her core.

No! I must not... I should not think such immoral thoughts! Elenor scolded herself, panic clashing with the ache she couldn't ignore. These thoughts are unnatural... I am to marry a noble buck when I am twenty-five! I must remain pure—for him, for our wedding night!

Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in time with his, as her pulse thundered in her ears. At that moment, she realised she wasn't just witnessing a creature of the wild—she was being claimed by it.

*

Eleanor stood at the edge of the forest, her heart racing as the familiar scent of damp earth and wildflowers enveloped her. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden glow that danced through the trees. It had been days since that first encounter with that majestic buck, but the memory of the moment burned bright in her mind, a flame she could not extinguish, nor wanted to.

She felt other flames too—guilty, shameful ones—that made her tremble and her cheeks flush. Her dreams at night were rich and vibrant, utterly unlike what a lady of impeccable breeding and lineage should dream of. Ancient, primal, instinctual... these feelings pulled at her, clawing at her rationality, savaging her well-ordered, rigidly structured mind.

She hesitated, torn between her duties as the heir to the Whitestone estate and the insistent pull of her primal instincts. The woods called to her, a siren song that promised freedom and the kind of connection she had never experienced before. With each step deeper into the forest, the weight of her family's expectations began to lift, replaced by an exhilarating sense of possibility.

As the sun rose, Eleanor felt the familiar rush of excitement when she spotted him. The feral whitetail buck stood majestic and strong, his antlers silhouetted against the sunlight. His eyes, deep and knowing, locked onto hers, igniting her from the inside out.

He threw back his antlered head, his loud, vocal roar a challenge. Dominant and powerful, it was a song that sang to her darkest and most primal of instincts, it spoke of unrestrained desire, a promise of what was to come, if she would only take that fateful step.

Eleanor did not take that step – she leapt for it.

Without thinking, she rushed toward him, her heart pounding. The moment she was close enough, she dropped to her knees, almost worshipping the buck before her. He snorted, then nuzzled her cheek, sending shivers down her spine. He urinated and the strong, potent scent of his musk, his dominance, and his need, flooded her senses. He grunted, lipping at her shoulder, confused by her clothing, yet aroused by her scent. A scent Eleanor had desperately tried to mask, to no avail.

He walked around her, gently kicking out at her, testing her, smelling her, and watching for the subtle signs and signals that Eleanor did not understand. He snuffled the underside of her tail, his nostrils flaring, before he shuddered and as suddenly as he'd come, he walked off into the forest, leaving Eleanor on her knees and paws, shaking and panting.

No... Eleanor wanted to shriek, to plead, to grovel. You can not do this to me, you can not leave me!

He did not return.

*

A few days later, Eleanor returned to the forest, her steps quick and her breath catching in her throat. Her primal desire, no, her fundamental need, was at its height. The seasonal rut had claimed her, as it did all deer of her kind. It was ancient, primal, and instinctual—unquenchable, irresistible. Eleanor had fought it, struggled against it, waking in the night, cold sweat drenching her as if she had a fever. Her dreams were troubled, filled with images of the buck, and her waking hours were spent alone in the garden, wishing she could escape the overwhelming urges that clawed at her sanity.

She had paced from dawn until midday, wringing her paws and tugging at her ears, pleading to whatever Divine power might listen to her erstwhile cries, to take away these feelings, these sensations, these unnatural urges...

Her body trembling, driven by a will and intent, not of her own, Eleanor left the manse once more.

*

The forest was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and chirping birds, but to Eleanor, it felt like a world apart. The scent of damp earth and blooming wildflowers enveloped her as she stepped deeper into the woods, her heart pounding in her chest. She had come seeking him, the majestic buck who had ignited these feelings within her—a longing that was now, impossible to ignore.

As she wandered, the sun filtered through the branches, casting playful shadows that danced on the forest floor. The vibrant greens and earthy browns seemed to pulse with energy, echoing her own racing heartbeat. Then, she heard it—the unmistakable sound of hooves crunching through the underbrush. Her breath hitched, and her pulse quickened once more. He emerged from the thicket, his powerful form radiant and beautiful.

He paused, locking his eyes on her once more, his antlered head tilting as he inhaled the very air—and her scent. A soft challenge echoed in his posture, antlers glistening like crowns of royalty. This time, there was no hesitation in her heart. With instinct guiding her, she stepped closer, unbuckling her leather belt, and her skirt fell forgotten to the loamy soil.

The buck approached cautiously, his nostrils flaring as he drank in her scent. His upper lip curled back, pleased by what he saw and smelt. He nuzzled at her shoulder, as she knelt down, once again fanning that fire within her that sent shivers down her spine. Eleanor felt her breath quicken even more, desire pooling in her belly as he circled her, testing the air, his movements graceful and deliberate.

At that moment, she understood the ancient dance of courtship. She lifted her chin, exposing her white throat patch in a gesture of submission. His response was immediate; his muzzle vanished beneath her tail, and she bleated as his broad, soft tongue delved into her slick, virginal folds. A deep grunt of approval rumbled in his chest, the connection between them palpable—a bond forged in primal urges and instinct.

Eleanor gasped as he reared, his powerful forelegs encircling her ribs, his weight overwhelming her senses. She braced herself, fingers digging into the loamy soil, head bowed in surrender, giving herself fully to him.

With a series of tentative thrusts, the buck explored her, frustration palpable as he struggled to find the right position. Then, with a primal lunge, he thrust inside her, claiming her with an explosive climax that sent shockwaves through her being.

In that moment, Eleanor's heart raced—fear mingling with a rush of sensations as tears streamed down her face, splattering the forest floor. She felt a desire to resist, to push him off, away, yet her body betrayed her, responding to the centuries-old call of instincts. She could feel him flooding her with his essence, the waves of his climax drawing forth her own, overwhelming her with an intensity she had never anticipated.

His hot breath washed over her neck and ears as he shuddered, maintaining his grip. He nuzzled her neck soothingly, an instinctive gesture that blurred the lines between gratitude and dominance.

Eleanor sobbed helplessly, caught in the tempest of her instincts and the rational mind that screamed in protest within her.

Do you have any idea what you have done? He is a buck—a feral buck! Your purity has been taken, the gift meant for your future husband in the martial bed of your wedding night!

Eleanor was helpless, trembling beneath the buck, the forest around her now eerily quiet as if nature herself, held her breath in reverence—or judgement. The primal connection lingered in the air, thick and heady, but so too did a wave of regret and disbelief wash over her. The weight of her family's expectations crashed down like an iron shroud, suffocating the wild exhilaration that had initially sparked within her.

As the last remnants of their union ebbed away, reality seeped back into her consciousness.

What have I done?

This thought echoed relentlessly, each repetition chafing against her pride, her dignity, her carefully constructed identity as the heir to the Whitetstone estate. Her mind raced, caught in a tempest of emotions as she grappled with the significance of what had transpired.

You're a lady of impeccable breeding, her mother's voice echoed in her head, a reminder of the lineage she was expected to uphold. You must preserve your purity for your future buck husband! Those words felt like shackles binding her, yet here she was, on her knees in the forest, having surrendered to an instinct older than society's constraints.

Tears of frustration mixed with the remnants of pleasure on her cheeks as she struggled to rise, the forest floor cool against her skin. She could still feel the ghost of his touch, the imprint of his dominance lingering on her body. The buck, now dismounted, watched her with those deep, knowing eyes, an unspoken bond forming between them. His presence felt both reassuring and terrifying.

“What have I done?” She whispered, the weight of the question suffocating her. He stepped closer, nudging her with his muzzle as if to offer comfort, but the gesture only deepened her turmoil. This was not the fairy tale she had envisioned for her future; it was raw, untamed, and completely outside her control.

With a shaky breath, Eleanor pushed herself to her hooves, her body still trembling from the intense mating. I can not remain here, she thought, instinctually retreating from the scene of her transformation. She needed to escape the reality of what had just happened—to find solace in the familiar confines of her home, where the expectations of her lineage could shield her from this primal revelation.

As she turned to leave, she felt the buck's gaze upon her, a silent acknowledgement of their shared experience. Doe, you will not forget me. It seemed to whisper, even as she fought to forget him. She claimed her skirt and belt, pulling both on over trembling legs and hips, before she glanced back one last time, his powerful figure framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, and a strange mix of longing and sorrow filled her heart. What would become of her now?

Eleanor hurried through the forest, the sounds of nature enveloping her as she raced towards the path leading back to her estate. Each step felt heavy, a reminder of the burden she carried, one she knew, one...she did not. The pulse of her instincts still thrummed beneath her skin and fur, a stark contrast to the elegant facade she had always maintained.

Would I ever be the same? The thought haunted her as she emerged from the woods, the opulent estate coming into view—a sanctuary that now felt like a prison, as she let herself in the wrought-iron gate, into the garden once more. She stepped onto the manicured lawn, the familiar sights and scents unable to quell the storm brewing within her.

*

Eleanor wrestled with her newfound identity. She wandered through the garden, feeling the weight of her body in ways she never had before, as if it were an alien thing now bound to a primal existence. Her parents remained oblivious, wrapped in their own world of societal expectations, whilst the restless energy of the rut pulsed within her—a constant reminder of what she had experienced.

She had made her way to her private chambers, where she had laid herself gingerly down on the goose-down quilt, then buried her muzzle in a pillow and cried helplessly. For how long, she didn't know, until her tears slowed and finally stopped, and she made a decision. As much as she did not want to bathe, but to cling to the scent of the buck, his gift to her, her nostrils wrinkled at the pungent reminders of his urine and semen on her rump and back, indelible marks of her encounter.

Yet, the shame that clung to her was suffocating, a constant whisper that reminded her of her perceived failure. Each time she caught a glimpse of her reflection, the elegance of her features felt like a mask, concealing the truth that lay beneath.

Eleanor crawled off her bed and dashed to her bathing room, wanting to scrub the scent not only from her fur and flesh but the very fur and flesh of her muscles. She did not care that the water was icy, she tore off her belt, her skirt and her blouse, throwing them across the room like a petulant child. With a splash, she immersed herself in the water, picking up the coarse soap and a scrubbing brush, some careless servant had left behind after cleaning.

For some time, Eleanor scrubbed at herself, her tears flowing freely, dripping off her chin and into the tepid water of her bath. She gasped when a shadow loomed in her peripheral vision, water splashing over the side and onto the marble floor.

“Mother,” Eleanor gasped, flattening her ears.

“Eleanor, dear,” her mother said, the warmth in her voice contrasting with the unease that settled in Eleanor's stomach. “You seem...different.”

Eleanor took a shuddering breath, struggling to maintain her dignity. “I'm well, mother,” she replied, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. The scent of the buck still clung to her, a lingering reminder of their shared moment in the wild.

The lie hung in the air, heavy and ponderous. Unable to hold herself back, Eleanor's composure shattered, and tears flowed down her cheeks. “I don't know how to explain it... I let myself be swept away, and now I feel so ashamed.”

Her mother listened quietly, the lines on her face softening with empathy, her nostrils slightly flaring as she smelt the air, the scent. “My dearest daughter, you think you are the only one of our lineage to feel such instincts? Every doe, of our line, experiences it at some point. Even I.”

Eleanor's eyes widened in shock and surprise, staring up at her mother, the brush slipping from her paws and falling to the floor with a clatter. “You...”

Her mother sighed, pulling a small stool over, then sitting down on it, facing her daughter. “It's natural for us to feel drawn to our instincts. Just remember, it's a part of who we are, but we must navigate it thoughtfully—and carefully. I did not, I was young, much younger than you. Those urges claimed me and compelled me in much the way I suspect they did you as well. Like you, I found myself in the forest...like you—I too was...claimed.”

Eleanor trembled, looking down at the bath water, her emotions roiling and tumbling like a turbulent sea within her. “Mother, how do I balance these... urges, with my duties? To our family? To society, to the wilderness, our kind have protected and watched over for generations? I am a...”

Her mother gently placed a paw on Eleanor's lips, quietening her. “Embrace who you are, Eleanor,” her mother advised, her tone soothing. “You can honour your instincts without losing sight of your responsibilities. Finding harmony within yourself is key. However, as I was saying, I was young, very young... A buck claimed me, as you were...”

Her voice trailed off, as she gently stroked Eleanor's ears, gazing deeply into her eyes, before she found the courage to speak once more.

“He claimed me, as a buck claims a doe, during this time. He gave me his seed, from it... come a wonderful gift, my dearest daughter. You...”

Eleanor could only stare up, wide eyed...

END