FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The year was 1307, and the Kingdom of England grew worried. A series of battles in southwest Scotland had taken a turn for the worse with the arrival of their new king, a remarkable force who rallied an army only 1/5th that of England's. Pride had cometh before the fall of the Earl of Pembroke, who had been riding on his victories at Methven, then Dalrigh the previous year. He had grown too predictable, always attacking in the summer, and then retreating in the winter. So came the Battle of Glen Trool, a small skirmish that would signal the beginning of the end for England's attempts to take the northern lands.

It was this lonesome place that two squires found themselves in, dressed in long green pantaloons with thick leather coats that while helped them blend with the Scottish country, made them look rather foolish amongst the soldiers that now surrounded them. Hulking badgers and stout-bellied seals, stood amongst the bodies of fallen knights who bore the Cross of St. George, that now decorated the shores of the great loch.

"On your feet," a boar in chainmail with yellow stripes pointed to them, "what names ye hauv?"

"J-jan," trembled a red fox, "Jan Bliss."

"None," a grey squirrel crossed his arms, "a savage deserves not my name."

"Aye?" He was grabbed by the throat and pulled close. "When my temper runs free, then you shall see a savage. Your name, sasannach."

"HOBKIN!" the fox whimpered. "Hobkin Hews be his name, p-please spare us!"

"Hmm." The pig nodded and pushed the squirrel away. "Bring them to the captain."

Taken up the sweeping glen, the two prisoners were marched with heavy hands upon their shoulders, as the biting wind of April scarred their ears. The smell of flowers did nothing to cover up the dead, a rusted scent that danced on their tongues like the leaves of Selkirk. Jan was shivering and flinched from every look, whilst Hobkin glared at him with gritted teeth, and gave a silent nod of assurance to hold his nerve. He passed a silent hand gesture to drop on his knees, but the fox shook his head frantically before the squirrel stared harder and mouthed "trust me".

"A-AAAH!" Jan fell in a stumble. "M-MY FOOT!"

"Wheesht you little basturt!"

A badger tried to pull him up, and in that moment no one noticed Hobkin bend down to the closest body where he took a small dirk for himself. The fox was forced back on his feet, and they walked further to a small camp of bare tents where a campfire cooked in the centre, several Scots in chainmail were cleaning their blades, and others still were drinking mugs from a barrel.

"A TOAST!" cried an otter. "TO THE EARL OF PEMBROKE, FER HIS GRACE AND KINDNESS!"

[i]"SLAINTE!"[/i] they roared and gulped back.

"AND TO OUR CAPTAIN MACDUIBH, WHO SOUGHT TAE GIFT HIS STRENGTH TO OUR ONCE AND FUTURE KING, LIKE MANY OTHERS WHO SEEK FREEDOM FROM THE ENGLISH YOKE!"

Their cheers went even higher, and some of the soldiers escorting the squires whooped with them in a rallying of swords. The largest tent of the encampment was a rectangular hut, which the captors brought in their newest prey before their commander.

"Mo thighearna," the boar saluted. "Chaidh dithis bhalach a lorg gun armachd am measg nam marbh."

"Hmmm." A hulking haystack loomed before them. "Thoir a-steach iad."

Carwen MacDuibh was a mountain of a highland cow with shaggy orange hair covering one eye, and a hard-grit beard that flowed down his neck, albeit currently hidden in his thick chainmail that coated his arms and torso. The banner of their new king, a red rampant lion, stood roaring upon his golden tabard that flowed down to his knees with hard iron greaves, whilst a heavy mace swung from his thigh.

"Are your masters dead?" he crossed his arms.

"By the hands of craven cattle," Hobkin replied.

"Ohhhh, you spit fire, do ye?"

"More than that. I bring a message two-fold from your so-called king's greater cousin. That hell awaits thee, and not one inch further you shall take from us."

"And suppose ye a squire?" Carwen chuckled like the rolling thunder. "I thank ye fer the message, you say it was two-fold, of what is the other?"

The moment the squirrel lunged for him, Jan screamed and turned his head in fear for what would come. The soldiers brought forth their blades when they saw Hobkin's dirk, but the squire reached no closer than 6 feet when he was socked in the jaw and fell to the side, but not before he threw his weapon and grazed the bull's arm. The boar was upon him in an instant and crushed his hoof down upon Hews' belly, then reached his sword back for a decapitating swing.

"STAD!" MacDuibh shouted. "Tha am balach gun armachd."

"Bidh e gu luath," the pig snorted, "falaichidh e fhiaclan, ach bheir mise leam iad!"

"Gu leòr!" He grabbed the sword arm. "Tha am balach...gun armachd."

With a flaring neck of bristling anger, the boar stepped back and sheathed his blade, before Carwen put his own hoof upon Hobkin's belly.

"How long have you trained as squire?"

"Nnnngh, u-unhand me!"

"Unhoof, I will, if you answer me. How long have you trained?"

"Twelve year," the squirrel gasped, "and I shall serve again, when the Earl of Pembroke flays your hide."

"Hhhahahaha. A leithid de theine breagha." He pointed to the fox. "And you, how long have you trained?"

"T-t-ten year," Jan quivered, "Hobkin and I trained as one, the same unit, my lord."

"And yet you both couldnae be mair apart. As you are squires and not knights yet under the banner, tis only fair I find you new employ."

"With, wh-who?!"

"Whit better master than the one who defeated yours?" the bull swept his arms. "Like the Greeks of old, to the victor goes the spoils. And spoil you I shall."

"I choose death before you!" the squirrel spat under his hoof. "Your sodden banner I will have no part of!"

"Hobkin, n-no!" the fox clutched his head. "Please, such pride is not worth yon life!"

"PRIDE IS MORE THAN THESE SAVAGES HAVE-A-AAAH!"

"Sàmhach!" Carwen snapped and pushed his hoof a little harder. "Your first lesson shall be penance. From this glen when we depart, your new life shall begin under me. If I earn respect from thee, then respect I give in turn."

"Yes, yes sire!" Jan bowed deeply. "I-i-i thanketh thee, a thousand thanks for your mercy!"

Hobkin rolled his eyes and turned away in disgust, as the soldiers celebrated their victory long through the night before they slept merry with mead. Once their orders came in, they packed up their tents and marched north towards Ayrshire, but Carwen had earned a chance for reprieve in his nearby homestead. The castle of Wigtown had been taken back by the Scots a mere 20 years ago, and as such was now a friendly home for the new independent armies. Stone huts had been fashioned from ancient Neolithic circles, where ringed cairns were aligned in a mysterious fashion.

Along the cobbled semblance of a street between thatch-roofed houses, various locals waved to Carwen who hollered back with pride. The fox walked freely beside him, but the squirrel was tied by the hands before they reached their new home of a long stone cottage. The smell of MacDuibh permeated every part of it, a strong spicy heat that simmered against the cold that swept in from the nearest bay. The first room had a large bed with a stove for cooking, and a separate room with a large washtub.

"Fàilte don dachaigh agam," he gestured, "that means 'welcome to my home', I expect thee to learn some of my mother tongue during your service."

"Yes, sire," Jan bowed, "Fahl, te, don, dakhhaii?"

"Hmhmhm, now, your first task." He untied the squirrel's hands. "Undress me and clean mine vestments. All the knives have been hidden, for yon safety."

The highlander grinned as he spread his arms and let his new servants take off his armour, pulling off the tabard over his head and then unfurling his chainmail to reveal his studly physique. Rolling fields of thick amber hair filled out his body, from which hard-toned biceps and a large muscular belly was upheld with his iron pecs. But the fox soon blushed at the sight of those strong legs and long thick-whip tail, beneath which was a sumptuous pair of balls and a furry foreskinned cock.

He tried to hide his face but MacDhuibh smirked to himself, saying nothing for now as they took his armour to the washtub and cleaned it with oils available, just as they had been taught by their former masters. The ox went to his stove and cooked a hardy stew of herbs with chopped fish, which filled the house with a bubbling sound.

"Filthy wretch," hissed Hobkin, "look how he lives, a peasant who fancies himself king."

"Shhh, be silent!" Jan squeaked, scouring the breastplate. "Test not his wrath, he could have split yon head in twain!"

"Not before I take his eyes. No savage of the north will tame me like some mare."

"A-am I a mare?!"

"No, w-well, I mean...depends on whose bed we sleep in."

"Together we still remain," the fox reached his hand to him, "what fate lies in store for us, I will face it with thee, Hobkin."

"Yes." The squirrel gripped his fingers tight. "I am glad you are here, even if I wish some courage possessed thee."

"Mine tutelage was only for standing, not for battle. I wished to learn and travel, not cross swords with savages."

"And yet here we are. But perhaps, that is why your company soothes me, a gentle mind to match mine teeth."

"Hah, hahah, your teeth?!"

He spoke a little too loudly and looked worried towards Carwen, who kept on stirring his food without regard to his servants. They kept cleaning his armour before they hung it up on a wooden pole, and were offered two bowls of fishy stew along with hard biscuits.

"Sir, what be this?" asked Jan.

"Oatcakes with pottage," the bull sat on the floor with them, "strong food for a growing lad."

"That one feeds their cattle," muttered Hobkin, "who owns the castle?"

"No one, yet," Carwen chomped his oats, "one day hence, it shall be the manor of our king."

"If he still remains king." The squirrel sipped his stew. "A reckoning there will be."

They sat in awkward silence, whilst the sounds of farmers and weavers sang around the settlement. The food was surprisingly tasty despite its swampy appearance, the minty texture of herbs combined with the hardy grit of grains and the chewiness of seafood, all made for a sumptuous filling food that Jan eagerly devoured.

"Mmmm, ohh!" he wagged his tail. "Oh such bounty, you are a marvellous cook, my lord!"

"With what little we hauv, we make dae," the bull slurped his stew, "perhaps not as sumptuous as your former meals."

"Oh, a-actually we rarely get meat, certainly not as good as this, I ne'er had fish until now!"

"You will learn to love new things, as I hope you love me."

"You?!" the squirrel snapped. "You who slaughtered my master, you who dare sully the might of the English army!?"

"Hobkin, please!" Jan cried. "He proffers mercy, speak not ill of our host!"

"No savage will make me bow my head to him-GRRK!"

A hairy hand gripped the back of his head, forcing him to look straight towards MacDhuibh whose single eye glared at him. The fox clenched up in fear as the squirrel kept his stare fiercely upon the cow, and for a long two minutes there came not a word between them. Then the highlander grinned and patted Hews' back, and finished up his food before them.

"Clean the bowls and restraw my bed," he nodded, "then empty the washtub and refill it from the river, I shall provide bedding fer thee erstwhile."

"Th-thank you, sire," Jan bowed, "blessed we are in yon humble abode."

Hobkin sighed at his partner's submission, but finished his meal regardless and did his tasks with silent seethe. The bowls were soon washed, they replaced the straw from the bed with the fluffiest pile donated generously by the farmers, and they were given buckets to carry to the nearby stream that flowed down from the glens. The water was sweet and pure, cold and refreshing as they splashed it on their faces.

"Jan," the squirrel nudged him, "no one sees us."

"Yes?" the fox looked around. "What of it?"

"The dunderheaded savage left us to our own. We can make tracks!"

"To where?!" Jan filled his bucket. "We know not this land, these hills are steep and treacherous!"

"Better to be lost than enslaved," Hobkin dragged his hand in the water, "mayhaps the Earl's army lies east still."

"But Sir MacDhuibh gave us shelter, the same house as he, the same food he partakes!"

"He who sleeps in a stable takes cattle for a wife." He dragged the bucket through the stream. "In his service we shall remain for the next few days, then once his sullen mind is less wary, we take flight from here."

"If you are certain," the fox nodded, "but please, cause not more trouble, take fortune that he spared you at the battle, it will not last with more treachery."

Regardless of Jan Bliss' words, the squirrel made his plans as they carried back the water to MacDhuibh's home and refilled his washtub. As he promised, two piles of thick straw had been made for them, along with a thick wool blanket of red, green and pale-blue tartan. It was exceptionally warm, and the bull taught them how to wrap it around themselves much like a toga, over the shoulder and covering the body before it hung down to their knees. They were allowed to wash their own former clothes, and MacDhuibh rarely bothered them other than to ask them to perform their duties.

Over the first week, Jan wore the new kilted cloak with gratitude, relishing how much it hugged his fur as both a blanket and his clothing. Hobkin refused to wear it, until Carwen ordered him with a firm grip of the ear, and walked them around the little length of Wigtown to meet the neighbours, of which the fox slowly learned their native tongue.

"Dè na gillean òga math a th' annta!" said a large seal-mother, pinching his cheek. "An tug iad trioblaid dhut?"

"A-mhàin an fheòrag," the bull petted Hobkin who sneered at him, "deuchainn air na sasanaich."

"Tha mi cinnteach gun trèanadh thu e," she chortled, "bidh gach balach air an robh thu eòlach a 'tighinn gu crìch fo do chasan."

He gave a filthy chuckle as the English looked to each other with growing concern, before they were taken down to the shore where the great tides lapped across the beach. The salt sea breeze tickled their nostrils, and a constant roar came from the tides washing on hard-stone beaches, a carpet of pebbles that they struggled to walk on, but Carwen strode through like a king with a pair of fishing poles, and a tartan cloak that wrapped round his body.

"Ye ken ye how to fish?" he asked.

"I do!" Jan raised his hand. "My father were a fisher."

"Good! Show me how the sasannaich catch their fruit."

He offered one to Bliss as they sat at the tide pools, putting bait on the hook and casting out to the shallows whilst Hobkin sat on the driest point and kept watch with his scowl.

"What life ye had as a squire, boy?" the bull inquired.

"My master bade me care for his armour," said the fox, sitting closer, "his steed I maintained, his metals polished but ne'er did he let me touch his sword."

"Good labour, and whit of your education?"

"I...my master taught me only how to care for him, and how to serve others."

"Not read nor write?"

"N-no," Jan squirmed nervously, "he said some boys remain servants, and servants need not learn."

"Then how shalt ye learn?" the bull squinted with his single eye. "Already ye are a man and not one letter ye hauv written?"

"Have YOU?" Hobkin snorted, crossing his arms.

"Aye, a bishop taught me," he tugged on the line, "when building the castle, he brought a copy of the Murthly Hours, filled with beautiful prayers from the Virgin, a Litany of the Saints, and many psalms from the brushes of a faraway land he called Paris."

"Really?!" the fox shot up with sparkling eyes. "I have heard of it, they say it is a city that God himself would smile upon!"

"Hahahah, ah dinnae ken that, boy, but ah can teach ye to write as the bishop taught me ower twenty year."

"I would be grateful eternal! Oh thank you, my lord, thank you!"

He almost reached to hug Carwen, but then stopped himself in realising his place before the bull pulled him close with a tender hug. Hobkin flared his tail in a jealous fit, before something tugged at Jan's line and he wrenched back in reflex with the cow helping to pull the fish free.

"A-AH, AH, I CAUGHT ONE!"

"Deagh bhalach!" the bull rubbed his back. "One less mouth shall go hungry this day, thanks to ye!"

"Hah, haha, I am glad to help you, sire!"

"No no, not me, but our neighbours. Tis a good one who keeps their town well-fed."

Two hours passed as they gathered up more fish, then put them in a basket and hiked back up to the village where they shared their bounty with the rest of the villagers. Another week would pass, during which Hobkin spent the limits of his freedom searching the area for the easiest path through the hilly glen, whilst Jan learned to very slowly read some texts that Carwen had transcribed. They were not the beautiful manuscripts the fox had seen in wealthy halls, but fumbled scratchings that refined themselves over years into a more delicate script, a strange series of symbols that Jan would come to learn represented the sounds of their language.

Other duties were mainly assisting the other villagers, toiling in their fields or gathering ingredients for food. In fact, most of their duties would end up aiding the other Scots, who called them little sasannaich much to Hobkin's chagrin whilst MacDhuibh busied himself elsewhere in patrolling the lands, keeping watch for enemies on the hills. One night, whilst the bull was away from home and his new servants sat at his house, they readied themselves for the washtub as Hobkin made his plans.

"Once we have washed," the squirrel began, "we depart before the moon has risen."

"Are you certain?" Jan sighed with relief. "Sir MacDhuibh has not treated us ill."

"We are not beholden to him," the squirrel pulled off his coat, "nor any of these tribes. Once we find the Earl's men, we tell all."

They undressed themselves and slipped down into the water, the tub large enough for both of them to sit together as the cold water warmed up to their bodies quickly. The dirt and sweat soon peeled off of them as they washed each other down, and rubbed their fingers across their backs.

"How long has it been?" whispered Jan.

"Too long," Hews kissed his cheek, "even wracked with filth, your warmth shines through."

"Hah, th-the water disagrees."

"Your heart keeps the cold out for me. Since we first trained as squires, long have I had you as my quilt."

"Well, I-i," the fox took his hand, "tis a good reward for your spirit! I wish dearly I could inherit it."

"And deprive the world of this smile?" Hobkin thumbed his lip. "deprive us of your dulcet tones?"

"But ne'er have I sung!"

"Every word you speak is a song, Jan."

They kissed deeper and hugged each other tight, their chests grinded with sodden fur and the water sloshed round their hips. Their tongues danced and their eyes closed whilst their tails floated like angels' wings around each other, whilst two throbbing members thickened between their legs. When they parted, a soft stream of saliva came between them as Hobkin turned the fox around, and felt up his rear with treacherous fingers. The fox whimpered with a giddy smile, he felt the squirrel's teeth bite his ear and his pucker spread a little wider, before Hobkin bent down to press his tongue to Jan Bliss' rear. Then, he saw a familiar shape looming over them from the next room, dressed in his tartan cloak.

"Oh, pay no mind tae me," Carwen grinned with hands on hips, "I wouldnae dream of interrupting."

"A-AAAH!" the fox jumped out of the tub and bowed in the dirt. "S-sire, please forgive me, w-w-we were um, w-w-we-"

"Tae think I had twa boys tae serve me, when it seems they share a single heart."

"And what if we do?!" Hobkin stood up sodden and nude. "My heart is stronger with Jan than your blackened soul ever could be, alone in a squalid rock like a SNAKE!"

"Then face me, lad. Show me the strength of this single heart."

"Hobkin, NO!" Jan grabbed his lover. "He hath the strength of three!"

The squirrel shook him off and charged the highland cow, launching off the washtub's rim with a high-flying knee that surprised Carwen enough to knock him backwards into the central room. Hobkin found his momentum and started swinging with vicious blows, reaching up to swing at the taller bull who took one punch to the chin and then grabbed the fourth fist. The squirrel groaned as he felt his wrist being slowly turned, and when he tried to punch with his other hand, MacDhuibh headbutted the incoming fist so hard that Hews yelped from the bone-hard impact.

"A good sasannach kens their place," the bull growled, "whither they provide the meat, or receive it themself."

"N-NNNNRGH, NNRRRH!"

"Whit makes ye so afeart, that you cannae accept the kindness of our hame? What king of England so terrifies ye, that your soul is shackled tae his feet?"

"UN, HAND ME!"

"Does it rankle ye so tae sit beneath a Celt? Does mah presence offend ye so that you'd turn awa' a dry bed and full supper, tae a life of drudgery that disnae respect yer beloved?"

"You know nothing!"

"Course not," he shoved Hobkin down, "after all, who am I but a savage tae ye, wee sasannach? Then I'll treat ye to mah savage ways that ye hunger for so bad."

He dragged the squirrel back to the washtub and dunked him into the water next to Jan Bliss, who stood trembling like a wet cloth before the highlander scrubbed them down with his burly hands. He scoured them with his knuckles despite Hobkin's protests, but he was kept under control with Carwen's studly arms as he washed their heads with scoops of water, strung out their tails and dried them off with a rag. With Jan he was more gentle, brushing him down like a beloved steed, but with Hews he was rough without hurting him.

"Now," MacDhuibh brought them to his bed, "since you bluster and whinge aboot being treated as cattle, perhaps yer wish may be granted."

"P-pardon?!" gasped Jan.

"Perhaps you're nae servants after all, but rather mares in season." He grinned rather wickedly. "And all good mares should ken how tae please their stallions."

"A-are you...my lord," the fox whispered as his eyes looked down, "you are not suggesting-"

"I will not," Hews sniffed haughtily, "you dare sully me and my lover?!"

"Now boy," Carwen wagged his finger, "there are twa ways tae breed a mare. Break her in, or coax her in. And every boy tae serve under me, has become my mare one way or another."

From the hem of his cloak between his legs, something rose before them. A hardening caber of thick dark meat and a hefty pair of balls that made their eyes widen and the fox twitch with a feverish grin, before Hobkin glared at him.

"Nae need fer modesty," said the bull, "whilst ye are here, ye belong as my squires, and tis yer job to please yer master as ye were taught, aye?"

"And if we refuse?" Hews scowled.

"Then ah set you free. Intae the wilderness, with naught but the tartan cloaks we gifted ye so ye dinnae freeze on the lonesome moors that neither of you ken. Twould be hard tae explain tae the Earl why the enemy treated ye so well, filled your bellies and clothed you, unless...you treated us well."

The squirrel realised the implications as a growing fear awoke in him. Surely the Earl of Pembroke would listen to reason, but he had heard all the rumours of his financial difficulties, his conflicts with the Earl of Lancaster and his supposed bastard son. Too many what-ifs swirled in his mind, too much political cacophony that he had witnessed in his squiredom that the moment he looked to Jan, his heart sank. He could never take his beloved back to that life, and without another word, Hews reached out to grasp the bull's sack.

MacDhuibh said nothing for the sake of Hobkins' dignity, and Jan sighed with a quiet relief when he joined his lover in grasping those thick hefty plums, so strong in their spicy scent and surprisingly heavy with a sumptuous seed. The fox quivered in excitement at such a studly male, who grasped their heads and pulled them closer to get a whiff of his Celtic smell. Jan Bliss panted and dared to lick his shaft, the salty taste made him tremble and soon even Hobkin couldn't resist lapping across the foreskin.

"Goooood boys," the bull breathed softly, "such good sasannaich knowing whit's best fer ye."

His voice turned to a gentle purr that soothed the fox, but the squirrel kept on guard with a stiffened tail as both English squires slurped across his bollocks. Jan breathed deep of his masculine odour and grew even harder, to the point he was lapping up the shaft and suckling the head that throbbed to its full stiffness of a sturdy 8 inches. The fox was ravenous, his tongue slobbered across the glans and before he realised, he was sucking off the Celt who moaned greedily.

Hobkin went down to focus on the balls, and even he could not resist the studly allure when his head went beneath the cloak-kilt, and he nursed one of the thick tangerines to relish the taste of a sweat-filled warrior. The highland cow stroked their heads and kept them close as they savoured his cock, with Jan swallowing the length halfway down before he choked adorably. He bobbed with eager little moans, and he slipped a hand down to beneath his cloak where he jerked himself off in growing excitement, before Hobkin slapped his hand away and stroked him instead.

Jan Bliss squeaked and swallowed harder, trying to test his limits with such a tight throat around a hefty pole. He strained his eyes as the hunger took him, his tongue slathered around the thick halberd and he gulped the growing pre that drooled into his gullet. The squirrel worked between the balls and his snout turned wet from the thicker droplets of sweat, to the point that Hews throbbed achingly hard and once Jan was done sucking, he took over with a deep gulp.

"Ohhh such very good boys," Carwen muttered, "trained so well already tae make fine mares fer me."

"Y-y-yes, sire," Bliss suckled the shaft whilst his lover swallowed above, "h-how else may we serve ye?"

MacDhuibh grinned and slid his hand down towards the fox's rump, giving a tender squeeze to make Jan yelp before the bull sat back further on the bed and patted the straw-filled mattress. He motioned Jan to climb onto his crotch, then pulled Hobkin to sit on his face where the bull's thick tongue slurped across his furry rump. The squirrel panted with an electric shiver, then melted with a happy sigh whilst his partner carefully angled himself on top of Carwen's spear.

With the cow's guidance, he sank himself down on the girthy lance with a whimpering sound, a happy moan as his rear spread wide with some effort to fit it in. He tightened his chest and tried to relax his thighs, then once his pucker popped to let him in, he shared the same expression as Hews when they both rode MacDhuibh. The Celt slurped into the squirrel's taint, twisted his tongue to push deep inside and slapped it against the walls of the trembling English squire.

Hobkin started to grind his rump against Carwen's face, getting all of his twitching folds slathered by thick drool as the bull rumbled deep enough to vibrate him within. The squirrel was at full mast at a pudgy 6 inches, same as his partner as they both stroked each other off, whilst Jan sunk himself deeper upon the Scottish staff. He panted with a rising joy, as he sputtered pre on MacDhuibh's belly with Hobkin's help, who knew all the right ways to make his lover spurt harder. The squirrel's fingers groped at the fox's plums, rubbing the most sensitive spots and thumbing the glans to make him cry out.

"A-AAAH! T-tease me not, H-hobkin!"

"M-mmmph, tis hard not to," Hews panted, "ohhh this b-bastard tongue m-makes me weak, God preserve me!"

But despite the squirrel's protests, he smiled evermore with each flicking tongue, every plap of Carwen's suckling muscle that raked over his walls. With great effort and soft bounces, Jan managed to take all of that cock inside, and savoured the thick throb through his insides as the discomfort faded fast to give way to pleasure. He leaned close to kiss his beloved, and their tongues entwined once more with a new surge of passion while the vulpine rode Carwen's shaft, and Hobkin fucked himself upon that writhing tongue.

Pent-up as they were, it did not take long for Jan to cum with a trembling cry, spraying all over Hews' hand as well as Carwen's stomach. His pucker gripped tight on the bull's lance and he groaned deep into the squirrel's hole to make him peak closer to his own climax. Once Hobkin came and added his own spray of jizz to the Celt's hairy gut, Carwen pulled free from the sloppy rear and pumped harder into Jan whose squeaks rang out through the room.

"Deagh ghille," the bull snorted with dripping tongue, "briodaidh mi thu, làir bheag sasannach."

The fox blushed hard from his words that he briefly understood, as he gripped the bull's belly and rode him hard in front of his lover. Hobkin kissed him with a growing need, their cocks frotted together in a pulsing eagerness as Jan whimpered louder. Finally, Carwen roared with a victorious bellow, and pumped him thick with Scottish cream.

"OHHHHH! GOD SAVE ME!" Jan whimpered. "OHHH H-HEAVEN!"

"Mmmmmhhhhh balach àlainn," MacDhuibh sighed, "such good squires with a perfect arse fer breeding."

"Aaaah, haaah," Hobkin panted thick, "th-think not this as clemency. This is but a respite, until I am freed from Celtic bondage."

"So be it," Carwen smirked and laid back, "the best mares are the feistiest, especially the wee sasannaich. Now, tis time to sleep. In return fer your service, I offer my bed instead of yours."

"R-really?" Jan grinded on the pulsing cock. "You...our master former would never share one's bed with us."

"He ne'er taught ye to read, nor fished with ye. If I am tae be yer new master, then I shan't act the auld one. But if ye prefer to sleep by yer lonesome, the choice lies with thee."

He laid his head down and let them sit on top of him, to which Jan laid down beside him feeling so full of love when he pulled off of Carwen's meat, and drooled thick Celtic seed from his English rear. He wrapped his arms tentatively round the bull, who smiled and pulled him close with his thick studly bicep. Then he looked to Hobkin, still sitting on his chest, and seeing the joy on Jan's blissful face, the squirrel rolled his eyes and curled up against his new master.

Though he would take long to admit it, Hobkin Hews dared to smile a little as he fell into slumber, hearing the sounds of MacDhuibh's thick rumbling snores fill his ears along with Jan's gentle whistling. Despite being far away from English homes, beyond the comforts of curtained walls and castle towns, the squires felt more full and plenty with peaceful minds in the far southwestern coasts of Scotland, than anywhere else in their lives thus far.