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I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t… believe…

Lukas swallowed and brushed himself off yet again, his thigh still searing from where the barbed wire had dug through his jeans. As far as he could tell there was no blood, yet the cloth had certainly torn right there; and after all the effort he had put in to find the perfect spot, to brace his footpaws into the smooth sections of wire in between the barbs, and how he had practiced hoisting himself up and over before. It had gone so well on the way up, where he had braced himself against the nearby fencepost, straddled the wire, and then swung his leg over to begin the descent on the other side… and then it had been the way down that had caught him, excitement and anticipation flooding into recklessness on the dismount. He had dropped down and then just as quickly felt himself yanked back, then that sensation of the tear through his pants with the slight sting of the metal biting into his skin, and then he had stumbled forward and fallen across fallen leaves and dried grass, and promptly considered throwing himself right back over for how much noise he had made.

The otter had scrambled into a relatively hidden alcove between some trees and stood there for a while, making sure his fuck-up had not been too bad, and keeping his little teacup ears perked for any sound of detection. After three minutes that felt like thirty, though, he figured he might have been in the clear, and then carefully crept his way back out.

I just… gosh, maybe I should forget about this, and…

He had seen this plot so many times from the neighboring field, public access with some slightly more rural back roads winding along its border. Over time Lukas had made it a point to walk along this fence border, keeping an eye and ear perked to whatever might be held on the other side: he had watched the way the grass and trees had grown, spread, and then died back with the seasons, and followed little hints and tracks that let him know there was, or had at one time been, some kind of livestock kept over there without ever seeing the beasts in question themselves.

Or he had not, at least, until just the previous month, when some turn of luck brought him face to face with one of a family of horses that grazed that far side of the plot – or, he thought as he stepped precariously over what certainly looked, and smelled, like fresh evidence of those animals – this side. The one I’m on right now. The side that I had to find a loose spot in the fence and climb over to reach. He came forward a few more steps, then glanced back over his shoulder at that pile of evidence; I wonder if there’s a way to tell which way the horse was facing, when…

A gentle snap of twig and crackle of leaf suddenly yanked him out of his thoughts and set his heart to pounding all over again. He had wandered away from the trees right out into the open, now following what looked like a footpath carved over time into the plot itself: tall grass had been methodically flattened down beneath tromping hooves, with more, older sites of that same evidence spread here and there as the trail twisted off deeper into the plot. Lukas had taken a look at the actual size of this area from the satellite view on maps online and knew that he was still a fair distance from any sort of building all the way on the other side, up near the more distant main road.

So I guess… He scanned around for another stand of trees behind which to hide his slender body. I guess it might not be likely that the animals would be out here, this far from their stables… right? So it’s likely the owner of the property coming to check things out… since wouldn’t they make it routine to do a regular walk of the plot? Just in case someone tries to hop over, and… and…

And he waited, his back pressed against a tree and his ears perked, heart thumping in his throat, breath coming in short, quick gasps. Again and again he heard that soft crack and rustle, nervousness rising until he thought he might faint… until after another minute or so Lukas realized that not only was the sound somewhat rhythmic, but it seemed to be drifting away from him.

That means…

Still a little bit dizzy from nervousness, he peeked out from around the tree, stepped towards the trail, then changed his mind and held closer to the more unkempt grass and stands of trees around the plot.

It’d be easy to tell if it’s paired footsteps. Right? If the owners have a routine, then they probably just do it to check it off the list, and they won’t really be looking for anything. So It’d be easy to hear regular footsteps. But if it’s like that, then…

As he walked, crouching down close to the ground to strike as small a silhouette as he could, keeping his rudder low and curled around his ankles, Lukas looked around himself again and again, and tried to keep track of where he had hopped the fence. His mouth hung open as he went, breathing in through his nose and then out through his mouth; he flicked his tongue across his lips, swallowed, imagined that he could smell that familiar livestock-feed scent on the air, peeked into the next stand of trees, hustled to shield himself within the tilting trunks and shade of the canopy overhead-

-and then nearly stumbled right back out with shock as that same crackle of twigs and leaves snapped within arm’s length of him. So startled was the otter that he gasped and tried to scramble away, only for fallen leaves to skid out from underneath him; he tumbled down to his rump, world spinning for a second, and grimaced at the stinging of the scrape across his palms. Naturally his first instinct was to turn tail and flee, to scrabble back to his footpaws and head back to where he thought the fence was; however, every thought in his mind, every single reflex and instinct left him the moment he lifted his head and looked up at the figure looming over him.

Sleek, broad, and streamlined, bearing a glossy pelt the color of rich loamy soil, the horse lifted its head from where it had bent down to munch at a patch of grass and regarded its unexpected visitor with what Lukas took to be some amount of amusement. Broad nostrils flared in sniffing at him, hot humid breath wafting across him; it stepped forward, unshod hooves crunching in the leaves, and bumped against his ankle, his leg, up towards his knee… and then turned to resume at that same patch of grass from before, one foreleg settling down into the earth.

And then that was that. Lukas remained where he had sprawled for a moment longer, arm still held up in front of his face for defense, heartbeat now pounding for a wholly different reason. He wet his lips again, swallowed again, then got back to his somewhat wobbly legs, wanting to step closer yet still knowing he ought to keep his distance.

Jesus fuckin’… it’s… WAY bigger face to face than I had first thought. Holy moly. Its shoulder is… Slowly he stepped around to the beast’s front, remembering somewhere that it was not necessarily a good idea to approach an unknown feral horse from behind. About at the same height as mine. Wait, no, about at my chin. God.

“Um…” One of the beast’s ears flicked as Lukas spoke. “Hey. There. Um. Don’t mind me, I’m just… visiting from, um, over there, and I…”

As he went on those wide brown eyes flicked up to him again, the horse wholly engrossed in its snacking. Lukas squeezed between the beast’s space and a tree behind him to scoot around to its other side, where more of those trees helped to shield him from the more open trail of the rest of the pasture. Shafts of early afternoon sunlight filtered down from in between the trees overhead and bounced off the animal’s pelt, highlighting the texture in patches of smooth gloss, while showing old scratches and gathered dust in others.

“Would you mind if… I…”

Slowly, carefully, he took another step towards the horse, trying to keep an eye both on the beast’s lowered snout as well as its hindlegs. Brown eyes regarded him again, then slid back down to the ground; Lukas swallowed, let his mouth hang open, took in a breath, reached forward… and pressed his spread paw right up the shoulder of that foreleg, where immediately he felt soft simmering body heat, faint shivering tension of streamlined muscles underneath, the texture of the pelt itself. After another second he let that breath out and then brought his other paw in as well, this one sliding back along the wide barrel of the horse’s chest.

“Oh. Oh, so you’re… not so…” A flick of an ear caught his eye and he briefly swept his paws away, but then upon receiving no further consequence, moved to continue petting the horse’s side. “Okay. Yeah. See? I’m not here to bother you. I just… wanted to…”

The otter’s voice trailed off as both paws now slid back towards the animal’s hindlegs. Slowly the horse still padded forward and stepped around, constantly searching for fresher patches of grass; one of Lukas’s ears remained cocked toward its head on his other side, hearing the sounds of munching and crunching and occasional little huffs of breath. Still he could hear the distant noise of the various roads winding around the borders of the plot, and the wind in the trees, and his own footsteps on the grass and leaves, but these seemed so far away. Still petting, stroking slowly, he bit his lower lip, started to lean back at the waist…

...peeked underneath, and felt his heart skip a few beats and flutter at what he saw hanging underneath. With each little half-step the horse took, the beast’s plump, wrinkly sheath jiggled against itself, dense greasy folds of dark, leathery skin bumping and folding up across itself. Then another step, and hefty balls each one likely filling the otter’s cupped palm swung forward, bounced, and then sagged back again. Lukas swallowed, breathless, and looked up towards the horse’s front again, where the beast by now had turned its head fully away from him.

“Hey,” he murmured. He brought one arm up across its back and circled the other along its side, then down along its chest, and further towards its belly. “Would you mind if… I just…”

Down there the hairs of the beast’s pelt thinned out but remained constant. His fingers brushed across the bump that had to have been the belly button – I suppose that’s what that has to be, he thought, though I’ve never thought about whether a feral horse would even have one? – and then back a few inches further – where suddenly dank dampness bumped up against the side of his leading finger. Again he sucked in a breath, ears perking, whiskers twitching, heart fluttering; Lukas glanced to the horse’s head again, saw no change in its demeanor, and then bent down a little bit further, cupping his paw as he went.

Naturally damp folds of skin bunched together along his paw and then just as smoothly spread out, more velvety than leathery… soft, sleek, pliable. Squishy, he realized, with a certain thick firmness lurking inside; the otter cupped his thumb up along the back of the horse’s sheath where it met the beast’s belly, squeezed the mass in along his fingers, stroked back, slid forward, and then turned his thumb to try scooping within the mouth of that sheath-

-and the horse suddenly took a half-step away from him, igniting his nervousness into startled shock. With a gasp Lukas scrambled backward, paw still sizzling with the lingering dampness of the beast’s sheath folds. “Sorry!” he said, “sorry, sorry…” but still the animal just went on munching, apparently not much more concerned. Lukas blinked, watched it for a moment longer, and then slowly came forward again, reaching out with his other paw to try to touch… and succeeding in doing so, the beast’s muscles giving a small twitch before relaxing underneath his touch.

“Sorry,” he went on. “I guess that was… too much too fast, huh? Maybe I can come back another time, and… we can try again, if you’d be… comfortable with…”

Small chunks of greasy black sludge, flaked skin and concentrated scent, and wiped off on the side of his fingers. Heart pumping, the otter lifted that finger to his nose, took a tentative sniff… felt the rich warmth of equine musk wash across him, fresh cut grass and wet mud and a brighter, richer, sharper acridity tying everything together, wholly unfamiliar to him. A little unpleasant on the edge, yet still deeply inviting: he pressed that finger to his nose and breathed deep, filling his lungs to brimming, then sighed out through parted lips and huffed again. Then he rolled his finger down, wiped it across his lips, swirled his tongue around as well-

-and then the otter just could not stop himself from continuing to stroke the horse’s back and side, now working his way slowly around to the wide curve of the beast’s hind end. Its brushy tail flicked and swung in the warm air, and each time it did so Lukas could see, protruding from underneath, the supple, succulent folded pucker of its full donut-shaped tailhole, thick, soft, dense. Soft, sleek skin glistened in the sunlight, those wrinkles lifting up and out, to one side and then the other, with the swaying of the horse’s tail. It moved around again, taking another half-step forward and one to the side, partially bumping against Lukas and nudging him back.

“Hey. Um…” Both paws came up towards the beast’s backside, one coming over from the top, the other following the grain of its pelt here at its haunch. Again Lukas swallowed, head swimming, eyes fixed: this close to the horse he picked up a warm, pleasant aroma, soft and grassy with a touch of that same rigid acridity lurking underneath, sizzling at the back of his nose, tingling across his tongue. It was this last point that helped to draw him in closer, until he could feel the currents of air curling around from that swishing tail. “I know you weren’t so into – the, um… before, but… maybe I could… just…”

Heart pounding, breath stuck in his throat, he looked forward at the horse’s front, saw those same brown eyes glance nonchalantly back at him, and while ensuring that the horse was still watching him, crept his fingers further around that wide rump and underneath the tail. At first there was a small flex of that surprisingly powerful muscle, clamping partially down across him – and then Lukas’s fingerpads brushed across the protruding, wrinkled rim of that sizeable pucker, where he felt the soft flesh squish inwards, then tighten up in a reflexive clench.

And then the tail lifted. Slowly at first, just enough to allow him more space to slip his paw underneath; the damp, humid heat simmering out into his palm from packed, dense meat coaxed him in closer. Fingers trembling, he reached out, brushed across the curved, folded, wrinkled surface, felt it squeeze, pucker, then relax again, and higher the horse’s tail lifted.

“Oh… so you’re...”

Lukas leaned in to rest his cheek against the beast’s haunch, nostrils flared, lips parted. This succulent, velvety – God, that really is the best word for it – skin tugged easily beneath his touch, the soft, wrinkled exterior pulling beneath his pads and then jiggling back into place when he released the touch. Everything back here seemed to be coated in an imperceptibly thin coating of natural grease, like sweat, smearing off on his fingers and fur when he touched, allowing him to smoothly slide across supple skin which – carried that same scent from before so much better, so much stronger.

It was intoxicating. Lukas swallowed, almost able to taste it already, and after a moment stepped more fully around to the horse’s backside. What was that they said about – never getting directly behind…? I’m sure a kick can’t be that bad. What could it do? He leaned in, bending awkwardly at the waist, wedging his head sideways to try to fit in beneath the base of that raised tail. Kill me instantly? I mean, he’s basically… inviting me in, with the way… he’s…

The beast’s surprisingly firm, solid rump held up against any attempt to spread it further. This was fine, though, as the closer Lukas came, the more comfortably the wide curves of its rear sealed in around him, nudging against his cheeks, closing him in, with the base of the tail hiked up across his forehead. He reached up to brush some of the tail out of his face, then shivered at its tickle over the back of his neck; once again the otter swallowed, eyes wide yet hazy, his face steeping here right in front of the beast’s plump, hefty tailhole… and it was everything he had ever wanted or could have expected.

Holy… He licked his lips and took in a deep, full breath, lungs filling with that intoxicating, dizzying scent. Smooth and soft, grassy yet rich, a touch bitter, a little bit pungent; like a freshly cooked meal on an empty stomach, all he wanted was more of it. I can’t… believe I’m…

Slowly, carefully, trying to pay attention to the tension throughout the rest of the horse’s body, Lukas came forward further, pursed his lips… and finally, desperately, brushed them across the protruding pucker. At first there was nothing save for a slight squish of the overlapping folds, squeezing inwards against the beast’s body as he pressed in; and then another reflexive clench rippled through the ring of muscle, lifting its generous girth up, tightening in, kissing him back.

Lukas felt the rest of his resolve melt. His eyes fluttered shut and rolled up; his lips fell open; his paws dropped away from the beast’s rump and swiftly, urgently worked at the button and zipper of his pants fly, his own arousal already throbbing fully hard locked inside. He dug in a little closer, mashed his lips against that wrinkled rim, lifted up to gently nip the upper side of the ring within his maw; it squished, and flexed, and clenched, and pulled, and there was enough of a rim for him to suck the succulent flesh in between his lips and let his tongue dance across it, and – then he had started to circle his way around the exterior where it deviated from the rest of the feral’s body, tongue rolling across each and every one of those folds and wrinkles, scooping up bits of gathered sweat and cast-off skin and held dust, muzzle filling with the taste of the horse’s hind end.

Again and again he swallowed, coating his mouth with the beast’s aroma, filling his lungs with its scent. Every inhalation dragged in through flared, twitching nostrils, swirled within his lungs, and then sighed out around the pursed rim of the horse’s tailhole held between his parted lips; he cupped his tongue downwards to lift up from underneath, then dragged right over the central pucker itself – and in response felt the tail over his head lift up even further.

“Aah…” Lukas let his eyes drift partially open, then closed them once more. His hips bucked in eager enjoyment; one paw clutched the beast’s haunch at one side of him, while the other worked swiftly, eagerly across his own length, wet slickness of arousal rolling down his fingers. “Haah…”

Briefly he drew back to lick his lips, tasting the grease that had smeared off there, catching a few of the drier flecks and flakes that had peeled off from the horse’s pucker. All that mattered, all that existed, was this hind half of the beast in front of him: it was all he could see, all he could smell, all he could taste, that same rich, warm grassiness flooding his mouth, swirling around his senses. The otter swallowed again, brought his thumb in to tease at the lower rim of the feral’s hole, tugged it open from there, and then closed the distance again…

...and pressed lips to rim, squeezing out from inside, mushing, mashing, pushing. His broad nose nestled directly into the swampy space between tailhole and tail base; he took in a deep, hungry breath, swallowed again, then pulsed his tongue outwards, nudging into those clenching folds, testing, feeling the way they smoothly slid outwards around him. Then again, and again, each time digging a little deeper, scooping up from inside, drawing out more of that flavor and sensation.

With each lick the horse flexed again, sucking inward across the flat of Lukas’s tongue, then relaxed out once more. Each lick turned into another gulping swallow, then all mixed together with breath and sigh and moan flooding into one another, until the otter had his lips pursed against the beast’s rim and tongue swirling around within its saliva-slickened inside, pushing just far enough that he could feel the precise depth where exterior skin gave way to interior meat, all the while still fervently, eagerly stroking at himself.

His ears flicked back, his whiskers twitched, his entire body trembled, and at that point he already had to pause and swipe his paw away, so quickly had he come dangerously close to his peak. Lukas angled his head to pull his mouth away from the animal’s tailhole, now panting as he struggled to catch his breath on that tentative downhill; he licked his lips, licked the wrinkled pucker in doing so, then pursed forward for a quick kiss, then another, and then yet another. Then once more he parted his jaws and spread his lips, now suckling directly at the center of the animal’s tailhole, now spreading his lips further and brushing out towards its extremity.

In front of him the horse shifted, swung slightly to one side, pulled out of his mouth – but flexed and hiked its tail again when Lukas followed to return his mouth to its proper place. He pressed himself in, eyes closed, paws gripping the beast’s wide rump as though it were the only thing keeping him still upright, and finally dug in with fervent, reckless hunger, slurping his tongue as deep and as firmly as he could, dragging up around, across, over, inside the feral horse’s tailhole. Lukas slurped and sucked and ravenously swallowed, turning his muzzle to one side to wiggle his tongue deeper, holding it there and tilting the other way; he swallowed and did so again, the fur of his muzzle matting down and slicking over with greasy, sticky drool; he parted his jaws and opened his lips, and fully, entirely sucked the protruding inch and a half of the horse’s rim into his maw, where he could circle his tongue around the textured him.

Each exhalation puffed out from flared nostrils with a whimpering moan underneath it, his voice magnified back against him within the tight space beneath the beast’s tail. His opened pants fell halfway down to his knees, underwear following; still the otter thrust at the open air, pulsing, twitching, throbbing, so deeply lost in his enjoyment that never again did the thought to continue stroking occur to him. He pulled his lips free with a wet, sticky pop, grunted with eager exertion, sucked his own drool back off the beast’s tailhole, and then dove right back in, pursing his lips together and pushing at the center, then opening his mouth to try to wedge that muscular rim open. He slid his tongue in, sucked at supple, succulent, velvety wet inner meat, swirled, swallowed, suckled more… twitched, throbbed, throbbed again-

-shuddered, trembled, sucked the horse’s entire tailhole into his mouth again and swallowed around it – bucked, bucked again – and then moaned, quick and hard and sudden, as he pounded hands-free across his peak. Now the otter’s fingers actually dug into the thick pelt of the beast’s haunches for support as the immense pleasure of his finish rocketed through him, awkwardly bent knees bumping against the back of the horse’s legs, hard cock bouncing up and likely spattering his shirt with each spurt; every breath still sucked in underneath the raised tail, his lungs filled to bursting with the rich, delicious aroma of horse rump, his mouth and tongue and throat coated with it, the pulsing, muscular source settled between his lips and across his tongue. He held himself there until he thought he might faint from the overwhelming sensation, and then reluctantly, finally, pulled himself free.

Lukas’s heart pounded. He felt as though he had just run six miles, legs aching, head swimming, chest heaving. He wiped at his mouth, peered over to appraise his work, chuckled softly; the dark, velvety skin of the horse’s tailhole and surrounding regions had darkened further with the dampness of his drool, thick rolls dripping down to caress those massive balls as well.

“Hey,” he panted, and reached forward to pat the horse’s haunch. Slowly that tail started to lower back down; the horse lifted its head from where it continued to munch at the grass and looked back at him. “Thanks for that. Really. I wasn’t – really expecting you… to…”

And the beast kept on moving, now turning so that its side faced the otter. It took one more paired step forward, one of its hindlegs reaching back as it did so – which brought into view the impressive heft of its half-hard cock, meaty length hanging straight down from its plump sheath, sagging underneath its own weight, swinging and jiggling with the movements of its body. Its tail lifted again, its rim flexed, and in one smooth, powerful swing, that shaft bounced up toward its belly, held there, and then sagged right back down again.

Lukas swallowed again, throat slick with the grease of the beast’s tailhole. “I – really should be heading out soon,” he murmured, senses suddenly hyper-alert to every single sound in the pasture around him. “But, well…” He moved to drop to his knees. “I suppose it’s… only fair, right?...”