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Red Panties

Chapter 6

That morning, Artesda couldn't stop thinking of the demons who had accosted Daphne. She insisted that they hadn't, but he knew what they were capable of, knew that they could weave spells that would tempt lust in mighty Araton's purest angels. It was difficult for Artesda to admit it, but many angels had been weak enough to flee the service of Araton in favor of life in the mortal realm due to such demons and their treachery. Whenever it happened, Araton would send his loyal sons to hunt down and kill deserters. Artesda himself had been sent to kill his own brothers, who were vile traitors and sinners the second they turned their back on Heaven. They received no mercy for their betrayal, and though some of them begged for forgiveness, Artesda ignored their cries and slew them. Once they turned from Heaven, they were not his brothers anymore. They were demons. It was as simple as that.

Artesda tried to dismiss the executions from his mind, but part of him always wondered why his brothers would want to leave Heaven, a place of beauty and light, for the mortal realm, which was little more than darkness and chaos. What had the demons offered that could possibly compare to the eternal bliss of his father's halls? But now, after knowing the passion of pleasure, he thought he understood why. He had known such ecstasy back at Brayven Abbey, it was hard to imagine a life in Heaven where he would have to ignore his sudden and fierce urges, urges which he had never before known. Now he understood exactly why his father blessed each son born to him. Eventually, his brothers, his mother - and perhaps his father himself - would realize he was no longer pure. Then they would kill him. How could he hide what he was feeling? Longing for?

The thought passed through Artesda's mind often of late: what if he simply didn't go home? He was already sullied, already tainted by this dark world; his wing broken, the shame of having failed his brothers constantly eating away at him. He could not look upon Daphne without lusting for her, and it was difficult carrying the demon all day with the creature's soft penis slapping his shoulder. Even now, Artesda had to fight thoughts of committing filthy acts on his ram prisoner. The ram was exquisitely beautiful and seemed to be doing everything in his power to make Artesda focus on his body, squirming on his shoulder, tightening his belly, making pained moans and gasps that were so sexual in nature, they threatened Artesda's penis to standing.

As the sun drifted high in the sky, they stopped to rest at the roadside, and Artesda set his burden down and tried with all his might not to look at him or think about his frustratingly irresistible body. The presence of curvy Daphne and the ram combined was enough to drive him wild with distraction, until calming his lusts was a constant battle.

The ram was handsome, mussed, undone, and constantly indignant, his woolly hair falling in eyes that gleamed utter hatred when they looked at Artesda. Like the demons Artesda had known before, the ram was handsome and black as the inkiest night, though . . . he was actually much smaller than Artesda and certainly wasn't as tall as Artesda seemed to remember most demons to be. It confused Artesda that his frightened perception of the demons - who had seemed so large when he was injured and afraid - did not match up with reality. In reality, the rams were not as large nor as terrifying. Artesda's prisoner, furious as he was, even seemed . . . harmless.

Standing there looking down at his prisoner while Daphne retreated into the bushes to relieve herself, it occurred to Artesda that he'd never even seen a demon in the sunlight, for the creatures always traveled at night. Why wasn't the thing burning up to ash as the stories said? Now, in the light of day, the ram sat hunched and glaring, lips wet around his gag, hard chest heaving behind his armor and mane mussed from Artesda's rough handling. The bloody stump on his back was still feebly bleeding, but he was otherwise unharmed. His bulging arms were behind his back, as his wrists were still bound, but his legs were free. His eyes were as calculating as they were bitter. He glanced at the trees, as if trying to decide how far he could run before Artesda overtook him. Tensing with suspicion, Artesda drew his sword with a sneer and placed the tip under the ram's chin. The ram stiffened at once with cold fury.

"Don't even think about it, demon," Artesda said with narrowed eyes.

The ram's chest heaved and he glared. His throat had a way of tightening when he was angry, the rage causing his naked collarbone to stand out. He was sitting with his limp legs open, and the flaps of his skirt fell around his penis, which was still loose of its strange red garment. Artesda had never seen underclothes before. The sons of Araton simply didn't wear them.

"Stop it," Artesda whispered. "Stop looking so . . . appealing. You are doing it on purpose."

The ram blinked.

Artesda shook his head. "Do not feign innocence, creature! You are trying to tempt me!" he growled. "Wearing that tight red cloth around your groin! What is it, anyway?" He took a halting step forward, and as he came, the ram tensed and even cringed a little from him. Artesda only snatched the frayed rope from the ram's mouth and yanked it down over his chin. "Why are you not burning in the light of my father?" Artesda demanded. "Answer!" He felt a thrill of fury when the ram looked at him with something like pity. "You poor fool," the ram's eyes said.

Something in Artesda snapped, and he suddenly struck the ram with an open paw, bringing it down hard across his face. The slap was sharp in the silence, with only the ram's startled, choked cry to accompany it. Frightened Daphne might have heard, Artesda glanced anxiously at the trees. He could see the crown of her pale mane as she squatted in the bush. Her ears hadn't even gone forward: she hadn't heard.

Relieved, Artesda looked down at the ram, who was glaring at him. Artesda pressed his blade under the ram's chin again. "Answer me, demon!"

The ram smiled sadly, revealing bloody teeth that were small and glaringly white. "It's just sunlight," he said, speaking with the strange, soft accent all the demons spoke with. He laughed mockingly. "Your father doesn't control the sun. It can not hurt me. It is simply what Araton wants you to believe."

Artesda's face darkened. "Do not speak ill of my father, or I will cut out your tongue."

The ram was unfazed. He only looked at Artesda with his calm, pitying black eyes. "Then how would I ever answer your questions? You are teaming with them, I can tell."

Artesda hesitated bitterly. It was true that he wished to ask the ram questions, though he despised the ram for pointing it out. He felt confused and dismally frustrated, because for the first time in his life, he was being forced to question everything he'd ever known to be true. Was Daphne actually right? Was it all a lie? He was beginning to understand why so many of his brothers had run.

The ram was still looking at Artesda with his sad eyes, and despising the prisoner's pity, Artesda lashed out before he could stop himself and slapped the ram again, this time lightly, in the hope that it would cow him and he would stop staring. But the ram proudly held back a cry and refused to avert his eyes. He lifted his face instead and continued looking directly at Artesda, which infuriated him.

Artesda tensed. "Stop _staring_at me, creature."

"No," the ram said quietly. "And my name," he added with a sneer, "isn't creature or demon. My name is Izra --"

"Demons don't have names --"

"My name is Izra!" the ram practically shouted.

They glared at each other.

"Be silent now, demon," Artesda said, looking past the prisoner. "The Purest One returns." He turned cold eyes to the glaring ram. "If you utter a word in her presence, I will cut off the other one."

The bloody stump on the ram's back twitched sadly. "I will return the cruelty," he calmly vowed, "once my brethren have freed me of your lustful hate --"

Artesda tensed. His paw balled suddenly into a fist, as if this time he would strike with his knuckles, and he was glad to see the ram bitterly fall silent. "I do not lust for you," Artesda said in a low, menacing voice. "You are a disgusting thing, a foul spawn of evil. You are tempting me with your spells. That is why I feel this way!"

The ram laughed softly. "I tempt you no more than a succulent wine is deliberately tempting you to drink it."

The ram's soft penis caught Artesda eye, and he had to make an effort not to look at it, which made the ram chuckle softly. Artesda sneered and was going to respond, but Daphne drew within earshot and he kept silent instead. She waded from the underbrush with her thin arms out, her delicate paws lifted. The sway of her hips and the twist of her narrow waist almost made Artesda pause. He turned his eyes away when she stopped and regarded them both. It was obvious they had been arguing, as the ram was now sporting a bloody mouth and both of them looked heated and bothered.

"You promised you wouldn't hurt Izra!" Daphne scolded. When Artesda looked at her again, she was frowning and appalled.

"I didn't hurt him," Artesda lied at once, suddenly not caring that all evidence pointed to the contrary. "Come. Let us be on our way, Purest One." Without waiting for Daphne to continue her scolding, he leaned down and slipped the ram with careless ease over his shoulder, ignoring his soft and weak grunt as his head was forced once again to hang down.

They carried on in their journeys, traveling mostly in silence through sunlight and shadow, through flowers and birdsong and beams of yellow sunlight. The mortal realm seemed peaceful enough, and though it didn't remotely compare to Heaven, Artesda thought it was bearable. He had to admit the place had always repulsed him in the past, mostly because he'd never really_looked_ at it before. When a butterfly landed on Daphne's mane and she laughed, so young and beautiful in the sunlight, he found himself looking more than ever.

Aside from the occasional half-hearted joke - something Artesda still couldn't fully grasp -- Daphne had taken on a sort of grim countenance that worried Artesda. If she fled, he would have to find some way to stop her, which meant carrying both her and the ram in their journeys. In that scenario, he would have to kill the ram to make things easier. Daphne would hate him for it, if she didn't hate him already. Thinking of that vicious slap across his face made him dismal.

Ignoring Daphne's protests, Artesda decided not to take the road that evening and instead led her through the forest. He wasn't surprised when she impatiently reminded him of all the hiding places the forest provided for bandits and wildlife. Donkeys were especially known to capture and enslave those horses who became lost in the forest and had been fighting an endless war with the painted horses who also occupied the wild. Daphne lectured Artesda about the dangers as if he was too new to the world to know about them, but he knew more than she realized.

Not only had Artesda journeyed through the mortal realm several times, he'd also spent a great deal of his time reading in the endless golden halls of his father's libraries. Araton required that his sons should study the mortals, know their history and their customs, before ever setting hoof in their realm. Artesda had thoroughly enjoyed his studies, for he loved the study of history, especially stories of great battles.

In ancient times, before Araton made his presence known to mortals, it was the donkeys who ruled the land of Oltru. Small, horse-like creatures with mottled gray coats, the donkeys lived in peace and harmony on their own little continent, completely separate from the rest of the world. Oltru was known by the donkeys as Olyndor, and its tribes were spread far and wide.

Araton thought the donkeys were ugly and harmless, so he ignored them completely, living in his paradise above without disturbing their lives. Then the horses rode in from the west, driven to Oltru by a drought, and Araton began to take more interest in the mortal realm. The horses were beautiful and powerful and majestic, and the donkeys welcomed them with open arms, but with so many horses arriving, a war eventually ensued as both sides fought in desperation over Olyndor's resources. The horses emerged victorious and drove the donkeys deep into the forest, establishing Olyndor as Oltru. It was insinuated in the text that Araton had ensured the horses' victory, and as a result, the donkeys despised Araton forever after, while the horses adored him.

Since the ancient war, a rift of resentment and hatred had widened between horse and donkey. Those donkeys who defied ancient taboos to breed with horses created mules, who were treated very poorly within horse society and often wound up making lives for themselves out in the forest. Artesda found all of it fascinating . . . and incredibly sad. For as much as he loved stories of glory and great battles, he was fully aware of the dismal fate that usually befell history's losers.

"They enslave horses all the time --" Daphne was saying anxiously.

"I have been slaying demons for my heavenly father," Artesda returned patiently, "for one hundred of your mortal years. I can slay a few donkeys."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Can_you, though? Being in '_the mortal realm' should have taught you by now that you aren't invincible."

Artesda blinked sadly as he thought of his fallen of brothers, their wings heavy with dark blood as they lay facedown in the moonlight; his own wing . . . severed and twitching in the grass. He frowned against the memory, willing it away.

"I'm sorry," Daphne said after a pause, and he realized she'd been watching his reaction. She looked away, and her hood obscured the side of her face. "It's just . . . I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want either of us to get hurt."

"I know," Artesda answered softly. ". . . thank you."

Artesda watched Daphne from the corner of his eye, thinking she was too beautiful, too kind and gentle to be real. She really was the purest mare in the realm: evil and bitterness and greed and hopelessness hadn't yet broken her spirit. She was still indescribably good, and the fact that such a beautiful spirit hadn't yet been crushed by a world that was so cruel and cold left Artesda in awe.

And yet, Daphne was still a cynic. That intrigued Artesda most of all. He'd spent the last one hundred years in Heaven, blindly obeying his father, surrounded by brothers who did the same, encouraged by his mother to be a good son. No one in Heaven ever questioned Araton. Everyone there sang his praises and worshipped him without pause. There was no question in anyone's mind that Araton could be anything but good -- there was no question in Artesda's mind. But then he met Daphne, and now he was questioning . . . everything. Now his world was unraveling.

They continued in silence for a time, as darkness fell, as the birds sang the day to a close, and Artesda felt like he was holding his breath, trying to gain the courage to speak what needed to be spoken. He didn't want to talk about it in front of the ram, but he had little choice.

". . . Purest One," Artesda began uncertainly.

"Yes?" Daphne looked at him curiously, and her pretty eyes were round as they peered up at him.

"When we reach the tower . . ." Artesda paused. He suddenly felt too embarrassed to go on. His face was getting hot, but he took a breath and said anyway, "When you meet my Heavenly Father, you must pretend you know nothing of physical love . . . that you are innocent and . . ." Artesda frowned when he heard her smothered giggle. "What is so funny?" he asked in confusion.

"Nothing, it's just . . ." Daphne cleared her throat and looked away. "You're cute when you're all flustered and embarrassed."

Artesda thought he heard the ram laugh behind his gag and frowned irritably. "Purest One, this is serious. You must listen to me. If Heavenly Father suspects that you know what desire is, he might believe that I . . ."

"Made love to me," Daphne said softly.

"Yes. He will then send my brothers after me . . . and they will kill me. If he thinks I didn't touch you, that maybe I fell to the dangers of the mortal realm, he might take his time sending --"

". . . Artesda," Daphne said slowly and frowned as the realization dawned on her, "why does it sound like you aren't coming to Heaven with me?"

"I can not," Artesda said, looking straight ahead with sudden resolve. He could feel her startled eyes peering up at him.

"But why?" She scowled. "Because you know what sex is? That's stupid."

"But it is necessary that I should be pure --"

"Why!" Daphne demanded impatiently.

"Think about it," Artesda said unhappily. "If the Sons of Heaven awoke to their physical urges, they would challenge Heavenly Father for his brides. There would be war in Heaven."

". . . oh," Daphne muttered, as if the thought had never occurred to her.

"Our father casts his blessing on each son that is born," Artesda went on, "shielding us from the filth of carnal lust --" Artesda thought he heard the ram make a weary noise and bucked his shoulder threateningly, jostling the ram to silence again. "Now you understand," Artesda said to Daphne. "If I sully Heaven's halls with my knowledge of these urges, other angels will awaken. They will covet our father's brides, and the First Sin would happen again. Also . . ." He dropped his eyes. "I would no longer be pure in their eyes but a demon to be purged. . . . They would kill me."

"I . . . understand."

"Good," Artesda said in relief.

"What if we just didn't go to the tower?" Daphne said darkly.

Artesda felt the ram go still on his shoulder, listening intently. "Purest One, that is blasphemy," the angel said in a low voice.

"Is it?" Daphne said seriously.

"You have let the demons confuse your mind with their lies."

Daphne made an exasperated noise. "No, I haven't. We had these conversations long before we met the children of Araini - and stop calling them demons." She glanced irritably at Artesda. "I think you're the one who's confused. Not fun, is it?" She spoke the last words with soft sympathy.

Artesda swallowed hard. "Purest One --"

"My name is Daphne!" she said over him. "Think, Artesda! Your father commands that unwilling virgins are simply offered to him, completely ignoring their own desires --"

"Purest One, that is not true! My mother loves my father --"

"Maybe she does," Daphne said with an unhappy shrug of her shoulders. "Maybe there are plenty of lunatics like the ones back in Brayven Abbey," Artesda scowled as Daphne went on, "who want nothing more than to suck a god's cock for all eternity!"

Artesda blushed furiously. "Purest one, you shouldn't use such language --"

"But there are just as many mares," Daphne went on in disgust, "who were sent to Heaven to 'marry' your father and didn't want it. They were sent against their will, torn from their families and homes, to be the fucktoy of some --!"

"Purest One," Artesda begged helplessly and was surprised when Daphne took a breath and tried to calm down. He watched her breasts riding from the corner of his eye, so high and young and full, pushing from the soft fabric of her robes. Her nipples had hardened while she was yelling.

"We should be silent as the night falls, lest we attract demonkind," Artesda gently scolded.

"I . . . I'm sorry," Daphne panted, pushing her mane back from her eyes. Her hood fell off as she did so, and her pale mane shimmered in the light of the newly risen moon.

"We should make camp," Artesda said, turning his face away. "You are tired and know not what you say." He ignored it when Daphne glared at him.

They settled down in the bushes, between a small cluster of close trees. Daphne gathered leaves and curled up on them, resting her cheek on her arm. Artesda set the prisoner down, allowing him to lean against a tree, and with his sword in paw, he did a quick sweep of the perimeter. When he returned, Daphne was sleeping, breathing gentle gusts that momentarily lifted her mane from her eyes. She was lying on her side, and her robe clung to her curves, falling smooth over the rise of her hip, the dip of her waist. Artesda willed himself to stop staring at her lovely curves, and catching the ram's eye, he realized the creature was watching him in amusement. He took a halting step toward the prisoner and slapped him without warning. Caught off guard, the ram couldn't help crying out, and Artesda was coldly satisfied by the fact.

"That's right, demon," Artesda whispered. "I want her. But I will protect her. I will never violate her the way you did! I care for her in ways that filth like you could never understand. You keep staring at me, I will pluck your eyes out and grind them into dust under my hooves."

The ram bit his bloody lip and looked at Artesda with sullen hatred. To Artesda's chagrin, he spit the rope-gag from his teeth, which he had been quietly chewing all along. "What have I ever done to you," he asked quietly, "that you would slap me around and call me filth?"

Artesda looked at the ram in amazement. "Don't feign ignorance of your own misdeeds! It was your kind who killed my brothers! Your kind who cut off my wing! Your kind has hounded the sons of Araton for centuries!"

"My kind," confirmed the ram, glaring at Artesda steadily, "but not me."

Artesda bitterly shook his head. "You would have given the chance. You probably already have many times. Do not play innocent."

The ram's chest heaved in frustration. "And what about you? How many of my brothers and sisters have died on your blade --?"

"I'll put you on my blade!" Artesda growled before the words were barely out of the ram's mouth. He heard Daphne's soft moan as she was sleeping, and thinking of her high breasts trembling as she bathed beside the fire, Artesda felt himself stiffening, suddenly and quickly. He looked at the ram, who sat against the tree, utterly handsome and angry and suddenly so small and helpless to him.

Seeing the lust in Artesda's eyes, the ram sneered. "You wouldn't dare."

Artesda didn't answer, instead reaching through the flaps of his skirt and pulling out the enormous pink erection that was steadily throbbing harder and longer. The soft head dripped a little when he glanced again at Daphne, who had put her arm above her head as she was dreaming, forcing her high breasts to jut.

Turning his eyes from Daphne, Artesda drew close to the ram and grimly reached for his soft, woolly mane. The ram furiously dodged his head out of the way. "You put that thing in my mouth," he growled, "and I'll bite it off -- ahh!" His words choked to a muffled cry when Artesda slapped him. Furious and defiant, he opened his mouth to protest again, and Artesda slapped him again, lightly, and again until he was silent.

"Quiet, demon," Artesda whispered, squeezing the demon's jaw between his fingers and thumb. "This is no more than you desire. Your kind craves physical pleasure --"

"Most living things crave physical pleasure!" snapped the ram immediately and shook Artesda's paw off. "Lust and desire are not exclusive to 'demons' alone!" He laughed bitterly, derisively. "Just look at you! The second the girl's back is turned, you've got your dick in my face -- mmpfh!" The ram choked to silence when Artesda grabbed him by the horns and slid his erection hard and fast in his mouth. His muscular back flexed as he slowly began to thrust, and his penis was so thick in his passion, the ram's cheeks welled up in his eyes, forcing his long lashes to push out tears. Artesda tugged on the ram's horns, silently commanding him to suck, and the ram obeyed, paws behind his back, sobbing gently as Artesda's throbbing heat plunged down his throat.

Artesda was baffled by the ram's soft sobs but decided to ignore them. He closed his eyes and frowned, sighing as the ram's hot mouth wrung the tense ache of prolonged arousal from his hungry penis. He looked with narrow-eyed lust at Daphne, who was so curvy and lovely, breasts gently rising and falling as she dreamt, and he imagined he was inside her, thrusting so deep within her clenching heat that she was screaming and sighing his name as the moisture of her arousal flushed warm over him. Thinking with burning longing of Daphne sitting naked on his erection, it took him a moment to realize the ram was choking on him. He was swelling so large, plunging himself so deep, the ram couldn't breathe and was trying to escape. His muffled cries of protest threatened to wake Daphne, who frowned in her sleep.

Artesda showed the ram no mercy. He pulled on the prisoner's horns, thrusting himself deep to the base, and for the first time since that tense night at the blacksmith's house, he released his passion with a soft, weak cry that made the ram gurgle in alarm. The ram's throat flexed as he struggled to swallow, and Artesda, eyes closed in delighted relief, could hear him choking. Artesda pulled himself free with a soft suck of the ram's wet lips, and the ram fell over, coughing and gagging desperately as he spit the white seed in the grass.

Satisfied, Artesda sat near the ram on the ground, wiping himself dry with a pawful of grass as he calmly watched the prisoner coughing up his seed. The ram glared at Artesda between coughs, and his entire body seemed to shudder, his muscular frame tensing against the restraining rope on his wrists. He looked as if he wanted to burst free, perhaps beat Artesda to a pulp, but he could not and instead tumbled over helpless on his side. The ram miserably closed his eyes, and Artesda was shocked to realize he was ashamed of what they'd done_._ Artesda hadn't believed demons capable of shame.

Artesda frowned. "Stop pretending, demon. Surely you have taken phallus in your filthy mouth before."

The ram scowled at him from the ground. "No, I haven't! And apparently, my mouth wasn't too filthy for you to stick your dick in it!"

Artesda felt his cheeks getting hot. "But you must have enjoyed it. Demons always want --"

"I am not a demon!" the ram snapped. "And sheep don't always want sex!"

Artesda blinked. "Sheep? Oh . . ." He looked away as he remembered. "That is what you call yourselves."

"It's what everyone calls us," the ram sneered. "Everyone except the brainwashed minions of Araton!"

Artesda tensed. "You shut your filthy mouth about my father."

The ram's eyes glittered defiance. "You are nothing but a rapist - just like Araton!"

"It is impossible to rape a demon," Artesda returned dismissively. "You enjoyed this. Had you and your sisters defeated me, you would have raped me regardless."

"Not . . . if you were the last . . . living creature. . . . in existence," the ram panted bitterly. He lay with his cheek in the dirt, his chest heaving behind his golden chest plate. The plates of his skirt had fallen up, and Artesda could see his red undergarments again. The cloth was wound around his groin, tight and clinging like skin to his heavy sack. His penis was still hanging from it, as if begging to be tucked away to obscurity again, soft and brown and impressively thick. Artesda thought the ram's penis was adorably short and fat.

Realizing Artesda was looking at him, the ram shifted his muscular thighs, trying to hide his penis with them to no avail. "Stop staring at my dick, you monster!" he gasped hoarsely.

Artesda blinked.

"What?" snapped the ram. "Does that hurt your feelings, rapist?"

Artesda looked at the ram's penis again and realized with misery that it was soft. He had fully expected it would be hard and upright, that the demon would have delighted in being used by him. Instead, the penis was soft and flaccid, flopping as the ram squirmed to hide it.

"I'm . . . sorry," Artesda whispered.

The ram paused and looked at him in shock.

Artesda looked away. "All my life I was told demons were insatiable monsters who would rape me, who thought night and day of doing so. I did not think for a moment you wouldn't want . . ."

Artesda could tell the ram was surprised that he had apologized, but he masked his approval with a bitter, scathing, "Well, now you know better! If you ever put your dick in my mouth again - what are you doing!"

Curiosity filling his eyes, Artesda reached for the red cloth that wound so tightly around the ram's groin. The ram shifted angrily to avoid his touch, but he pinched the cloth anyway and frowned in fascination at the softness in his fingers.

"Personal space is a part of not raping too!" the ram protested irritably.

While Artesda felt bad for having violated the ram, the creature was still his enemy, and . . . he was curious. Golden eyes focused and frowning, he gently tugged the little red panties down over the ram's hip, watching in fascination as the tight fabric peeled gently from between his hard buttocks. The ram's backside was covered in thick, woolly hair. Artesda closed a heavy paw over one cheek and gently groped, pushing his fingers through the wool, closing his eyes as he imagined his erect penis gently pushing between the heat and softness of all that hair. It made his backside as soft as it was muscular and hard.

"Hey!" the ram protested. He struggled upright and scooted away, which only made his panties come down around his thighs. Thoroughly humiliated, he leaned back against the tree and turned his face away. "If you're done molesting me, could you please put my underwear back on?"

"Underwear?" Artesda repeated curiously.

The ram rolled his eyes impatiently. "You've never heard of underwear?"

"We don't wear such garments in Heaven. What are they for? Surely you don't need them to keep your genitals warm. They are already covered in very thick hair." He was confused when the ram became flustered and looked away, blinking furiously.

"Stop talking about my junk and put my underwear back on!"

Artesda obliged. He got to his hooves and gently lifted the ram into a standing position. The ram looked resolutely off into the trees, determined to ignore it as Artesda gently tugged his panties back up. Artesda pulled them up firmly, letting the fabric slide once more between the ram's buttocks. The ram's lashes fluttered when it happened, and very slowly, he looked at Artesda with something that wasn't hostility. God, he was beautiful. Artesda looked at the ram's lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss him. He leaned close . . . and the ram spit in his face.