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The Plateau

The world was pleasure.

There was nothing else to it. Nothing more or less than constant, pulsing, searing pleasure. But... slowly, little by little, details began to grow clearer. At first the pleasure was nameless. Formless. Pure and perfect in its absence of definition. But, then the one experiencing it found a name for what was being felt. Climax.

The flood of orgasm. The heat of cum pumping, pouring out in thick, undiminished spurts through the length of a swollen member. Balls aching but endlessly resupplying that which they were driving forth, as all around wet heat gushed and sprayed, flesh clamping, clutching tightly and repeatedly. Squeezing again, again, again as another body shared in that orgasmic delight.

A pair of eyes fluttered open, still heavy lidded, and the creature realised it had form. It, and indeed the world around it, were physical beings. And though this pleasure seemed to transcend all sense of reality, physical or otherwise, it could no longer deny that somehow these feelings and a physical world were co-existing around and within it.

Looking down, the creature could see the reason for its pleasure. Another figure. Another trembling, bellowing form beneath its own self. Its head was bowed, but as another gush of hot, slick juices poured out from between them, the neck arched and the head threw itself back. The doe cried out long and loud in the ecstasy of its ongoing, unceasing orgasm, and in that moment the stag straddling her regained a more concrete awareness of what was occurring.

He recalled the chase.

He recalled the scent of the female's arousal, intoxicating and enthralling him to pursue her.

He recalled catching her. Straddling her, and thrusting himself inside of her.

And now...

Now he was complete. They were complete, locked together, practically motionless in their shared bliss. His hips were pressed tight to her hindquarters, trembling and shuddering but not thrusting in the slightest as his member flexed and spurted fresh, thick ribbons of cum into her depths. The rhythm of the pleasure was intensely addictive, but soothing all at once. It was easy for the stag to realise how he had become so lost in his own pleasure, feeling those waves of surging, cresting orgasmic energy each time his member twitched, expelling the wave of cum that poured forth with it, only to be granted the briefest moment of muscular relaxation before the next swell, the next rhythmic convulsion.

The gentle pattering of their shared juices against the grassy ground below rang out around the pair as they remained locked together in climax, and the bellowing moans of their shared orgasm rang out throughout the forested lands surrounding them. At some point the male's awareness began to drift once more, and he fell back into that realm of nameless, formless pleasure, only to be dragged out again by a particularly loud, frantic cry from the doe beneath him as his legs gave way and he collapsed with the full weight of his body falling atop her.

For hours they bred together, his virulent cum overflowing and adding to the rain of glistening droplets that showered from between their trembling legs and sodden, matted thighs. As hours turned to the space of a whole day however, and that one day continued into a second, a third, stretching ever onward towards a week locked in that rhythm of pulsing, flowing pleasure, the time the stag spent disconnected from his body became almost the least satisfying parts of this whole engagement. Instead, he found new joys in the moments he spent most solidly grounded in the reality of his situation. His mind conceived of thoughts, of ideas it never would have had the complexity to imagine in days, even months or years past, and primarily remained focused on one thing along.

The female beneath him, and how as his physical intimacy with her persisted, so too did his bond with her grow to transcend that physicality.

As his forelegs clutched around her flanks, as his head rested, hanging heavy and panting over the back of her neck, he found himself compelled to delight in her presence. To squeeze at the sides of her form, and nuzzle down at the back of her neck, drinking deep of the scent that poured off of her even now, many days into their passionate, seemingly endless romp. He heard her huffing, gasping at these new tender touches, and felt her inner walls clamp particularly fiercely around him as his teeth nipped playfully at the side of her neck.

He wanted her... no... he needed her to know how much he cared for her. That despite the pleasure surging through their bodies, this was about more than the blissful intensity of their shared, uncontrollably orgasmic state. But, without words, without a defined spoken language, he didn't have any concept of how to get that across more clearly than was already the case. He moaned, not bellowing or grunting, but letting loose softer, quieter cries of his feral pleasure into her ears. He coaxed her, letting loose every manner of positive, encouraging call in his repertoire in order to draw forth more of the doe's own bleating, bellowing moans of orgasmic bliss. He pinned himself down over her, pressing his figure and hers together as tightly as their entwined bodies could comfortably bear.

Anything he could do, everything he could do, he would.

Not for himself. Not for his pleasure, that which mere days ago had overwhelmed and overruled his mind so completely he'd almost forgotten everything of who and what he was.

But, for her.

For the creature trembling and gasping beneath him on this vast, overwhelming plateau of pleasure. For the doe who had made all of this possible, and the doe towards whom his whole being, pleasure-stricken and plateau-locked or not, was now devoted.

By Jeeves