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The Santa Trap

By Gideon Kalve Jarvis

Author's Note: This story takes place in the morphoverse, alongside "Woman's Best Friend," "Human Bitches," and "Morphtalk with the Blog Dog." It also takes place in my "Reindeer Games" setting. Thus, the story below is a crossover, and does not have to be considered canon...unless that makes you happy, of course (yes, I am writing fanfiction of my own works - so there). Inspiration for this story is taken from the webcomic "Darren and Jason," specifically the following comics:http://renandjay.smackjeeves.com/comics/1075240/on-a-side-note/ and http://renandjay.smackjeeves.com/comics/1098020/sound-logic/. Other inspirations come (heh) from the fantastic Rog Minotaur, and can be found here: http://www.rogminotaur.com/gallery/Show-Rog-Minotaur-Art---1---1---adult_same_sex---Buckblow.jpg.htmland http://www.rogminotaur.com/gallery/Show-Rog-Minotaur-Art---1---1---adult_same_sex---Mooseblow.jpg.htmland http://www.rogminotaur.com/gallery/Show-Rog-Minotaur-Art---1---1---adult_same_sex---web_Comet_on_Cupid.jpg.html. Also, if you'd like to know what stollen is, here's an information link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stollen. Finally, the idea for the end of the story came from the old classic Doug Winger picture found here: http://us-p.vclart.net/vcl/Artists/Doug-Winger/ForXmas.jpg

From what I read somewhere, weasels in the wild sleep something like eighteen hours a day, leaving them just six for general mischief. Maybe I'm thinking about ferrets, but still, the principle applies. Then there's mustelomorphs, and that's where all bets are off.

Qana's my name. It's supposed to mean "falling snow" in some northern tribe's language, or so I've been told. Not like I care: most people don't get to choose their names in the first place, and we morphs tend to get sillier ones anyway, the stuff picked out for us by nerdy science guys cooped up for extended periods in mass gestation labs, or by whichever civilian bought us if the military decided it had a surplus for some reason. I'm one of the ungulomorphs, a "theriomorphic anthropoid artificial intelligence" with an appearance based on an ungulate species. Specifically, a moose. I guess it's the mooseblood that makes me so disinclined to put up with a whole lot of nonsense. Except from Bullet, that is. With that little guy, there's nothing but nonsense.

Like most male morphs, I only need about three or four hours of sleep a day. There's a few morphtypes that're exceptions, though, and those exceptions typically need about eight, instead of four. Felimorphs're one of 'em. Mustelomorphs are another.

Which brings me to the present "situation," which is Bullet. Bullet's a least weasel morph. If you don't know about least weasels, look 'em up on the Internet - despite the collapse of civilization over most of the world, there's still an Internet, after all, so you might as well make what use you can of it while it's still around. What most sites won't tell you, though, is how a least weasel is always going, whenever they're awake. They only get six functional hours to do stuff, and so they just cram their days until they collapse from exhaustion at the end and sleep it off for the next eighteen hours. Bullet's not far off from that, except his functional period is sixteen hours.

Let me say that again: Sixteen. Whole. Hours.

Now I can just see you rolling your eyes and saying to yourself: "Qana, it's just sixteen hours. Most humans are up for that period of time, and you morphs handle being around humans without any major problems. What's the big deal?" Shows what you know, smartypants. A human's not really "on" for all sixteen of those hours in a workday. You take breaks. You take naps. You lounge, and you loaf, and you have those long pauses for reflection or relaxation of various sorts. Pay attention to how you use your time during the course of a whole workday, and you'll get what I mean pretty quick.

Now we look at mustelomorphs, and do believe me, they are_on_, almost all the time. Bullet's hyperactive to a level you can only just start to imagine, if you've ever seen a weasel in action. Now take that cute little weasel, and times it by a magnitude of a hundred-plus, part of that for the extended active period of a morph, and part of that for the bigger size. After you've got a pretty clear picture in your head, try stuffing that mental image into a rundown apartment building, with snow piled up all over outside.

Sure, I shoveled away a lot of the snow, and Bullet has lots of fun burrowing through the stuff that's left, but after the big drop in the human population that took place a few years back, wiping 'emselves out with various retroviral plagues and gengineered bacteria (they were the new weapons of mass destruction, you see, after effective defenses against nuclear weapons got made, intended for deterrence purposes, but...well, yeah...), there's not a whole lot of people around to run the plows. Maybe they'll fix that in a year or two, after we morphs get more accepted into the system, but until then, when winter hits, pretty much the whole city shuts down. The richer humans - the majority these days, thanks to the economic upswing following the population drop - go on vacations to warmer climes. And us morphs...well, we gather supplies, shore up our living places, gather in groups for the body heat, and hunker down until further notice. Except me, of course. That's 'cause I'm on Bulletsitting duty.

Like I said before, Bullet's a hyperactive little cuss. He's stupid adorable, though, and there's not really a single bad bone in his wiggly little body. Even when he's broken something, or punched holes in my antlers so he could hang Christmas ornaments from the bottoms, or stuck candles on the tops of each point to make me into some kind of living menorah, or he's running up and down stairs like a mad thing, or singing silly songs he's made up, and carols that he hasn't, at all hours of day or night...well...all I hafta do is look into those big, beady black eyes of his, completely devoid of any sort of guile or malice, and any desires I might've had to squish the little tuberat just kinda float away.

Which brings you up to speed on what my life's been like the last couple days. Everybody in the neightborhood takes turns with Bullet, taking him in, keeping him occupied. One year, when he first got here, we tried leaving him on his own, like most everybody else. Let's just say that wasn't one of our best ideas. So, once we got the little cuss eating properly again, and cleaned up the mess he'd made of the building where he'd been staying (there's lots of empty places after almost all the humans left for the suburbs), and extra-cleaned the mess he'd made of himself, our little community took it upon itself to take turns making sure Bullet always has somebody around to take care of him.

So there I was, sitting in my big armchair in the downstairs part of the building where I live, grateful that I tore out a lot of the interior walls (the ones that weren't load-bearing, that is), and put in a big fireplace during the warm months so I'd have loads of heat pumping out now that it was well below zero out there. Every now and then I'd reach up and give one of the ornaments hooked into my antlers a bat, and whenever the ornament's a bell, there's a little dingle in the blessed quiet. And always my eyes are following the person making all that audible quiet, an eyebrow almost constantly cocked in quizzical curiosity. I mean, what'm I supposed to think when I've got a buck naked weaselboy wandering around my big living room with a ladder, a whole lot of clothesline, and lots of high-tensile "sticky nails," a sort of crazy effective tape for sticking things to walls without leaving holes...or making much noise? Not that I minded the show much, of course: Bullet's got a pretty cute bod to go with his cute personality, and one of the best ways I've found to keep him occupied involves lots and lots of sex, preferably with more'n one partner, to make sure he gets properly worn out by the end. Still, I just had to wonder what sort of mischief my hyper little bundle of fluff was getting into now. I knew it was mischief of some sort, because he really was being awfully quiet, and had been for almost three hours now, giving me enough time to get a good chunk into "A Christmas Carol" without significant interruptions (and compose a Cliff's Notes version of what I'd read in my head, to share with Bullet later on, and maybe convince him to read it himself...which would take the hyper little guy all of four hours, I admit, the way he chews through literature, but at least that would be four hours of blissful quiet, minus the snack breaks).

So, when Bullet finally broke off his current project for snacks (mustelomorphs need lots of food, usually eaten in six or seven "snack breaks" over the course of a day), I figured I'd find out what was up, and if I was in any danger.

"It's a reindeer trap," Bullet explained between mouthfuls of home-baked granola and jerky (not venison, of course - I might not be a real moose, but still, a guy's gotta have standards), while I reached over with a napkin to wipe the crumbs off his face - he sometimes forgets personal hygiene, which is another reason why he needs a Bulletsitter.

"Huh," I said, giving him one of those looks...which I do a lot, now that I think of it. But then, that's just how life with Bullet is, I guess.

"See," Bullet begins, and I lean back in my chair, looping my hands behind my head, knowing I was in for a wild ride through the little guy's imagination, "the way I see it, Santa's only one guy. There is no possible way he's gonna be able to handle a big job like getting toys and goodies to all the good people in the world in one night, even when you account for time changes and stuff like in that Jules Verne book."

"Santa's magic," I answered, figured that I might as well humor the little guy. "Different rules."

"Just 'cause he's magic, doesn't mean he's not gonna make_sense_!" Bullet protested, then stuffed the rest of his granola into his mouth, taking a couple minutes to chew and swallow and organize his thoughts so that I could understand him better - I can always almost literally see his mind cranking into high gear when he's trying to slow his thoughts down enough to explain them to somebody. "Besides, I'm sure the reindeer and the elves all wanna help the old guy out, considering that he's the one who keeps them in work and everything - you know how awful it is to be unemployed, Qana, just as well as I do, especially in the cold. And those reindeer and elves live at the North Pole! It's way colder than here!"

"So you think Santa's reindeer, and maybe his elves, do some of his deliveries?" I ask, knowing I'm just letting him lead me down the garden path, but accepting the trip as stoically as I can. I mean, I've accepted the decorations on my antlers, up to and including the candle wax dripping down whenever Bullet lights up my menorah points; I can handle a Christmas conspiracy theory from a hyperactive little weasel who still believes in Santa Claus - really believes, by the way. Santa's serious business for Bullet, so I've learned not to make fun of what he believes, any more'n I would anybody else who goes to church regularly. I mean, besides the effort being pointless, since my talk's not all that likely to change somebody's mind, and just tends to make 'em not like me anymore, it's just not nice, spoiling something that makes people happy, whether it's true or not. I mean, it's not like letting people believe what they want hurts me any. What they do about those beliefs...well, yeah, that can be a bit hairy at times. But Bullet's never tried sacrificing anybody I know to the guy in the red suit yet, so I don't think he's the dangerous sort of fanatic. Weird, sure, but aren't we all?

"I'm sure of it!" Bullet exclaimed, really getting into the full swing now that I'd let him get started. "There's Dasher and Dancer and Comet and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donder and Blitzen. And then there's Rudolph! And I'll bet any one of 'em will be by here tonight, ready to drop off all sorts of cool loot and goodies! And when whoever it is shows up - WHAM! - I'm gonna catch 'em in my reindeer trap!"

"Then you're gonna steal their sack of goodies?" I asked dryly, leaning back in my chair.

"Huh?" Bullet was honestly aghast, like I'd just accused him of something unspeakably wrong. "I'd never do that! That's bad! I mean, I might be kinda naughty sometimes - and I'm really sorry about all the trouble I put you and the others through, Qana, but, well, you know I just can't help myself sometimes..."

"Most of the time," I corrected.

"Most of the time. But still, the goody bag doesn't belong to me, except for the stuff the reindeer would be bringing for me anyway. Not for you, of course, 'cause you don't believe in Santa - no offense, Qana, but those are the rules."

"None taken."

"Anyway!" he picked up without a lost beat. "What I'm gonna do with a tied-up reindeer, all hot and helpless and naked - I'm sure they don't wear clothes, 'cause that'd interfere with flying - welllll," and then he started to giggle impishly, like a naughty schoolboy, rubbing his hands gleefully, even as the insides of his ears turned a bright pink, a morph's blush that made it pretty clear that whatever he was planning for his alleged reindeer was even naughtier'n his giggle.

"What if it's an elf instead?" I asked, just a little bit teasingly. Fast as his brain works, the question caught Bullet off-guard, and he just sat there opposite me, blinking for almost a full five minutes as he considered the impossibility I'd just proposed.

"Uh," Bullet finally rubbed the back of his head, grinning sheepishly. "Well, I guess I'd give 'em my list, and let 'em go."

"List?"

Yeah, my fault for asking. Bullet scampered off, and I heard his little feet pitter-patting on the stairs, up and then down again, before he came rushing back into the kitchen, the bit of jerky he'd dropped still spinning on the plate in front of him.

The list, as it turned out, wasn't anywhere as long as I'd thought it would be. When I asked him why, the little guy explained (and kinda made my heart melt a little...stupid tuberat) that me'n the other guys in the neighborhood were really all he needed, and almost all that he wanted, too. He'd just tossed down a few things that he thought he'd like to share around with all of us guys (and we really are mostly guys - about four morph males were originally decanted for every one morph femme, so we males generally have to just make do). Of course, the list itself made both my eyebrows raise, and I looked at the little guy over the top of the paper.

"You just wrote down all the names of Santa's nine reindeer, Bullet." Yeah, it's pointing out the obvious, but with Bullet, sometimes I hafta do that a lot.

"And world peace," he added proudly, climbing halfway over the table to point to the last item on the list, all of it written out in surprisingly beautiful illuminated script, obviously handwritten. Huh. Who'd have guessed that Bullet could write so nice? "So, what do you think?"

"Well," I drawled, laying the list carefully on the table, sliding it back over to Bullet, "I admit, I wouldn't mind having a hot, naked deer-boy or -girl around the place. You know, as a conversation piece. But, um, Bullet: isn't planning to trap a reindeer one of those things that land you on the naughty list? And if you're on the naughty list, doesn't that mean you don't get a visit from anybody?"

"You're only on the naughty list if you do bad stuff," Bullet declared with a huff, folding his arms and pouting as he plopped his fuzzy tush back in his chair. "I haven't caught anybody yet. Sure, once I do, I'll be really, really, really naughty...but until then, I've been the bestest little weasel ever! Ask anybody, and they'll all back me up!"

Despite Bullet's numerous "indiscretions," I had to admit: he really was a good guy. His hyperactivity made a bunch of problems, but on the other hand, he always did everything he could to make up for all the stuff he did wrong pretty much as fast as he messed up. And when he didn't have anything that needed correcting, he was pretty much always on duty, doing all sorts of handiwork around the neighborhood, from plumbing to electrical work to cleaning to painting to...well, just about anything, really. A good part of why our part of the city looks so nice is 'cause of Bullet leading the way, getting everybody interested in pitching in and helping out, following his example.

"Fair enough," I conceded. "But since I'm guessing you're gonna want me to put out the fire in the fireplace, I've got a request for you."

"Anything!" Bullet answered immediately, and I knew right away that he meant it with every part of his furry little body.

"I'm gonna need somebody to help me stay warm tonight," I continued, casually glancing down toward my moose-sized sheath, already a little plumped out from sharing in Bullet's reindeer fantasy, even if it was only for a little while. "You wanna volunteer?"

Yeah, like I even had to ask with a guy like Bullet. How in the world could anybody not love him?

*

As Clement Clarke Moore put it so aptly:

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Maybe "spring" is a bit of a strong word, though. More like "lumbered." Sure, I only need around three or four hours of sleep in a night, but that's not really a negotiable number, and after the fun 'n games I'd been having with Bullet (the little heathen bastard wanted to try putting out all the candles on my antlers with my cum...he did it, too, though it took him a few tries), I really needed that fourth hour, when a glance at the clock said it'd only been maybe three, barely.

So I get up, look around, and discover that Bullet's nowhere to be seen, at least not in the bedroom. At least not for about maybe seventeen seconds. Then, before I've even gotten the idea into my head to maybe put on some pants, just in case whoever made all that noise out in the main room isn't somebody I wanna give the full Monty, in comes Bullet, latching onto my hand with a deathgrip and starting to tug insistently.

"Come on, Qana!" exclaimed the little guy, almost whining like a kid at the mall trying to get a slow parent to hurry up to the line leading to Santa's lap. "He's here! He's here! I hoped he'd be here, and I wanted it so bad, and here he is! Come oooon!"

"Yeah, yeah," I rumbled, probably a little more brusque than I really meant to be - that hour of missed sleep did take a toll, after all - and let my weaselfriend lead me toward the glow out in the main room (I guess the "living room," since that's what big rooms like that are supposed to be called). "I'm...wait. Hey, Bullet: did we leave on the tree lights?"

"We don't have any electric lights on the tree, Qana," Bullet explained, rolling his eyes. "The only power's from the generator, and you said we needed to save up our ethanol for heat and other essentials."

"Huh," I grunted. "Guess I did. Funny...did the city get power back to morphtown? Never expected 'em to do somethin' like that...but then again, it is Christmas, and people get kinda sentimental around..."

"It's not the city, Qana!" Bullet whined up at me, before giving my shin a petulant (but pretty light) kick. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, Qana! It's Santa's reindeer! It's Rudolph! I set the traps, and he came 'cause I was such a good little weasel this year, and he's in them right now! So come on! We've gotta hurry before he hurts himself or something." My weaselfriend looked down, a little sheepish, biting his lower lip. "He kinda looked a little upset about the whole snare trap thing. I hope I didn't make him mad."

"Whoever you caught," I soothed, rubbing Bullet's soft-furred back (it's softer'n a mink coat, believe me, and even more plush - the military wanted him that way so he'd have an easier time shimmying through tunnels and stuff, though thankfully Bullet got bought by the private sector before that ever happened - I don't wanna think about my little Bullet's soft fur getting all bloody in battle), "I'm sure we can sort it out. I mean, it's not like we've got much to steal in the first place...huh."

The "huh" was when I saw who, exactly, was dangling in Bullet's "reindeer trap." Despite all my expectations (which had been running along the lines of one of the younger, wrigglier members of the community over on humanside, where the dregs of humanity still hang on somehow, or maybe one of the slinkier sorts of morphs: rodents or mustelids like my Bullet), he had, it appeared, actually managed to catch a deer. Not a reindeer, of course - they don't have padded noses, after all...especially not ones that glow - but a deer all the same. Naked and kinda cute, actually. He had a sweet face, at least what I could see of it around the bright glow coming from that schnoz of his, not really the sort of guy you'd expect to be a thief in the night.

"Ya know," I rumbled, walking over to the cervimorph still struggling, though not very strongly, against the clotheslines wrapped around his chest and neck, tightening enough to cut off his breath whenever he fought, then relaxing again when he did (even if he never saw active duty, Bullet was trained by some of the best military morphs in the business), "a cute guy like you doesn't hafta steal for a living. Laying aside that anybody in this community'd be happy to take you in - though I wouldn't lay odds on most folks being willing to give a sweet piece of eye candy like you any pants - there's places up closer to the edges of morphtown that border with the streets leading to the suburbs. Even if you're not that great a dancer, you could still make a pretty decent killing on any halfway decent night, sweet face and sweeter buns like you've got. The human women that slip over the border'd pay top money for a chance to grope that butt of yours."

Just to drive the point home, I reached over and gave those very sweet buns a little squeeze. Nothing too rough - he was Bullet's catch, after all - but enough to make him gasp, his tail hiking just a bit more, sheath filling out some. Huh, guy was sensitive...and darn it all if the contents of that sheath didn't look like they had a glow about 'em as well, same as the nose. But then Bullet was there, grabbing my hand and tugging it away from the cervimorph's goodies before I could do any more exploration, to find out just how sensitive, and when he gave me that wounded, pouty look of his - I'd been fondling his Christmas present, after all - I didn't try'n resist.

"Sorry," I murmured, kind of abashed about it. The apology was all it took to get Bullet back to all smiles and excitement, though, and in a few moments he was bouncing around his catch in that way only mustelomorphs can manage, a sort of movement we call "poinging." If you've ever seen it yourself, you know why.

"I knew it!" crowed Bullet joyously, doing a wiggly war dance around the "reindeer" dangling from his trap, his hooftips just touching the ground (huh...not too usual to see ungulomorphs with hooves; despite the name, based on "ungulate," morphs based on hooved critters usually had plantigrade feet, not ungulograde - it's just too big of a biomechanical feat to make a biped walk on hooves, and the results, when it's been done, haven't typically been worth it). "I knew it! I just knew they'd send Rudolph down my chimney! And now I've caught him and he's all mine!"

So saying, Bullet gave a sudden running leap, and wrapped his short arms around the dangling deer's waist, burying his face in the buck's furry chest, all fluffy with its winter coat...which I guess explained why he wasn't bothered too much by the cold outside, though I admit, I'd have some objections about letting my danglies hang around in that kind of cold for long.

Well, I guess that was that. Shrugging, I went over to my big easychair, one of the treasures I'd scrounged from the big junkyard at the edge of morphtown, and bought for a song and a blowjob...okay, I was exaggerating about the singing part. Getting comfortable, I looped my hands behind my head and smirked up at the dangling deer, who looked a little bit confused right then, with his arms pretty much the only part of him he could move, and that only so much, while the cutest little least weasel in the world snuggled happily against his chest, doing his best to purr, even if weasels really weren't supposed to be able to do that.

"I'm not a thief," the pretty boy finally got out, relaxing enough to be able to speak despite the loop of clothesline around his neck. "And I don't really dance - that's...someone else's thing, but she only does it for people she really likes. I just, um," he blushed then, so hard that his nose started to pick up some significant wattage, his voice dropping in embarrassment, "I really like stollen."

"I knew it!" exclaimed Bullet joyfully, hugging his prize a little harder, those little hands already starting to explore the deer's slim, neatly-muscled back. "I knew no tiny reindeer could resist a loaf of traditional Weihnachtsstollen! Finding all the ingredients was really hard, too, but it was all worth it, because you really did come! And I really did catch you!"

"Stolen?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow, only for Bullet and the deer (I guess "Rudolph" works as well as any name, what with the glowing bits and all, at least until he gives me his real one) to roll their eyes at me.

"Stollen," Bullet corrected with a happy smile, finally releasing his grip on his catch to start exploring the many strands of clothesline around the room, figuring out how to untangle the trap he'd laid. "Weihnachten is German for Christmas, and stollen's this fruitcake - more of a sweet bread, actually - they make, especially around this time of year. I even added a rope of marzipan in the middle, cause I know tiny reindeer can't resist it."

Looking around, sure enough, there was a loaf of bread sitting on the table nearest the now-cold fireplace, covered in powdered sugar. A slice was missing from one end, revealing the expected fruitcake interior, complete with a light tannish marzipan core, and I could see the leads of floss attached to the clothesline which must've set off the trap when our visitor went for it. With anybody else, I'd be kind of shocked that they'd managed to cook a fruitcake in my home without my knowing it. But then there's Bullet, and there's no possible way anybody can keep track of everything Bullet does, especially when he's on one of his self-appointed missions. Explains why he took the time to make those oatmeal raisin cookies earlier today, though - he must've just figured he'd do it for me, since he was already making goodies for Santa...or at least his reindeer.

"He's...well, he's right," admitted the deer, before gasping softly when Bullet untied one of the guide ropes of his trap, then another, sending the cute guy to his knees, his voice getting a little more tense as the strand around his neck tightened slightly, compensating for the loss of other binding ropes, effectively keeping him right where he was. "We tiny reindeer really do love a good marzipan."

"Wait," I growled, frowning as I raised a hand. "Hold up. Going along with my little buddy's delusions is carrying things too far. I mean, I don't mind that he's caught a burglar, even if it's one with some of those weird modifications they sometimes gave us when the science guys were messing around with the vats. I really don't mind that he's gonna give that burglar exactly what he deserves, and I just hope Bullet lets me join in, 'cause I can tell already: you're gonna be a fine, smooth ride, complete with handlebars. But encouraging him to believe that you're the Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, when we all know there's no such thing...yeah, that's pushing it. I'll buy that your name really is Rudolph, though - the science guys never were all that creative when it came to names, and, honestly, it does fit you pretty good."

"Didn't think you'd believe me," the deer-boy got out through the tense line around his neck, keeping nice and still as Bullet finished up untying the guide ropes around the room, and not resisting as my little weaselfriend kinbaku'd up his present - gift wrapping, you might say. He even added some cute little bows at strategic points. "That's why you're always on the Naughty list, Qana."

"See?" Bullet added smugly, while finishing up winding some more of those knots all around his new toy. "Told ya."

Blinking, I looked at the guy a little closer. Nope, never seen him before, and while I might seem like a big lummox sometimes, I don't miss much. But now that I was giving him a closer look, I had to admit: he wasn't exactly a deer. I mean, looking at him at a glance, I figured him for an ungulomorph based on whitetail or maybe mule deer, considering his size and the general appearance of his face. Except, well, those antlers weren't really right on a whitetail deer, that was for sure. They actually were the sort of antlers you'd expect on a...well...uh, a caribou, or some related species. Yeah, something like that. Not...

"A reindeer?" Rudolph broke into my thoughts, arching an eyebrow as Bullet finished cinching the deer-boy's wrists behind his back.

"Quit it," I growled, feeling surly and wondering why. "First my name, and now you're butting into my brain? Nuh-uh, you don't do that kind of stuff, freakshow - it ain't polite. What're you? Some top secret psionics experiment that somehow got away from his lab? Wouldn't be surprising, considering how lax they got about us morphs near the end."

"Why do you have such a hard time just believing, Qana?" asked Rudolph, except, well, his expression wasn't mean or anything. It was actually kind of...sad, I guess. "It's not like it hurts anything to have some faith. Test the waters, see if something's good, and then wade in with little baby steps."

"Pride, I guess," I answered honestly, then grinned when Rudolph gave an 'eep!' as Bullet tipped him forward, cinching his neck to the knot between his hind legs, hiking his gorgeous butt upward, the distinctly masculine shape still almost like a heart, slightly broken by his upraised tail (which, I couldn't help but notice, was shorter and more slender than a typical whitetail's...more like, uh, a wapiti's), its inherent male qualities somewhat diminished, though not in a bad way at all, by the dimples to either side of that tail, something I usually only expect to see on femmes, though I've heard that some males, especially ones who work out their buns crazy hard, can develop 'em too. "Heh, and speaking of pride," I glanced down, where mine was starting to show, big and hard...and surprisingly pink, not all dark and red like everybody I've ever met seems to think it oughta be.

"Wh-what're you going to do with me?" asked Rudolph nervously, sharply inhaling his breath as Bullet started kissing his way down the deer-boy's supple back, following, more-or-less, the line of his spine. Actually, as I admired that smooth, muscular body, I realized how _young_Bullet's prize looked. While his face was a definite giveaway, all wide-eyed and kind of innocent-looking, I also took note of those antlers, properly this time. A lot like four-legged cervines, sexually mature cervimorphs grow in new pairs of antlers every year, and every year they're a little larger, a little more filled out, much like the rest of the body. Compared to my towering rack, Rudolph's were kind of puny, three or maybe four-point branches, nothing really special to write home about. Judging from the rest of him, he'd fill out really nicely in a couple years, but he still had that coltish look about him: muscular and masculine, but still not quite finished.

In practical terms, that just meant he was gonna be really tight.

"Can't you read our minds?" I teased, leaning back in my chair as Bullet continued his happy, surprisingly gentle play with his new toy, his small hands light and quick as an expert hostler as they rubbed and kneaded the kid's back, and then his chest beneath, and finally to Rudolph's belly as my little weaselfriend mounted the tied-up hottie (no, not that way...at least, not yet), seating his small buns right below the deer-boy's tail, then letting his slinky body conform to the curve of Rudolph's back as he lay against the buck's form, his hands lovingly caressing the deer-boy's front up and down, taking his time with a surprisingly relaxed pace...well, relaxed for Bullet, that is. "At this point, though, I'd've thought it'd be obvious."

"I...I can't really read minds," gasped Rudolph, his eyes widening as Bullet found something especially sensitive down there (and I just wished I could see everything my weaselfriend was doing to the kid from my spot in my easychair, but I didn't wanna get up and spoil the moment). "I certainly can't tell what sort of Naughty thoughts people are having. All I know is if you've been Naughty or Nice, and some essential biographical stuff. The things I need to know to do my job right. Though I...sometimes I get feelings..."

Suddenly he broke off talking, his jaw dropping, while Bullet's face took on a frankly joyous expression, like a kid who's just opened up the biggest box under the tree, and discovered it was exactly what he wanted, while leaning over to get a good look at what lay between the deer's legs, his hand moving with gentle slowness, at least for right now, as though he were handling some precious jewel-encrusted artifact, part awe and part extreme care. While I couldn't see all the action, I knew from plenty of personal experience that Bullet pretty much always got that way with another guy's penis, at least once it was fully erect. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a cock worshiper, and Bullet almost literally seems to worship the cocks of the guys he's with, wanting to explore each little vein and contour, every curve and hollow, in the most minute detail. Guess that's why he's such an expert "sucker," too: he just really, _really_loves cocks. I haven't seen him with a femme before, there being so few of 'em around this part of morphtown and all (the humans up in the rich areas tend to hoard the morphfemmes to themselves, something about 'em being better domestic servants or something like that...which is probably code for femmes not tending to seduce human women quite as often as male morphs might), but based on what I know about his personality, he'd probably treat a pussy the same way, worshiping it like it was the altar of some pagan goddess. Hard up for fresh femme like most of us in morphtown are, I expect a lot of the guys around here would do much the same, though not with the absolute, child-like earnestness of our little weaselfriend.

Fwip! Over Bullet swung, agile as a monkey, now dangling from Rudolph's underside, his little bandy legs wrapped around the kid's waist to keep himself in place. A moment later, and he was very literally bent over backwards, curled over on himself so he could properly inspect the buck's dangly bits, up close and very personal. Kind of fun to watch, really, especially since I could see Bullet's danglies with just a slight tilt of my head, his sheath having spilled out its very smooth, milk chocolate contents quite a while back, even if Bullet had probably completely forgotten about his erection in his excitement at giving pleasure, rather than receiving it. Bullet's a "giver" by nature, taking pleasure by sharing it with others, and it's a big part of why nobody who knows him can really ever stay mad at the little guy for long, no matter what he does: he really does have a good heart, shenanigans notwithstanding.

"Oh wow," Bullet whispered loudly, awestruck, his legs tightening a little bit more as he lifted his hands from where they'd been resting on the floor, to reach out of my sight, to the source of a rapidly-brightening red light coming from between Rudolph's thighs. "Qana! Come see! He glows!"

At that point, I'd been absolutely loving the expression on Rudolph's face. Whatever Bullet was doing to him, it must've been really_good, 'cause it started out all fearful, like he was expecting the little guy to bite him or something (not unreasonable: Bullet has been known to bite, though usually only in the best possible ways), then shifted to somewhere between mild shock and blinking surprise, and presently was open-mouthed, close-eyed, moaning enjoyment. And that _nose...well, it just kept glowing brighter the more Bullet worked the buck over (which, incidentally, was a major reason why I had some trouble seeing the glow from between the boy's legs so well from where I was seated). The tech guys must've found some way to hook up his bioluminescence (however they'd managed it) to his pulse or something like that, so the more excited he got, the brighter the light would shine. Limited utility in a combat situation, of course, which led me to think the kid must've been specially grown as a domestic novelty. Like most novelties, of course, he'd probably been greatly enjoyed, pampered, spoiled, and then eventually forgotten and discarded. So then he'd turned to crime as a way of making a living, slipping into the homes of people in morphtown and humanside, the poor places where he could get away with it most easily, just as a matter of practicality, since he'd be starving, and wouldn't know how else to survive. Not hard to figure out the kid's basic biography, really, with just a little bit of knowledge of the culture and deductive reasoning and all. Explains why he was so easily caught with food as bait, too.

Right then, I guess I my deductions on his background kinda decided me on trying to be nice to the kid: I'd seen some pretty hard times, too, and I knew how it could be when you were all alone in the world, without friends to help you out. I'd run into a nice community, and been accepted by the morphs in my neighborhood, trusted and respected for what I could give, and so allowed to take freely from what everyone else was sharing, because they all knew I wouldn't take more'n I needed. All this kid needed was some TLC, some "tough love," and maybe a bit of training in a real trade, and pretty soon, he'd be giving back to our community just as much as any of us. Of course, first off he needed to be properly_tamed_. Lucky for him, it was Bullet that was gonna be doing the taming. Me, I'd have been a_lot_ rougher on him while I worked.

Heh, merry Christmas, Bullet; I know you're gonna love your present. After all, you've always wanted a pet.

Standing up, I went over to Bullet's playplace, and knelt down, tilting my head a bit. Immediately my eyebrows went up (or at least the spots where eyebrows would've been, if I was human): Bullet was right - the kid glowed "down there" too! Seeing Bullet's awestruck face, one hand resting on the kid's supple, white-furred inner thigh, the other with its small, slender, dexterous fingers wrapped around the base of that nicely-sized muzzleful of red rod, squeezing and stroking it just a little, making the kid moan softly, breathily in expectation of what was to come...well, yeah, that got my gears to grinding, to say the least.

"Touch it, Qana," said Bullet, breathing hard as he slid his hand further up the smooth, slightly translucent-looking buckstaff, giving it a squeeze just a little below the human-shaped glans. "I mean, _really_touch it."

Frowning a bit, wondering what Bullet meant exactly, 'cause I could tell there were some layers of meaning in those few words, I reached out, and wrapped by big, work-calloused hand around the base of that glowing cock. All right, I admit it: maybe I was kinda worried I'd hurt it, the gorgeous thing looked so much like a work of art, sort of like it was made out of smooth-polished crystal or something. Maybe I was a little more gentle with the buck's goodies than I would've been on another "heavy" like myself. Maybe I'm a softie for smaller males with cute faces and earnest expressions and adorable butts, the sort you just wanna squeeze and maybe "fluff" to use as a pillow. Whatever! The point is, when I wrapped my hand around Rudolph's penis...well...I just kinda...I dunno, "blanked out" for a few moments there. When I came to myself, I was gasping for air, blinking hard, and looking down at the long stream of precum I'd sprayed across the wood floor beneath Rudolph's tight-muscled tummy.

"What," I started, then swallowed to get control of my voice, giving the kid's glowing penis another light squeeze as I did so, feeling something tremble through my whole body as I did it, "was that?"

"Magic," said Rudolph softly, breathing pretty hard himself.

"Taste it, Qana," Bullet encouraged, leaning in to wrap his little mustelid muzzle around the plump, seeping tip, by way of demonstration. Watching Bullet work over someone's penis is...well, it's kinda fascinating, really. Besides the fact that he was curled around under the deer-boy, which basically meant he was sucking Rudolph off while upside-down, Bullet's throat also tends to expand visibly when he's going down, kind of like a snake gulping down eggs; deep-throating is just what a little guy like Bullet has to do if he's gonna suck cock at all, and and trust me, he's good at it. Moving my hand to let Bullet go through the full demonstration, once again my eyebrows went up as I could clearly see Rudolph's glow through Bullet's stretched neck, sort of like watching somebody stick a flashlight in their mouth. Let me see what Bullet was doing with his tongue, too, as a dark spot against the shining brightness of that strange bioluminescent dick. "It's good!" he added, popping his lips free after a few bobs, enough to get the kid moaning loudly again, keeping him from annoying me with all those smug, gnomic, obviously-couldn't-be-true statements.

Weird as Bullet might be sometimes, he did have good taste. So, once he'd flipped his top half back around like a Pez dispenser, all the better to start sucking on the kid's nipples, standing pink through his white chestfluff once my weaselfriend had stroked the fur up, which also got him out of my way, I leaned in, hooking my rack underneath the kid's belly, and gave the smooth, glistening buckstaff a sniff. Huh, Bullet hadn't been kidding about it being good, if the taste was anything like the smell: it was sort of cinnamon-y, with a touch of nutmeg and some other sweet-style spices. Eggnog? Nah, that'd just be too weird.

"The taste changes over time," Rudolph murmured from somewhere behind me, his voice obviously pretty tense, about as whipcord-tight as his trim tummy right above and between my antlers, actually. "Sometimes it's more like cinnamon. Other times it's more like candy canes. I think it's based on what whoever's tasting me wants to taste right then...as long as it's appropriately-themed."

"Mine tasted like gingerbread!" Bullet declared happily, and I admit I couldn't resist turning my head as much as my present position allowed, to give the weasel's short-tailed butt a looking over, followed by a short, gentle squeeze, making him chitter cutely before he started sucking on the buck's Adam's apple, making him hush.

Well...I admit, I am_awfully fond of eggnog. Hard to get on this side of town, of course, and I'd been having one of those lingering cravings for the stuff for the last couple days. Virgin, of course: morphs don't drink alcohol, 'cause we don't dare take in stuff that might mess with our self-control. Trust me, self-control's important for morphs; just ask any of the ferals living in deep morphtown, far from where any humans will ever see 'em. Or, rather, _don't ask 'em, 'cause most of 'em'd probably try to gangbang, or eat you, depending on their mood at the time, rather than answer. Going atavistic is one of our biggest fears.

Nostrils flaring, I got another good, long whiff of Rudolph's penis. Mmm, yeah, that was the good stuff! There was no resisting it, actually, even if I didn't smell even a trace of the usual highly arousing - and highly-addictive - morph mating pheromones I expected. Weird that they wouldn't be present. Still, it gave that penis and dangling sac a nice smell, "clean," enhancing the sweetness of the 'nog. Speaking of that sac, I cupped it, then stroked it, taking my time, not rushing things. Nice and plump, already mostly filled out, just like the rest of the kid. Another year, maybe two, and he'd be a serious heartbreaker. How could I resist? Yeah, I couldn't, so I wrapped my lips around each firm testicle, sucking on them one at a time, making sure to give 'em both a good, proper lathering, until the short hairs were sticking to 'em like skin. And always, always, there was that wonderful taste of eggnog filling my mouth - more of an aftertaste effect, actually, since I hadn't gotten to the main course just yet. Not a bad aperitif, though. No, not one bit.

Right around that time, I realized something: my balls felt...well, they felt swollen. They had that heavy, full-feeling sort of ache that happens whenever somebody gives me a proper nutjob, the testes all stimulated and pumping out an extra-large dollop of sperm for my next orgasm. In other words, they felt just like I wanted Rudolph to be feeling right then. If I'd been thinking clearly at that point, I might've been suspicious about the kid, thinking maybe he'd pulled some sort of hypnotic suggestion or whatever. But I wasn't thinking clearly right then. Right then, I needed some 'nog!

With a muzzle as big as mine, slipping Rudolph's penis inside was easy, and he slid in smooth. Leaking heavily from the tip of his prick, I got me a good splash of that wonderful noggy taste right across my tongue, which I pressed tightly against the underside of his shaft, working the upper part a little so it rubbed his frenulum. Guys tended to love it when I did that, showing off some of the uses of my big, broad tongue, and the kid was no exception: right away I was rewarded with a thick, creamy squirt of pre directly onto my tastebuds, and with an even louder moan of deep, deep ecstasy from the kid. Reaching up, my big hands grabbed his sweet buns tightly, fingers digging into his toned, supple flesh beneath the soft white fur, and I pulled the kid all the way down. Sure, he was pretty long, but I've got a moose-sized muzzle, so no deep-throating for me. That smooth shaft of his felt about as good as it tasted against my tongue, though, and I soon found I couldn't get enough of it, my head bobbing forward and back, my eyes closing gently as I found myself entering a haze of pleasure. How in the world had Bullet been able to pull away to share his present with me? He had to have felt everything I was feeling, right down to the strange, sympathetic tingling that was running all up and down my own cock with every extra squeeze of my lips or ripple of my tongue against the deer-boy's penis. Guess it just goes to show how selfless Bullet really is, how completely and utterly willing to share everything that's his, because he wants you to be as happy as himself.

Was I...was I sucking myself off? The thought hit me somewhere on the twentieth or thirtieth bob of my head, right when I was starting to get greedy about that sweet eggnog taste, wanting more of it, and wanting it now. Every time I did anything to Rudolph's penis, I felt it on my own, my heavy dick very literally throbbing and bobbing with every flex of the muscles connecting it to my sheath and to the baculum within the shaft itself. How was he doing that?! It felt good! My eyes were squeezed tight shut right then, and despite myself I couldn't hold back a whimper, just like I was the hyper-sensitive youngster here, and not the experienced older male showing the kid the ropes. Sort of like being a virgin all over again, and by the time that realization hit me, I also realized that I wasn't gonna last. No way, no how.

No! This was Bullet's present!

"Bullet," I got out somehow as I yanked my head back, dropping onto my back beneath the kid, my long legs stretched out, one between his knees on the wood floor, the other outside. "Bullet, I can't...I'm gonna...it's too much..."

Right as soon as there was room for it, Bullet flipped over again, giving me a happy grin and a kiss on the lips, before he finished the motion, and popped Rudolph's glowing penis back into his mouth, and then right down his throat again, making it look so easy. Heh, and there was something else easy right then: Bullet's penis, dangling right down in front of my muzzle. I guess there was still some sort of connection going on, 'cause pretty much the moment I wrapped my lips around that chocolate brown weaselcock, I got hit with a double whammy: all of a sudden I was feeling Rudolph's pleasure as he had a hyperactive weasel's throat clenching down on him, as tight and slick as the sweetest pussy you can imagine, and Bullet's as well. Except, Bullet's pleasure wasn't just the physical kind, the feeling of my bobbing my head on his shaft, desperate to get the weasel to pop before I did. No, what was really intense about sucking off Bullet like this, sharing his pleasure, was the emotional force, bursting into me like a stream of pure light. Bullet was a fountain of pure, unadulterated joy, exulting in the sheer delight of giving pleasure, and as much of it as he could. He wanted Rudolph as his present because he wanted to make a reindeer cum, not because he wanted to hammer those sweet buns with his rapidfire, machinegun thrusts (well, okay, maybe some of that, but still...). He wanted to give, and the more he gave, the more he got, until the sensation was too big for his little body to possibly contain.

Needless to say, in about six seconds flat, I was bellowing loudly around my mouthful of weaselcock, a mighty gush of moosecum splattering against Bullet's chest, hosing the little guy down almost from head to toe. Lucky thing Bullet was in the way, really: I didn't wanna mess up his present. Somewhere in the backdrop of my mind, I could taste what Bullet was tasting, the sweet splash of fresh gingerbread cum against my tastebuds, even as I was tasting the delicious biochemical cornucopia that is the semen of a healthy, sexually-active morphmale. Knowing perfectly well that our cum is a potent aphrodisiac, even more potent than our pheromones (and if you've ever been in the same closed room as a morph for more'n fifteen minutes, you know how potent those can be), I swallowed down everything Bullet had to offer, my throat working powerfully to make sure I didn't lose a single drop.

"Oof!" I suddenly said, the word more of an exhalation of breath than spoken as Bullet, suddenly limp, dropped on top of me. Good thing I've got abs like a steel washboard, or that might've hurt a bit. "Hmm, not a bad view. Kinda sticky, though."

Scooting myself out from under Bullet's bound buck, I had to admit: what I'd said was very true. Right then, Bullet was a serious mess, and 'cause of that, my stomach was also a mess, all splattered with some of the cum I'd hosed him down with. Heh, well, served me right for being such a messy boy, I guess. The view, though, as I'd said, was pretty fine, since I just had to raise my head a little to sight right down Bullet's butt, his little pink tailhole clearly visible beneath his slightly-askew tail. Like most mustelids, Bullet's buns are streamlined, smooth and snug, without sticking out too much. You want a morphtype that's more bootylicious, go for rabbits, or ungulomorphs in general (with the exception of the bovids - they tend to be more top-heavy). A swimmer's build, even if Bullet's body is made like it is for tunnel fighting purposes, letting him "swim" through loose dirt or tight holes with minimal resistance. What that means for me, though, is Bullet's always tight, his hyperactive nature and small back end working together to keep him so tensed up, every time's pretty much like humping a virgin. So I gave into temptation, and reached out with both hands, gripping and then kneading Bullet's small butt, rolling the buns in, and then out, until Bullet was moaning again, his penis hard against my stomach.

Sitting up, I lifted the little guy, then started to clean him the easiest way I knew how: with my tongue. Under normal circumstances, I'd've spent up to an hour on my weaselfriend, just getting my broad, rough tongue worked into that thick underpelt, savoring the taste of musk on his fur. Mustelomorphs, incidentally, produce a lot of musk, but it's not as rank as what I've heard the four-legged article can be. That's 'cause most of it's tempered with pheromones, and morph pheromones smell good. Right now, though, I didn't spend that much time getting down deep into Bullet's various layers of fuzz. That's 'cause he still had a present to "unwrap," and if the truth had to be known, I was really looking forward to seeing him go all-out on that hot little buck. I mean, seriously, the guy had this absolutely adorable, wide-eyed expression, sort of sweet and trusting, which just made his helpless state all the more enticing, especially since he was already sporting a second wood from watching me clean up my little weaselfriend. Seriously, I'm based more-or-less on an herbivorous species, and I was getting predatory thoughts! I can't even imagine what it must be like for Bullet.

Giving Bullet's cock a final lick for good measure, now that his coat was sleek and mostly clean again, and his butt an encouraging squeeze, I stood up, then set my little friend down on the hardwood floor. While he watched me half-quizzically, apparently wondering what I was gonna do next, I went to my easychair, and dragged it over a little, to where I could get the best possible view of the action I was expecting. Plopping myself down with a happy sigh, I grinned at Bullet and the buck, then gave 'em both a little "go ahead" wave of my hand.

"Hope you don't mind, Bullet," I chuckled, half-wishing I had some popcorn. "I'd kinda like to watch while you, uh, 'play' with your present."

"Sure, Qana!" Bullet chirped, perky as a bluejay, and about twice as full of sass, judging from how much of a stiffy he was sporting before he turned back to his wrapped-up gift, who gulped visibly, obviously kind of nervous at being so completely at the mercy of someone as...uncertain of temperament as Bullet. "This is gonna be_fun_!"

Guess I oughta revise the nervousness statement about Rudolph. I mean, yeah, he was obviously kinda worried, going by those cute looks on his handsome face as he followed Bullet with his big, expressive eyes. Based on how hard his cock was, though, already starting to drip on the hardwood flooring even after his recent orgasm, I'd guess it was more the sort of concern that comes with not knowing if you can take everything that your partner's about to dish out. Which, believe me, I can totally understand: Bullet's a handful-and-a-half for anyone to handle at the best of times, and usually we kept two spare guys on duty, besides the one where he was staying, to handle his especially horny moods (in my case, I had a direct line to Stone, a big bearguy who's as close as we've got to a headman around here, and he could get just about anybody in the neighborhood over to assist in a matter of minutes). Rudolph, though, well, he was all by his lonesome on the business end of about as much pent-up lust as a least weasel's body can hold without exploding, minus the oral pressure release I'd just given. Believe you me, that's a lot.

Watching Bullet going to town on that hot buck...phew! I mean, the little guy might only come to the middle of my chest on his tip-toes, but once he gets going, he goes fast. And I mean fast! Almost a furry blur of motion, that brown-furred cutie was nibbling down Rudolph's trim, muscular back, then down and around to his underside, hands and mouth just kinda...everywhere. Keeping track of him with my eyes was nearly impossible, so after a while I started focusing on Bullet's "present" instead of the weasel himself. Mmm, not bad. Not bad at all. The kid had a really handsome face (and, incidentally, for me, everybody younger'n me is "kid," unless I know 'em really well, and prefer their real name, like Bullet), which went well with that fine, athletic body. Every time Bullet touched one of those sweet spots, of which there seemed to be loads, the kid's back would arch, and I'd get a prime view of those sculpted muscles flexing and tensing under fur that I'd learned from firsthand experience was about as soft as fine velvet (that's not metaphor, either - I know what fine velvet feels like, from when I was military...but that's another story entirely). Sometimes his head would raise and he'd give a sweet gasp, mouth wide, and other times he'd lower his head to the floor, his teeth grit together as he whimpered and moaned. All of this action, of course, was lit in red by his bioluminescent nose and prick, both throbbing like holiday lights, brightening every time he started to get close, like when Bullet started licking his penis again, then dimming when my weaselfriend eased off and focused on less sensitive parts. Though, judging from how often and how long those glowy bits stayed "on," I'd say that the kid was both really sensitive, and really pent up.

"L-look," Rudolph panted while Bullet was nibbling on the tender bases of his antlers (trust me, as someone with antlers myself, those can get really sensitive, especially when you're already aroused). "Come on guys. I mean, this is fun, and I do like both of you, but the rest of the team will be expecting me."

"Nuh-uh," said Bullet, dropping down in front of Rudolph, then kneeling, cupping the buck's chin in one small, gentle hand, the other waggling a finger in front of the deer-boy's eyes. "It stopped snowing yesterday. Sure, the roads are pretty clogged up around here, but the skies are clear, and most've the world's about the same - I made sure to check, thanks to the tower the guys set up to get internet around here. Johnny Marks' song about you makes it pretty clear that you're around for visual assistance purposes. Since they don't need you for that tonight, you're all mine until further notice." Rudolph's eyes got wide when Bullet presented his penis, smiling hopefully down at the hot buck. "Now c'mon, I sucked on yours. Can't you find enough spirit of giving to return the favor?"

Swallowing (heh) nervously, Rudolph seemed about to say something more, maybe to object to Bullet's statement, maybe to bring up some other triviata that'd save his sweet hiney. After another moment or two, though, after I'd watched the gears in his head crank so hard, I was pretty sure steam would start coming out of his ears, the kid closed his lips...right around Bullet's penis.

"Ooh!" moaned my weaselfriend, reaching out to grab those antlers tight - handlebars, like I told you - his skinny butt arching forward while Rudolph looked up at him with those big, trusting eyes. "You've done this before!"

That little revelation made our cute captive's ears curl back in complete embarrassment, obviously ashamed at being caught out as a slut. Didn't stop him from starting to bob his head, though, still looking up at Bullet's face, those eyes making it really clear he was eager to please, and not at all unwilling. Maybe not willing, per se, of course, but, like I said, not unwilling. No, not one bit.

"Hey Bullet," I spoke up, half-rising from my chair, my big pink stiffy starting to ache more'n a little. "You mind if I prep your present's backside? I know how hot you are for mounting after you've popped your load in a guy's muzzle. Figure'd I'd save you some wait time."

Bullet was a little bit busy right then, panting hard in that high-pitched way of his, while his hips hunched nice and fast, his whole body as tense as a bowstring with the effort it took him not to just hammer the kid's sweet mouth with everything he had, but somehow he managed to give me a nod of assent. I was watching his hands caressing Rudolph's head, and could hear him murmur softly something about "my present, my very own," while I was hunting around in one of our drawers for the lube. Not that hard to find, of course, since I always keep four or five bottles of the stuff around the house, each of 'em a different flavor, which Bullet shifts around every so often to make sure the next use will be a surprise. Huh, banana guava pineapple. But then, Bullet was pretty enamored of tropical flavors, even if I always thought the pineapple flavor tended to cover up the others.

Patting Rudolph's upturned butt as I approached, letting him know I was there before giving the cheek a friendly squeeze, I squirted out a dollop of the edible lube onto my hand, letting it warm up a bit. Putting the tube down, I gripped those fine buns with my clean hand, spreading one cheek wide, before leaning in, making sure I did the job properly as I pressed my fingers up against the kid's astoundingly tight tail ring. And I mean_tight_! Even if Bullet was right, and the kid knew how to suck a cock, he couldn't possibly have done much anal sex, or been with boys that were packing anything substantial, not with a ring so snug and clean, it might as well have been virginal. Maybe he'd only recently left human company. That'd explain why he didn't look malnourished at all, his fur sleek and well-groomed, his muscles firm and filled-in, at least for a kid in his very late teens, right on the cusp of the final finishing of his body's growth. 'course, some folks keep that look until they're well into their mid-twenties, so I might've been premature in pegging the kid as quite so much of a kid. All the same, tight or not, after some careful circling and gentle pressure, "pop," in went one of my fingers, though the penetration made Rudolph's whole body tense up, his head bucking forward a bit, swallowing Bullet down to the roots and, incidentally, pressing that nose of his right up against Bullet's tummy.

"Kah," Bullet got out, the sound somewhere between a gasp and an exclamation. His jaw dropped, his eyes bugged out, and, just for a moment, his hands went completely slack. Actually, I thought he was gonna fall right over, at least for a couple seconds, when, all of a sudden, he gave a loud squealing sound of pure frenzy! I've only heard Bullet make that sound twice, once when he beat a human thug bloody when the idiot was about to shoot one of our friends with a handgun, and once when we pinned him into his first orgy. Both times were pretty scary, though, naturally, the second ended a lot happier'n the first. A lot happier. All of a sudden, Bullet's hips went into afterburner overdrive, his hips starting to thrust, his whole body going into every one of 'em, his eyes wild, his grip on Rudolph's antlers strong, unbreakable. Poor Rudolph could only moan, moans I just made louder as I carefully worked a second finger in alongside the first, making it about right for Bullet's thickness, his eyes rolling back into his head as Bullet just went wild, baring his sharp teeth to the ceiling as he _humped_the kid's face, plump, cream-furred balls slapping again and again against Rudolph's chin, while the buck just did his best to take it, submitting completely as he looked up with the most soulful eyes. That expression didn't help any, of course. If anything, it just hit Bullet's deepest, most predatory instincts, 'cause he only seemed to get even more savage, building to an even greater frenzy.

The weird thing about all of this? Rudolph's cock was throbbing and pulsing with every smack of balls against chin. That's not hyperbole: I mean it literally throbbed with light, and just as literally pulsed hard enough to slap against the kid's washboard belly every time Bullet buried himself to the hilt. Huh, guess that nose was just like the kid's cock, sharing sensations with whoever touched it. Heh, really made oral a whole new level of fun...and, just to see how far I could take it, while I was teasing my fingers against Rudolph's prostate, I reached around, and wrapped my other hand around his strobelight erection.

Woah. Let me say that again: woah. I just...there's no words. Right then, right there, I was plugged into Rudolph's body, feeling everything he did: my fingers in his butt and stroking his cock, Bullet's cock in his muzzle. More'n that, I could feel everything _Bullet_was feeling too, and, it just...he just...I think I could finally understand why Bullet was so keyed up all the time.

Needless to say, I came. Morphs don't typically get too much premature ejaculation, but you know what: some things are just too damn much! So I was cumming, hard and wet and messy, all over my nice clean hardwood floor. I'm pretty sure I was bellowing like a bull moose in rut the whole time, too. Vaguely, somewhere in the back of my whirling consciousness, I was aware of Bullet squealing in ultimate bliss, in that cute way he has when he's really blowing his load hard, his bottlebrush of a tail sticking straight up over his skinny buns as they just kept humping away uncontrollably, his whole body spasming, putting his all into the orgasm, or maybe series of orgasms, the way Bullet usually was, giving spurt after spurt in a multiorgasmic stream. Somewhere under that sound I could hear Rudolph's muffled cries as he came again as well, those hot noises somehow getting past the weaselcock plugging his pretty mouth. Actually, if anything, Rudolph sounded even cuter when his mouth was plugged, and I couldn't help but imagine that he'd be pretty fun to play with while his mouth was stuffed with a gag - good times for later. My senses were a bit vague around that time, though, 'cause I'd fallen flat on my back, my cock spraying cum all over my belly and chest, losing contact with Rudolph's penis in the process, and with it, my direct connection to the kid and his ties to Bullet. Just as well: that thing was a deadly weapon! Lucky to get away with my life, I kid you not.

Bullet, though? He was just getting started. On the floor, I had a prime ringside seat as the wild, wooly weaselmorph pounced Rudolph's sweet buns, grabbing on tight, his small, strong hands digging into that firm buckflesh tightly. Not that the kid was unwilling in the least, judging from how his tail popped up immediately, pressing against Bullet's stomach as the weasel slid his smooth brown cock into Rudolph's tailhole, smooth as butter. I'd done a good job lubing the kid up, and I couldn't help but feel a little bit of pride in it. Good thing, too! I mean, I'd thought Bullet was in a frenzy before? I was wrong. _This_was Bullet in a frenzy, his whole body putting itself into those rapidfire thrusts, muscles standing out all over his whipcord lean frame, even through his puffy fur. At first he stood on the floor, rising up onto the tips of his long-clawed toes, fingers digging into that taut, tight-muscled deerbutt. Then the little guy got too hot, and hopped up, his little feet planted squarely on the spot where his hands had just occupied, while those agile little paws went instead to the base of the upthrust tail, gripping it like he was a pilot flipping the bird at a MiG.

And oh how that buck did wail! Watching those ripples of movement shudder through his entire body, from rump to shoulders, was kinda hypnotic, actually, as Bullet's hips machinegunned the sweet-faced hottie. I mean, that weaselguy just nailed that hot deer like there wasn't gonna be no New Year's! Worn out though I was, I couldn't resist sitting up, just enough to be able to watch Bullet's cock pump in and out of Rudolph's tailhole, still pink, but nice and stretched now, spread out, and getting more stretched with every passing second. Not that Bullet was huge by any standard, but he was certainly better hung than you'd expect from a little guy like him, and bigger than your average human by a pretty decent margin. More'n enough to make a guy as tight as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer squeal.

"You're mine," Bullet was whispering in Rudolph's ears, leaning over the buck to grab the tips of his antlers, using them instead of his tail to hold on tight. "You're mine...I'm gonna keep you forever and ever. I'm gonna feed you, and bathe you, and take good care of you...'cause you're mine now...my pet...my present..." and so on. And all the while he was talking, he was hammering those beautiful buns, while Rudolph's eyes were rolled back in his head, his mouth just kinda hanging open, his mind well on its way to being totally gone. A glance down confirmed his cum splattered all over the floor, maybe six or seven orgasms judging from the sheer amount of the white stuff. All of it was thick 'n creamy, too, without any obvious reduction in sperm count. Pretty impressive for a kid! There weren't many morphs who could match that kind of virility, that was for sure.

All right, I admit it: I was a believer right then. At least, I believed that Rudolph wasn't a morph. There were just too many discrepancies, and I'm no cinematic atheist, unwilling to believe in the face of steadily-increasing evidence. I mean, I was still a little bit weirded out about all of this as the full extent of ramifications and consequences started to really hit me, lying there in a semi-erect, semi-afterglow state, watching Bullet's cum starting to leak out of Rudolph's tailhole around the weasel's still-pistoning brownish-tan shaft, evidence of how many times the little guy had already cum, probably at least twice as many as poor Rudy there (knowing Bullet, though, that was him just getting warmed up). Poor, poor Rudy was in for a long, hard, rough night...and morning...and probably mid-afternoon as well. But hey, at least I was dealing with a metaphysical impossibility just fine, even if at the same time Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer was getting banged by a horny weasel right in front of me. In times like these, it's always best to focus on the important stuff.

Clambering up the cute cervid's body a little more, Bullet started thrusting almost straight down into that fine reindeer rump. Erection returned, and with it my strength, I got up just so I could circle around behind and get a good look at the sight I was expecting. Yep, sure enough: I could see everything, from Bullet's upraised tail, to his tiny pink tailhole, to Rudolph's well-stretched boy pussy, to his dangling sac, jiggling every time Bullet's hips smacked his muscular buns, to his glowing red penis, pointing almost straight down at his present angle, big, fat drops of cum splashing on the floor as he was rapidly ridden to his next orgasm, like it or not.

How could I resist?

"Wha-?" Rudolph got out, his expression dazed as he raised his head, feeling something big and slightly pointed nudging at his already nicely-stuffed tailhole. A moment later, his eyes grew huge when he realized just what it was, and he turned his head around as much as possible to look back at me with a nearly panicked expression. "Wait! No! Please, you're too big! I'll...I'll break! No...oh...OH...OOOH!"

Looking straight down, I couldn't suppress a grin as I watched my big moosemeat squeeze into that sweet little tailhole, nice and slow, stretching Rudy's tender pink ring so very, very much. Sure, he didn't break, not like he'd been afraid he would, but I was pretty sure I'd ruined his back door. I mean, he didn't have any wrinkles left in his tail-ring! Not that I was all that surprised, of course: I tend to have that effect on males.

"Oh yeah!" yelped Bullet, his thrusts suddenly turning short and frantic as he felt my upper abdomen touching his tiny butt, my cock squeezing his cock just that much more as we doublestuffed the red-nosed reindeer. "Hump him, Qana! Screw him silly!"

Well...why not? Grinning widely, I grabbed Rudolph's butt nice and tight, squeezing his firm buns between my thick, strong fingers. Sure the kid (though maybe that wasn't quite right - he had to be at least a century old by this point) was pretty buff and all, but he was a reindeer, and I was a moose; there's a certain size difference, you see, that's pretty insurmountable. Compared to me, he might as well've been a fawn, complete with back spots. With my new grip, and spurred on by the feel of Bullet's smooth shaft rubbing against my own, I did just what my weaselfriend wanted: I began to _hump_Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer mercilessly!

I'll admit it: I kinda lost track of time for a while there. My memories are kind of spotty, too, though I remember a bright, friendly red glow, coruscating like the Aurora Borealis, the joyful squeals of Bullet, and the almost girlish moans and sweet wails of Rudolph as he was driven well past the point of reasonable endurance. My throat's kinda sore, too, so I must've been bellowing like a bull moose in full rut for a very long time. Maybe I'm not typically the sort to go in for children's stories, but I'm pretty sure I got a heavy dose of magic while banging that sweet buck. It blew my mind! I have _never_cum so hard, for so long, or so often in all my life! Sometime that afternoon, when I finally came back to proper sapient thinking, I discovered myself lying curled up in bed, Bullet on my chest, Rudolph resting his head on my arm, and a big, fluffy comforter pulled up to our respective chins.

Now that's what I call a Merry Christmas!

Bullet's the sort who, when he sleeps, he really sleeps. There was no way I was getting him up until dinnertime at the earliest. Luckily for me, when I got up to go fix myself some lunch...breakfast...whatever, I found a note he'd somehow written out, in that same aggravatingly beautiful script he always uses, lying next to the toaster oven the local junkyard owner had spruced up for me. It read as follows:

Qana,

_ _

I don't think I'll be waking up anytime soon after this, so I figured I should leave you some instructions while I'm getting a drink of water, and you're giving Rudolph an extra-thick protein shake.

_ _

When you wake up, I want you to invite over everybody. Yes, everybody. When they show up, let them all share my present. I think he was meant to be shared, and I'm sure he can handle all of us. He's magic, after all.

_ _

Hope to join in the party too, so don't let everybody leave until I'm awake again!

_ _

XOXOXO

_ _

Bullet

There is was, then.

About then, I realized how much I ached. It was the good sort of ache, though, the kind you get after you've pushed yourself right to the limits, and maybe just a liiittle bit beyond, and now it's over, and you're basking in the endorphin afterglow. Sort of like after you take off your boots at the end of a good, long skiing trip, with a roaring fire in front of you at the lodge...sigh, I do miss Austria sometimes. Too bad they kicked all us American troops out after that whole fiasco in Belarus and Ukraine.

Moments later, I was dialing up the direct line to Stone, putting the old-fashioned-looking earpiece to one floppy ear, while I stuck my muzzle right up next to the squelchy old mouthpiece. When the big grizzly picked up on his end, and I started to explain matters (leaving out the parts about magic, of course - while wise old Stone's the kind who might believe me, I figured it would be better to let folks draw their own conclusions), I just sort of picked up the pen we keep next to the pads of notepaper on the little table by the phone, just to have something to fiddle with while I talked. When I hung up, and set down the pen, I looked down at the notepad itself, and blinked. Huh, well that wasn't something I expected: someone had written us a note, and it wasn't in a handwriting that I recognized.

The note read as follows:

Dear Qana,

_ _

Congratulations on finding your faith again, even if it's just a start. If this were some Christmas special, maybe I'd gush more, but I'm not the type. Really, I'm not even the type for writing notes, but Santa insisted, so here I am.

_ _

Rudolph's yours for the rest of January: he's Bullet's present, though we kind of didn't tell him about it; we all figured he'd enjoy the surprise. Once February rolls around, though, we'll be sending you a box. Just pack him in and set it by the fireplace, and we'll take care of the rest.

_ _

As for you, well, I guess you earned a present of your own. It's not going to be under your tree, but you should check your doorstep in about six minutes after you finish reading this note. Just trust me on this. After all, what kid hasn't wanted Santa to bring them a pony?

_ _

Yours with affection,

_ _

Comet

_ _

P.S. Take lots of pictures. Everybody around here loves watching Rudy get his tail hammered. We think it helps keep him humble.

Just when I thought this day couldn't get any weirder. Shaking my head, I started back toward the kitchen, knowing that Stone'd be calling around on the party line (since we can't really count on the city phone lines with so little maintenance done in morphtown, and cell phones tend to be too expensive to be common around here, we ran an old-fashioned party line instead to keep our buildings connected), setting up the fun for tonight. Knowing some of the scoundrels around here, the first ones would probably be arriving in an hour, tops. That didn't leave a whole lot of time for getting snacks ready, but luckily I'm pretty good at tossing together food in a jiffy. Not as good as Stone, of course, but he's the sous-chef at some fancy joint up in the human hightown, so that's not a fair comparison. While I was on my way to the kitchen, though, I made sure our digital camera was laid out on one of the tables by the big living room couch, and that it had a full charge. Not that I'm the sort to do whatever strange notes from persons who may or may not by mythical creatures tell me, of course. Just...well...I like being prepared.

In the kitchen, blinking like an owl, was Rudolph. He gave me a smile, which I returned, and I gave him Comet's note. Casually, I also glanced around at his backside, blinking at what I saw: not only did he look like he'd gotten in a thorough grooming session, his fur immaculate, but his tailhole was...well, it was that sort of candy pink I associate with virgins, and not a drop of cum anywhere to be seen. Huh, guess there was something to this magic thing.

"Read that," I told him with a shrug, before hauling open the fridge and pulling out a bunch of foodstuffs, then went through the pantry closet right next to it to bring out a few more, in bags and cans mostly. "I'll have something for you to eat in a minute or two. Cum might be a pretty nutrient-rich food, but seriously, you're gonna need something solid in ya before folks start arriving. You mind spaghetti? Already got some cold noodles ready, and two sorts of sauce. Only take a few to heat it up."

"Spaghetti's fine," Rudolph murmured, obviously in a serious daze right about then. "I like marinara sauce best." Can't say that I blame the kid for being out of it, of course. I mean, he was basically being abandoned by his friends to the tender mercies of a whole neighborhood of almost insanely horny male morphs. Judging from his sheath, all nice 'n plumped out, though, I don't think he really minded too much.

"Here," I told him, giving the kid a pat on the back, before setting out the bowl and bottle, along with a fork for the noodles and a spoon for the sauce. "The fiber in the noodles should make the fun tonight even better for ya, too. At least as long as you wait an hour or two to let it digest. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I hear someone at the door."

Rudolph didn't object, even if I actually didn't hear anybody at the door. I'm sure he knew it, too, because, well...magic. Still, I went to the door of the apartment building anyway, just kind of going on trust. I mean, everything else was weird right now, so why not this too?

Sure enough: about when I was arm's length from the door, I heard an almost whisper-soft tapping, like whoever was on the other side was too timid for anything louder. Arching an eyebrow, and knowing it was way too early for the local gang to have made it here, even for that wicked panther Cassius, or his hoodlum wolf friend Philo, I gripped the knob, and opened the door.

To say I was taken aback would be putting it mildly. To say that I had all the words snatched out of my mouth was pretty apt too. My eyes fell on a pair of the most beautiful blue peepers I'd ever seen, and I kind of...well...just stood there, honestly, trying hard not to check out the sweater puppies barely contained by the equine angel's sweater, or the way her tight designer jeans clung to her flawless figure. Mostly, I think I succeeded, but with a face like that, it wasn't really all that hard.

"S-sorry," said the ponygirl timidly, her soft, palomino-furred cheeks showing a bit of color, while her ears tilted back in adorable bashfulness; I guess I couldn't really blame her, though, considering some of the stuff that was said about us rough types over in morphtown, and her obviously a high-class lady. "I didn't mean to bother you. It's just, my car broke down over that way, right off the highway, and this was the first place that looked like there might be someone I could ask for help."

Eyes straying a moment down the street, I saw big, black Cassius ambling up the street, that sharp-toothed grin of his wide and gleaming as he played those sexy evil eyes up and down the hind end of the ponygirl on my doorstep. Right next to him were Philo, the slender grey wolf with his serious face and quiet charm, and Chud, the big, Mohawk-sporting hyena that was such a boisterous barbarian type. Actually, I was glad Chud was with the other two: at least he has some common decency. All it took was me giving the broad-shouldered, spotty-furred male a motion with my head, letting him know they were welcome inside (and, incidentally, not around the lady in front of me), and I could leave the rest to him.

Putting a big hand gently on the palomino babe's shoulder, I gave her a smile as I stepped off the front steps, and started down the street with her, aware of Rudolph in the doorway right behind me, his eyes huge as Cassius, Philo, and Chud zeroed in on the smoking hot preyboy, closing fast. I suspected the bit of red sauce on his lip wouldn't be there for too much longer.

"Glad to help out, ma'am," I said as gallantly as I could manage, though I knew I came off as a clod no matter how hard I tried; I've always been better with actions than words, after all. "I used to fix tanks and jeeps in the service. Maybe I can help out with your car."

"That's awfully nice of you," the shy ponygirl replied, and I could've sworn she bit her lip before she put one hand on my arm as we walked toward the highway exit. "I'm from the west coast, visiting relatives out here, and was just on my way back. But, well, I guess I'll be staying around here for a while. I'm just glad I found a friendly face."

"Yeah," I replied, doing everything I could to keep from blushing until I exploded, realizing - too late! - that I'd forgotten to put on any clothes, something that was so easy to forget when you're covered in your winter coat, and the soles of your feet are tough as leather. "Just...just happy to help out ma'am. Any way I can."

"I'm sure you will," she replied, pressing a little closer.

Happy holidays indeed.