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Chakkir's Rest, Chapter 4

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Walking had become something of a challenge for Khendar.

Oh, he could cross a room easily enough, taking one wobbling step at a time. But an entire town was a different matter. He couldn't even guess how much extra fluid weight he was carrying around with him, his torso sloshing audibly with every motion, his limbs thickened and rippling with fluid jiggles every time his arms swung or his legs took a step. He hadn't drained enough for his extremities to go back to normal before stuffing that plug underneath his tail, and he had a hard time so much as curling his fingers together. They were so much thicker than usual, the dense cum filling them almost always keeping them perpetually straightened.

He drew looks, too, of course. Oh, did Khendar ever draw looks. Even the supernatural townsfolk who called Chakkir's Rest home had to do a double take when the deer waddled past, though they didn't seem quite as surprised as he thought they should be. Some looked at him with wide eyes and lifted brows, shaking their heads after staring for a few seconds, while others leaned close to each other and started whispering as Khendar passed.

That was nothing compared to the shocked gasps that came from the other caravaneers once he found his way back to the bazaar. He hurried as much as he could toward the stables beside the town square, ducking his head low and staring at the cobblestones to avoid making eye contact with anyone he knew. He had been swollen to nearly spherical in the middle, his arms unable to lower fully without causing his rounded abdomen to bounce, his legs spread slightly even as he walked because his thighs were too thick to stand straight up and down against each other anymore. There was no explaining that away, and so he hastened his waddling steps to keep from having to talk to anyone at all.

Once he reached his cart, he finally met someone's eyes. His donkey, hitched outside the stables beside his small wagon, shied away from Khendar as the deer began to walk past, and Khen looked up from the hay-strewn cobbles to find the animal shaking his shaggy mane and looking him up and down, looking as confused as a feral animal could.

"Oh, don't you start," Khendar muttered, and the sound of his voice calmed the donkey. It tilted its head at him, but he was too worn out from the walk to soothe the animal any further. Groaning, he hauled himself up into the back of his wagon, needing to push sacks of clothing aside and knocking over a couple piles of pots and firewood and other traveling essentials before he had room. It wasn't a big cart, by any means, but he'd always been able to climb inside easily enough. Not so, now. His swollen middle touched both walls at the same time, and he couldn't keep himself bent at the waist to stay sitting for long before the tension in his sloshing body forced him to flop down on his back, all that fluid weight swishing around and gurgling like mad.

He couldn't keep this up. The walk had taken long enough that Khendar was getting at least a little more comfortable being so swollen, but he still felt strained, his hide stretched thin and his cum-saturated muscles exhausted. He had to relieve all that pressure, so now that he was in the familiar privacy of his cart, he awkwardly shuffled his trousers down far enough to expose his crotch and plumped-out rump. He really had to squeeze his forearm down against his rear cheek to reach far enough to grasp the end of the plug underneath his tail, but found that it was lodged in him too securely to remove without twinges of discomfort making him wince. Taking a few deep breaths, the stag tried to relax his backside as much as he could, getting a good grip and steadily pulling, but it was no use. The pressure of all of Gehart's semen inside him would normally have helped, but since it was flooding his entire body now and not just his digestive tract, the extra swelling kept his sphincter locked down too tight to budge the plug an inch.

With an exasperated breath, the deer let go and slumped back, leaving his pants tucked down around his thighs. He stared at the inside of his wagon's canvas cover, sprawled out as much as the small wagon bed would allow him.

Had that really just happened? Khendar knew that Gehart and the other demi-mortals had unnatural powers, and he could hardly argue with the evidence of his own sloshing body, but still... How could he have been filled so far and still be able to move around? Powers or no powers, how had Gehart even done it in the first place? The older stag was well enough hung, Khendar supposed, but it wasn't like Gehart was walking around with hundred-gallon tanks for balls. Where did it all come from?

Khendar's tailhole twitched around the plug wedged inside of it, and he felt his sheath do the same. He couldn't hope to get a glimpse of his own crotch with his mountainous belly in the way. He wasn't even sure if he would be able to reach around the expanse of his abdomen to touch his sheath, but by the sensations filling it, he could tell that it was as swollen with fluids as the rest of his body, the deer's hidden shaft plumped out dramatically. The mere thought made his sheath twitch again, and he could feel cool air against his peeking tip.

Was he really getting turned on by feeling so full? He shifted slightly on his back, and that tiny movement sent ripples through his whole body. His shiver afterward made it all jiggle even more.

Yes. Yes he was.

Khendar glanced down over himself, but couldn't see much except the dome of his chest, he belly rising up underneath the shirt and tunic bunched up in his armpits. It was hot, somehow, seeing exactly what Gehart had done to him. Maybe it was just because it made him relive the experience itself. But remembering that, reliving the tension he'd felt at the very height of Gehart's orgasm, able to feel lingering hints of the same strain still in his stretched skin...

He shook his head, thumping it down against the bottom of the cart and letting out a long breath. A part of him was scared. But the rest of him couldn't tell the difference from being worried and being excited.

Every part of him, regardless, was worn out. He kept staring at the canvas cover above him for a long while, listening distractedly to the noises of the bustling bazaar outside of his wagon, but eventually he let his eyes shut, and his breathing slowed enough for him to doze off into a restless half-sleep.

***

"You're a stag of remarkable talents."

Khendar blinked his eyes open, the inside of his canvas wagon cover blurring until he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. His ears shot up attentively, though, when he realized that Gehart was sitting by Khendar's hooves, one thick leg casually propped up on the end of the small wagon bed while the other rested over its edge. "I'm... Wha...?" Khen mumbled blearily.

"You're talented," Gehart repeated with a lifted eyebrow and a small smile. "Able to tease like that without even being awake."

"Gehart," the younger deer murmured lamely, already feeling his heart start to race just by seeing the demi-mortal there. Was that excitement or anxiety? "Does... Does Owren know you're--"

"Owren and I had a nice long chat after you left," Gehart cut in. He leaned in and rested a hand on Khendar's knee. "You needn't worry yourself. Your caravan master has come around. He can be a reasonable horse, when he's able to rein in his emotions."

"So...he's all right with you being here?"

Gehart shrugged a shoulder. "You all may be in my town, but I defer to Master Owren's authority within the confines of his caravan. It should follow, then, that even though we are both currently in Owren's caravan, he should defer to your authority within the confines of your own wagon. Wouldn't you agree?"

Khendar was starting to get his bearings, but that still made his thoughts feel thick and sluggish. Or maybe that was just the semen still filling his ears. "Uh, yes?"

"Then the real question is, are you all right with me being here, Khendar?" The older stag gave his knee a gentle squeeze.

"Of course," Khendar assured him. He tried to sit up, but wasn't able to on the first attempt, the sloshing dome of his belly too heavy for him to easily move.

Gehart offered his hand, taking the younger deer's paw and helping Khendar to lever himself upright and waiting for Khen to scoot awkwardly to the back of the wagon beside him. "Are you sure? You seem tense."

Khendar shook his head with a weak laugh. "I'm just..." He gestured over himself. He was so thick, now, one side of his waist was brushing against the edge of the cart's cover while the other rested against Gehart's side, practically pinning the older buck to the other half of the wagon. "Just a little out of sorts, I guess."

"Well, you did make love to a demi-mortal. Several times." Gehart chuckled good-naturedly, casually slinging an arm partway around Khendar's shoulders. Khendar was a little bit shorter than the older stag, but they were around the same thickness, now. Khen thought he might even have been a little bit wider.

"Are all demi-mortals this productive, then?" he asked. He hadn't noticed anyone else in Chakkir's Rest filled near to bursting with supernatural semen. Gehart might have been almost as girthy, but the other deer didn't slosh audibly every time he moved.

Gehart smirked, rubbing at Khendar's back and shoulder through his shirt. "Not always, but it's not something you need worry over. This is a very normal side effect when a mortal and one of my kind mate."

"But I feel so, so full," Khendar protested. Looking down over himself, he rested a palm over his belly where his inadequate shirt was bunched up, and when he gingerly pressed down over the dome of pale tan fur, he could taste a splash of Gehart's cum in the back of his mouth. A blush rose to his cheeks when he gulped it back down.

The older buck twisted in place to trail both hands down the length of Khendar's rounded-out arm, from shoulder to wrist, fingers squeezing in just enough for Khen to feel the semen inside him squish outward from underneath Gehart's palms. "You're not in any pain, are you?" Gehart asked, watching the subtle ripples flow underneath Khendar's fur.

Khen shook his head. "Well, no. But there's still a lot of, um...tension."

"I suppose we did get a little carried away," Gehart said, but he was smiling fondly while gently caressing back up to Khendar's shoulder and down his back.

"We?" Khendar lifted an eyebrow, trying not to lean back into the demi-mortal's touch.

"I hardly did this on my own," Gehart reminded him. "Honestly, if you hadn't presented yourself so eagerly just from feeling my tongue under your tail, you wouldn't be in this predicament."

Khendar looked away from the other pronghorn, his face heating up like mad. "Uh...sorry?" Just the reminder was enough to make his sheath plump out, his tail quivering behind him. He tucked his hands between his legs and hunched his shoulders, arousal warring with his nerves.

Gehart waved dismissively with one hand, taking a moment to watch Khendar studiously before shrugging and saying, "Think nothing of it. It's in the past now. And possibly the future." With a small smirk, he gave Khen's shoulder a congenial pat. "I can hardly complain about the taste, after all."

That was enough to get Khendar to squirm where he sat, tucking his knees together as far as he could with his thickened thighs. He didn't meet the other deer's gaze, though. Normally this sort of flirting would be hitting all the right buttons, and it still was, but Khendar couldn't ignore how taut his entire body felt, with every breath and heartbeat making the cream inside him shift and swirl. He still found Gehart fiercely attractive and charming, but if he let himself get consumed by that attraction again... Khendar found himself almost wanting to ask the demi-mortal to mount him again, but he couldn't bring himself to imagine what might happen if he did, at least before he had a chance to drain properly.

The older stag distracted him by plucking idly at the collar of his tunic. "You know," Gehart mused, "as much as I enjoy seeing you like this, you're on the verge of indecent." He gestured over the bare expanse of Khendar's belly. "You've gone and turned one of my finest tunics into little more than a brassier."

"I would need my entire wagon cover to make a tunic big enough for me right now," Khendar protested, even more embarrassed, and maybe a little indignant.

"Oh, hardly." Chuckling, Gehart lowered himself to the ground past the foot of the cart and offered Khen a hand down. "Come now. I have a friend who is one of the best tailors in all of Chakkir's Rest. He just lives on the other side of town."

Khendar eyed the other buck's hand without moving. "How many tailors are even in Chakkir's Rest?"

"One or two," Gehart admitted, eyes gleaming with amusement. Khendar tried not to look too closely at those, his inverted reflection unsettling him more than it used to. "Come, Khendar. You've been so busy in your short time here. A peaceful walk across town would do you good, and my friend truly will be able to weave something magnificent for you."

Khen's ears only heated up even more. He'd been busy, all right. Busy getting bent over by his demi-mortal host. "I just had a peaceful stroll across town. Every single person I came across stared at me every step of the way."

"Of course they did. I can hardly look away from you myself."

Khendar rubbed at his swollen arm self-consciously. "Then how can you expect me to parade through everyone all over again? You said it yourself. I look indecent like this."

"'On the verge of indecent,' I said. And I can hardly look away from you because your beauty right now is breathtaking," Gehart told him without missing a beat, his hand still extended invitingly. "You wear your new curves perfectly, Khendar. The only thing that could make you more beautiful is an outfit that's made for you rather than a poorly fitting hand-me-down from an old stag."

The younger deer blinked. His face still felt heated, but hearing that made his heart flutter, and he found himself taking Gehart's hand with a bashful smile, his extra weight settling awkwardly on his hooves as he got to his feet. Gehart smiled back at him for a long moment before leaning in to plant a small but lingering kiss on the side of his muzzle. "You won't regret it," he whispered next to Khendar's face, then turned and gently pulled the other deer to walk along beside him. Or, well, to waddle along beside him, at least. After resting in his cart, it took Khendar a little while to find his stride again, and he never felt like he carried his girth as gracefully as Gehart did.

The older buck led the younger out of the alley Khendar's cart was parked in, stepping in and out of the buildings' shadows. The sun was halfway to the western horizon, nighttime not too far off. Khen must have spent several hours napping away in his overwhelmed afterglow.

They turned some heads as they left the caravan's cluster of carts and wagons, familiar faces staring at Khendar's new shape in shock. It didn't matter if they'd seen him on his way back to his cart earlier; those who had spotted him before looked just as stunned the second time around. Fortunately, they were away from all those familiar faces before long, and everyone Khendar knew must have been too bewildered to try to stop them and ask what had happened. Even more fortunately, they never crossed paths with Owren.

They were soon walking down a sparsely crowded boulevard behind the town square, the back walls of storefronts and taverns to their right with homes lining the cobblestone road on their left. They still drew their share of glances--or Khendar did, at least--but those looks were no longer surprised or confused. There were more lifted eyebrows now, and more than once Khen thought he heard a muffled snicker after he and Gehart had passed. The older stag never seemed to notice, smiling happily while looping his arm around Khendar's and pulling the waddling mortal gently forward by the elbow.

No one stopped them, but after another block, Gehart led Khen to the far side of the street after waving to someone he evidently knew, a spectacled mole striding out from the alley beside his house, wiping his hands after throwing out his day's garbage.

"Beuward! Good evening!" Gehart called out cheerfully.

The mole was one of the few who hadn't noticed the two broad cervines walking down the small street, but he looked up at the sound of his name, and smiled back as Gehart led Khendar over. "Why Master Gehart! What brings you down my street today? It feels like weeks since we last spoke." His eyes were squinting almost shut, and the small bifocals perched on his muzzle did nothing to reveal them. Khendar realized he was trying to make out the irregularity in the mole's pupils, and forced himself to look away before he became too obvious about it. For some reason he felt that would come off as rude.

"It has been weeks, Beuward. You almost never leave your house anymore."

"Yes, well, you know how it goes. No rest for the weary, all work, work, work." For just a second, the mole's smile seemed to turn sly somehow, but he was purely affable when he turned toward Khendar. "And who might this be?" For a moment his eyes were visible, enlarged by his spectacles as they widened at the sight of the younger deer. The mole's eyesight must not have been good enough to get a good look at the mortal stag until then.

Gehart patted the younger buck's back, and subtle ripples radiated outward underneath his fur. "This is young Master Khendar, a new acquaintance from the caravan renting the east corner of the square."

Beuward blinked up at Gehart, scratching an itch on the side of his face. "There's a caravan in town?"

The stag chuckled, shaking his head. "You really haven't gotten out of your house lately, have you? Surely you've at least heard the bustle from the bazaar? It's only a few blocks down."

"Well, yes, I suppose it has been somewhat noisier the past day or two. They've set up a bazaar, you say?"

Gehart nodded. "You should take a stroll over to the square and browse their wares. The caravan has all manner of skilled craftsmen. I expect you could stand to restock on supplies, as little as you've been out and about these days."

The mole chuckled, lifting an eyebrow without unsquinting that eye at all. "You believe this caravan has higher quality goods than what we make in town ourselves?"

"Better? Perhaps not; that is purely a matter of opinion. But different, certainly. Their wares might not be exotic, exactly, but they've added a pleasant variety. One of their metalworkers has a stand full of perfectly tuned wind chimes that would add some life to your porch."

Khendar smiled. He was pretty sure Gehart was just trying to drum up business for the caravan to impress him, but it made him feel warmed all the same.

"I like the peace and quiet, Gehart, you know that," Beuward said, shaking his head, but still smiling good-naturedly.

"Something else, then," Gehart pressed with a chuckle. "It's a bazaar, Beuward. You can always find something at a bazaar that you never realized you needed. Wind chimes are hardly the only trinkets they carry, or the most enticing."

The old mole was still shaking his head. "I haven't as much need for trinkets as you have," he said, putting a slight emphasis on the word. "Not at my age. And I still have plenty of the reagents and materials I picked up from the last caravan. You should see my store room. I could go months without so much as peeking out my windows, if I had a mind to."

"You wouldn't need to stock up so much if you went shopping a little more often, you know." Gehart's voice was gently chiding, but he was still smiling, as if talking to a stubborn old uncle.

"And you wouldn't need to replace your things so often if you were just a little gentler with them," Beuward countered. Though Gehart's expression never changed, there was a brief sharpness in his eyes until the mole reached up to pat the stag on the arm, chuckling. "And don't think I don't see what you're trying to do. You worry about me because I keep to myself, but I like my privacy. Always have, you know that. And I've been at the trade too long to do something foolish and blow myself up in my basement, so you needn't an absence on my part means I've gone and died without anyone noticing. Ah, don't try to deny it, I know that's what you were thinking."

Folding his arms, Gehart smirked. "Consider me chastised." He glanced at Khendar and his smirk faltered, looking chagrined for some reason, but the moment passed before Khendar could give it much thought. Gehart placed his palm on the mole's shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. "It's good to see you regardless. I'd ask to come in to join you for some tea, but Khendar here and I have some business to see to elsewhere."

"A pity, that," Beuward said, smiling and turning back toward his front door. "I might be a hermit, but you're always welcome for a drink and chat, Gehart, you know that. You and your...friends." When he looked back over his shoulder and gave Khendar a measuring glance, the mortal stag blushed, his ears flicking back in embarrassment. The cordial conversation had distracted him from his self-consciousness, but it was obvious that no matter how near-sighted the mole was, he wasn't completely oblivious.

"Another time!" Gehart called back to Beuward, taking the younger deer by the arm and steering Khendar down the street once more. Leaning in close, Gehart confided, "That was close. Beuward has terrible taste in tea."

"He's an alchemist?" Khendar asked, and when Gehart tilted his head he explained, "He mentioned reagents. So he mixes potions and elixirs and such, right?"

Gehart shrugged a shoulder. "Something to that effect." He didn't elaborate, but Khendar didn't press any further. It seemed like everything had to be shrouded in mystery in that town.

They walked another block or two with Gehart waving cheerfully at people passing the other direction. He knew everyone in the whole town, but that wasn't too big a surprise. Chakkir's Rest wasn't a tiny village, but neither was it a sprawling city. Live there long enough, and no one would be a stranger.

A little ways further, and they came across a pair of women who, for once, didn't smile and wave back at the demi-mortal stag. Two leopardesses, they took one look at Khendar and their expressions darkened. One crossed her arms and shot a glare toward Gehart while the other tugged on the first's arm, trying to turn her back the way they'd come, up a residential side street.

Gehart paused, as well, and when Khendar looked at the other deer's face, he couldn't quite read Gehart's expression. Smug and haughty, yet somehow self-conscious? That last part Khendar had never seen in the older stag before. He couldn't even quite imagine it, and as they walked toward the two leopards, he convinced himself it had just been a trick of the light.

"Gehart," one of the feline ladies said, her voice disapproving and aloof. She was the one with her arms crossed, but now that the two rotund bucks were standing in front of them, the other leopard had stopped trying to leave, as well.

"Urma. Breline." Gehart nodded to each of them in turn. "How are you both this fine afternoon?" His voice was polite, expression calm and congenial.

"We're feeling better than some," Urma said, and her expression turned even less approving when she turned toward Khendar, looking him up and down nearly with a sneer. "Not so good as others."

Not so good...as Khendar? Was she jealous of what Gehart had done to him? The younger stag leaned away from the frowning leopardess, but was too unbalanced by his extra heft and would have stumbled if Gehart didn't have their arms linked together.

"Just another day in paradise, then?" Gehart asked.

Urma shrugged, looking away. "Some things never change."

Breline, slightly shorter and skinnier than the first feline, shot a glare toward Gehart from Urma's side, muttering, "Some people never learn."

These two obviously had something against Gehart. The portly demi-mortal let go of Khendar's elbow, only to loop his arm around the younger deer's shoulders. Khendar's body was wide enough to make the gesture awkward, but Gehart still pulled him in close against his side. "Some people never do," the older stag agreed, and Khendar felt like the whole conversation was going over his head until Gehart added, "Come now. I haven't introduced you to my new...friend. Khendar, this is Urma and Breline. They are two of Chakkir's Rest's finest carpenters. Half the buildings in the town were put up by these two."

Khendar tried an uncomfortable, "Hi," but the ladies weren't interested in him. Aside from that one appraising and dismissive glance from Urma, they seemed to be trying to pretend he wasn't even there.

"Your new friend," Urma repeated contemptuously. "From the trading caravan. That you've invited to fill our inns and shout their wares in our town square. Whatever came over you, Gehart, to bring you to such an...accommodating mood?"

"Besides the coin they've been spending at our taverns, you mean?" Gehart said, chuckling. The ladies' expressions didn't shift by a hair. "Oh, come now. You can't expect me to close the town gates on a band of merchants seeking shelter from brigands. The roads are growing less and less safe these days."

For some reason, Urma's expression darkened even further. Breline spun on the spot with a sniff and stalked back the way they'd come, leaving Urma behind with her tail thrashing.

"Sometimes, Gehart, you take things too far," was all Urma said before turning around and following after her sister, head high and dignified.

Gehart let out a heavy breath, his polite mask fading with a grimace, and he pulled Khendar back onto the street to continue on across the town.

"Do those two have something against you?" Khendar asked, still feeling like an unwanted intrusion between the stag and the felines.

The older buck shook his head, giving Khendar's softened shoulders a gentle squeeze that he could feel all the way down his body. "Urma has always thought me a poor leader for Chakkir's Rest. I expect she fancies the position for herself."

"She really doesn't like outsiders, does she?"

They walked a little ways before Gehart responded. "We've had our differences with mortals. Most all of us in town have some unpleasant history or another with those from outside. I can't blame Urma for some of her...misconceptions. But she was rude to one of my guests." That last part sounded particularly grim, Gehart staring straight ahead with a thoughtful frown.

He perked right back up when he saw a familiar red panda rounding a corner ahead of them, and Khendar smiled, too, recognizing the bard from the night before. Owren's white mouse courtesan was walking with the minstrel, as well, and though Khendar still wasn't sure how he felt about her, Gehart's improved spirits were contagious.

Once again, Gehart led Khendar over and came to rest beside a nearby building, giving the younger deer's back an encouraging pat that sent the slightest of ripples down his form. Khendar looked around them with an uncertain, embarrassed smile. This was a busier street. As many people as Gehart was chatting with, it felt like he was trying to let the whole town get an eyeful of the shape he'd left Khendar in.

"Good afternoon, Master Gehart," the red panda greeted, offering a gesture that was half wave and half salute. "A pleasure to see you out and about. Giving your guest a tour of our humble village?"

"Showing him to Toppleton's," Gehart replied, smiling and lifting an eyebrow toward the other deer. "Khendar here has somehow outgrown all of his old clothes. He's in need of a new wardrobe."

"Vern Toppleton," the bard said, chuckling ruefully for some reason. "Have you warned our good tailor that you're bringing him a new project?"

"Good luck with that," the mouse beside him said, her voice quiet, but melodious and sultry. It was the first time Khendar could remember hearing her speak.

Gehart chuckled, as well. "I'm sure our good tailor will be eager for the custom, Ambrose."

"Oh, without a doubt," the red panda said, grinning. "He's always positively bursting with eagerness, that one. Just say the word 'work' and he'll take off running."

"To find his needle, no doubt," Gehart agreed affably. "And where might you two be heading?"

"To the bazaar," the mouse said quietly, idly straightening the shoulder straps of her sleeveless green dress. It wasn't as revealing as what she'd worn last night, but still complimented her figure to full effect.

The minstrel nodded, gesturing with the lute he held with one hand. "We thought a performance might be in order. Especially with all the extra ears to hear and eyes to watch. Might you be done at the tailor's in time to join us? Gods and devils know you can put on quite the show yourself, Gehart."

"Perhaps. Though I expect it will take some time for Vern to put an outfit together to my standards."

"There are always other days," the bard told him cheerfully, then turned toward the other stag. "And young Master Khendar. Do you feel you will still be with us in a week's time? I head a troupe of actors in town, and once a month we put together a small performance. I should be honored if you would make an appearance."

"That will be entirely up to Master Owren," Gehart said.

"Ah, yes, our good Master Owren." The red panda kept his attention on Khendar, and there was a subtle change to the nature of his smile, though Khen couldn't put his finger on what was different. "A ballad could be composed about that stallion. Leading a caravan in such perilous times, and in such treacherous surrounds, as well. The choices he must be faced with, and such high stakes for making a mistake." He gave the others a long pause before turning back to Gehart. "But the ballad has yet to be finished, and Owren is not the only player, is he? I hope to see you both at the play next week, Master Gehart, if not sooner!"

Smiling and merrily humming a tune that sounded somehow both cheerful and foreboding, the minstrel led the mouse courtesan away from the two stags, ringed tail swishing behind him.

The older deer spent a few moments watching the red panda's back, frowning thoughtfully. When the minstrel and mouse rounded a corner and walked out of sight, Khendar gave the other buck's hand a small squeeze. "Gehart?"

Drawing a deep breath, Gehart shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder about that one," he said cryptically, but then he was all smiles again, rubbing over Khendar's upper back and guiding him onward. "Come now. The tailor is just a couple blocks away."

After just another half block, it seemed like Gehart was going to distract them with yet another conversation, waving down someone he saw on the other side of the street. It was a short and heavy jackalope almost as big around as Gehart himself, and when he saw the demi-mortal stag, his long ears perked happily, and he took a step toward the two deer.

Then he took in Khendar, and his expression completely reversed, ears laying flat and muzzle turning to a cute, pudgy frown. At least it would have been cute if it wasn't rapidly changing to a snarl.

"Pashor!" Gehart called out, though he was just as aware of the jackalope's reaction. "How is the day treating you?" Gehart's voice was cheerful, yet cautious.

Pashor didn't answer. He just turned his abruptly accusing eyes from Khendar to the older stag, then spun on his heel and stalked away.

Looking up at Gehart's own frown, Khendar started to connect a few dots. That jackalope really had been sporting quite the belly. Clearing his throat, Khen lifted his chin and proudly patted the side of his gut, shivering from the sloshing wobble that sent through him, and the shiver only made those jiggles worse. "I think he was jealous," he told the other stag.

That made Gehart smile, which was exactly what Khendar had been going for. "I suspect you're right," he said, shaking off the jackalope's rudeness and squeezing Khendar's squishy hand. "All right, then. Almost there."

The tailor's shop didn't look any different from the buildings around it aside from the sign out front with a thimble painted in gray on the faded brown wood. A single story house, it didn't have a porch to speak of, just three steps leading up to its plain door, which Gehart knocked on politely as soon as he was within reach.

Khen was finally starting to breathe a little easier now that they were about to step away from the busy streets and all those amused and judgmental locals. He rocked himself up and down on his toes, blushing at the way it sent the fluids inside him sloshing. He was actually starting to like that, a little. It was like a massage from the inside, even if it threatened to knock him over if the sloshing gained too much momentum.

It took another knock, this one a little louder, before an irritated, "I'm coming, I'm coming, don't break the door down," came from inside the tailor's shop. There was a quiet patter of footsteps, and the door opened, revealing a grumpy looking brown-furred weasel, his clothing looking rather shabby and rumpled for a tailor. The weasel stood quite a deal shorter than either of the bucks, but still planted his fists on his hips while frowning up at Gehart. Then he took in the sight of Khendar, standing behind the other stag. The weasel looked Khen up and down with a blank expression, then rolled his eyes with a put-upon, disgusted groan. "Guh. No, Gehart. Just no."

Vern Toppleton started to shut the door in their faces, but Gehart blocked it with his hand, gently yet firmly pushing the door the rest of the way open and shouldering his way past the short tailor. "I know it's short notice," he began, and Khendar was surprised to find his older friend blushing. "But as you can see, Master Khendar here is in rather urgent need of a more accommodating outfit, and I immediately thought of you for the job."

Vern crossed his arms, expression unphased. "Not going to work, Gehart."

The older stag's eyebrows lifted innocently. "There are any number of tailors and seamstresses in town. I could go commission someone else instead--"

"Yes, you could."

"--But no one else in Chakkir's Rest has your gift with a needle. Come now, Vern, I promised my young friend here the absolute best garments money can buy. Where else would I have brought him than to you?"

The short weasel looked to one side, glaring irritably at a spot on the wall and grimacing. For some reason, Gehart's smile grew more relaxed. "Skill is a rare gift," he began, but the weasel cut him off.

"It's not a gift. It's the product of ages of work and practice." Gehart just smiled down at him amicably, and Mr. Toppleton tapped his foot on the floor for a few seconds before turning around, leaving the door open behind him as he stepped into his shop. "Well, don't just stand there," is all he said.

Smirking, Gehart patted Khendar on his sloshing shoulder, urging the younger buck to squeeze through the tailor's doorway. And it was a squeeze. His sides were both grazed as he stepped inside, making the fluids inside him squish forward with a bizarre swishing sensation before washing back around him and redistributing through his body once he was in the shop.

"You truly are the best, Vern," Gehart said, using the close quarters as an excuse to rub up against Khendar's back as he stepped into the shop, as well. There really wasn't very much room in there, the aisles between clothing stands narrow enough that at his normal size, Khendar wouldn't have had much space to move around. As it was, the deer couldn't take a step in any direction without bumping into something.

Returning from a merchant's desk at the back of the shop, the tailor held up a ball of yarn, unwinding a long string as he walked. "As you've made abundantly clear," he said, looking Khendar up and down with another grimace. Holding his arms wide, it took no time at all for the weasel to figure out that he wouldn't be able to circle the string around the mortal deer by himself, so he sighed and handed one end of the yarn to Khen, poking the stag in the belly. "Hold that right there," he said, seemingly oblivious to the ripples that firm prod sent through the deer's form, "and don't move it for anything, got it?"

Blushing, Khendar did as he was told, holding the end of the string right against his bellybutton. "Okay..."

Mr. Toppleton simply walked a circle around the deer, then, brushing past Gehart and cinching a loose loop around Khen's ballooned middle. It bunched inward just a tad when the weasel returned to the deer's front, completing the circle and drawing it tight, and Khendar blushed further at the way his body fluffed out above and below the string.

Tying a knot to mark the deer's broad circumference, the weasel went on to briskly measure his arms and legs, from wrist to shoulder and wrist to armpit, and from ankle to hip, then up along the inseam of the deer's legs, casually nudging the shape of Khendar's cum-filled sack and sheath to one side to reach that yarn all the way up to his groin. Khen gasped, but the weasel was already moving on after that, spinning in place and heading over to one side of the room, where a too-narrow door gave way to a large stall with mirrors on three walls and a bench across from the door. "This way."

Khendar took it slow, crossing that shop, every step squishing himself against a hat rack or a shelf of folded trousers. The weasel rolled his eyes when the deer knocked several button-down shirts off their racks, but there was no avoiding it. Fortunately, Gehart was following him closely, and returned everything he knocked down back to where they belonged.

Toppleton just jerked his head toward the dressing room when Khendar hesitated outside its open door. That doorway wasn't made for someone of his new...stature. But after taking a deep breath, he wedged his belly into the narrow gap, feeling an increased pressure in the rest of his body as his midsection scrunched in to let him wobble through.

He didn't breathe again until he was inside the stall, finding it plenty roomy enough for him now that he was through the door. The weasel tailor huffed and disappeared into his shop, and Gehart took the opportunity to squeeze into the dressing room along with Khendar. The demi-mortal buck was grinning, but before he could say anything, the weasel cleared his throat and shoved an armload of clothes into Gehart's hands. "Have him try these on while I get started," he said gruffly, spinning around and heading toward a back room, leaving the two deer alone.

Chuckling, Gehart shut the stall's door, sealing the two of them in with a single lantern flickering high in the ceiling's corner. By himself, Khendar had fit in there easily enough, but with Gehart there, too, they couldn't help but press up against each other and the mirrors around them, each movement bumping them against each other again.

That made it especially awkward when Gehart leaned to one side and set the bundle of clothes on the stall's single bench. They both already knew nothing in that pile would fit Khendar. "What would you like to try on first?" Gehart asked anyway, lifting an eyebrow with an amused smirk.

Khendar looked down at the clothes on the bench. They were probably the largest garments in the tailor's shop, but still nowhere near big enough for him. "I...I don't think..." he began, going quiet when he felt a firm grope at his backside.

"Hmm?" Gehart just smiled at him, fingers squishing into an over-jiggly buttock while Khendar blushed. "You don't think what?"

The younger stag tried not to let it show just how flustered he was. Drawing himself up, he cleared his throat. "I don't think there's enough room in here for me to try on anything," he said, and that was also true.

"Oh? Would you like me to step outside? Give you some privacy?" Gehart reached toward the closed door as if to do just that, but Khendar grabbed onto the older deer's arm to stop him.

"I didn't say that."

A thick-fingered hand pressed into Khendar's belly, fondling the taut fur exposed under his poorly fitting tunic before caressing up to squeeze at one of the mounds of his chest. Gehart leaned close enough for the other deer to feel his breath on his cheek, their bodies pressing up against each other firmly. "Then what should we do while Master Toppleton works, I wonder?"

Khendar rolled his eyes, his blush deepening. "I mean..."

He was cut off when Gehart kissed him on the lips, his ears standing up in surprise, then folding back again as he melted against the demi-mortal's lips. Gehart chuckled into the kiss, his arms hugging around Khendar. Or at least around as much of Khendar's sloshing bulk as he could reach. The older buck slowly turned them so that Khendar's back was to the bench. It should have felt awkward, both of them needing to shuffle around with tiny steps to keep their lips locked like that, the younger deer's body jiggling with every motion, but that kiss kept Khendar from getting embarrassed by his near immobility.

He felt the bench against the back of his knees, and found himself sitting down, the kiss breaking as Gehart stayed on his feet in front of him. Khendar had to steady himself with his paws at his hips, waiting for the fluids inside him to stop sloshing while he caught his breath. His eyes went wide when the older deer's fingers began working at the laces of Gehart's trousers, making short work of the standing buck's belt and fly.

"What if he hears?" Khendar whispered, his heart racing at the thought.

Gehart just gave him a confident smile, his voice a low murr. "What if I want him to hear?" He pushed his trousers down, exposing a firming chub under his belly along with his full, plump balls. With a kick of one cloven hoof, he sent his pants to a corner of the stall, then crouched in front of Khendar, leaning in and nibbling playfully over one of the younger stag's ears. "What if I want you to moan loud enough for good Mr. Toppleton to throw us out?"

Khendar shivered, but he shook his head. As much as he could with his earlobe between Gehart's flat teeth, anyway. "I don't think you really want that at all," he said breathlessly. The demi-mortal laughed quietly, a deep, masculine chuckle, but Khendar tried his best not to melt from all that nibbling. "I...I saw you before, when Toppleton first met us at the door. You...you were, hff, blushing..."

Gehart did pause, then, but only to pull back and draw Khendar's lower lip between his teeth with a brief, teasing nip. "Like you're blushing now, you mean?"

Lifting his chin when the other stag's lips and teeth moved lower along his jawline, Khendar gasped, feeling the fur at the side of his neck bunch out around a firm press of the demi-mortal's muzzle. "Y-yes," he stammered. "You'd...be embarrassed...if he saw us like this..."

A thick-fingered hand caressed down Khendar's jiggling chest and belly, tucking between his round thighs until it could cup his package, finding him already fully erect beneath his poorly fitting trousers. "Do you want me to stop?" Gehart rumbled against Khendar's throat.

The younger stag didn't answer. He just gasped again from a firm squeeze around the bulge of his member, then slid himself off the small bench, sitting instead on his heels. Gehart had to back up to make room for him, and the older buck stood upright in the same motion, putting his crotch at eye-level to Khendar. Gulping, Khendar wasted no time, wrapping his arms around the other deer's legs and burying his face in Gehart's pubic fur, nuzzling along the side of the demi-mortal's firm phallus. He breathed deeply of the other stag's musk, pressing his nose in against warm balls and dragging his tongue across the length of the older buck's cock until his lips were at its tip.

"Well, then," Gehart said, sounding somewhat breathless himself, though still steady, taking Khendar's eagerness as answer enough. "Try not to moan too loudly." He took ahold of Khendar's antlers, smiling down at the younger buck to take the edge off the dominant act, and nudged his hips forward to dip his erection past Khendar's obligingly parting lips. "You wouldn't want me to feel embarrassed, now-oohhh..." Even Gehart's calm, controlled voice devolved into a long, low moan when Khendar wrapped his tongue around the stalk in his mouth and sucked firmly, plunging down until his entire muzzle was filled. "Ohh. Good lad." Running his thumbs along Khendar's antlers, Gehart pulled his thick hips back, then nudged them forward again, already beginning to thrust into that welcoming maw.

Khendar ran his palms up and down the back of the other deer's thighs, running his fingers through the soft fur while nursing around the cock sliding back and forth over his tongue. He was reminded of the first time he'd serviced Gehart. Only then, he'd been hiding underneath a table. This time, he had nothing between himself and the demi-mortal's face, and he used that to full advantage, looking up at Gehart from under his eyebrows while giving the older stag's cock another firm suck.

That drew a moan from Gehart once again, giving Khendar a surge of confidence, and the mortal deer slid his palms upward enough to cradle Gehart's round bottom while carefully easing himself closer and relaxing his throat. Sure enough, Gehart's tip bumped against the back of his mouth, but he was able to fight back his gag reflex. Khendar breathed in deeply through his nose, then pressed the rest of the way forward, until his nose was squishing into the warm, musky fluff of the demi-mortal's soft lap.

Khendar couldn't see Gehart's face, now. The demi-mortal's belly was as effective as a tabletop, eclipsing everything above the nursing buck, but neither of them minded all that much. Khendar just swallowed deliberately around his mouth- and throatful of stag dick, sliding his face back and pushing forward again, trying to match the motions of Gehart's thrusts. At first, he was clumsy at it, bobbing forward when he should have pulled back, but eventually they found each other's rhythm, and while the older deer grasped more tightly around Khendar's antlers, he pulled Gehart against his muzzle by the demi-mortal's rump.

His hold on those soft cheeks gave Khendar a sense of control for a time, but that didn't take long to fade, as vigorous as the other buck was growing. Soon Khendar had to stop moving his face entirely, just holding still to give Gehart a place to hump. Tears formed in the corners of the younger buck's eyes, his gag reflex constantly trying to resurface, but he was able to stifle it each time it felt like he was about to choke, if barely.

Holding still let him feel just how much his body was bouncing and roiling about from getting rutted in the face. He didn't even have to reach down and touch himself; his overfull belly sloshed around so much over his lap, his own cock was getting a constant massage, even while still clothed. He was leaking pre like crazy, soaking a dark, wet spot into the front of his borrowed pants. At this point, though, Khendar didn't care. He wanted to make a mess of those trousers, to let Gehart work him up to a hands-free orgasm just by dominating his face.

As aroused as Khendar was, though, Gehart's peak was approaching more quickly. The younger deer could feel the signs. the way Gehart's fists gripped his antlers even tighter, making subtle imprints with his fingers against the not-quite-solid branches jutting from Khendar's head. The way the demi-mortal's thick legs staggered out to the sides to broaden his stance, lowering them both closer to the floor as Gehart's thrusts grew rapid-fire into Khendar's throat. The way the demi-mortal's cock firmed so much, Khendar could actually feel the bulge of veins against his lips and tongue, throbbing in anticipation.

Gehart panted loudly, his pelt damp with sweat. He grunted and he groaned, and his buttocks tensed underneath Khendar's palms, muscles flexing under the layers of squishy fat bulging between the younger deer's fingers. Then it happened. The demi-mortal stuffed himself all the way inside of the other deer's muzzle, hilting himself and grinding his groin against Khendar's nose, and Gehart's balls drew upward with a powerful flex against the other stag's chin.

The force of the older buck's orgasm shouldn't have surprised Khendar at this point, but it still did, somehow. That first gush erupted down the kneeling deer's throat, pouring into his belly like a slimy, sticky river that sent the fluids already there swirling. Gehart's cock throbbed again before the first gush even ended, and the second, then third eruption blasted into the mortal so hard, Khendar swore he could feel it against his spine!

It tried to surge up into his mouth, but Gehart's cock was plugging his throat, and the demi-mortal had Khendar's snout smothered in against the older deer's crotch, never loosening his grip around Khen's antlers. With the stout plug wedged up underneath the mortal deer's tail, the extra cum couldn't escape him in that direction, either, and so...

And so it was happening again. He'd known it would. He was under no illusions about how much Gehart could spurt out, so it wasn't a surprise when Khendar's skin began to grow even tighter with the extra fluids gushing down his throat. He gave the older stag a pat on the butt, trying to tap out, but after a small pull of his head got him nowhere, his nose still buried in Gehart's lap and his antlers still gripped tight, Khendar tried to relax, focusing on breathing through his nose while his esophagus was blasted over and over with rich, supernatural semen.

Khendar's view in most direction was blocked by a wall of soft fur, but he could still see out the corners of his eyes. He saw his reflection in the mirrors at the sides of the stall, locked firmly to Gehart's quivering lap as the older buck's orgasm continued at full force. It took a few gushes while Khendar watched for the change to be visible, as rounded out as he'd been to begin with, but he could see himself growing broader, his poor shirt lifting over the expanding dome of his belly, his trousers trying vainly to stretch around the swelling globes of his rump. His arms and legs sloshed thicker by the moment, as well, his pelt stretched so far around the fluids filling him, he could actually see a faint wave run through his fur from shoulders to fingers with each of Gehart's throbs.

His shirt was lifted all the way to his armpits, constricting there as his upper chest tried to expand, as well. It was starting to grow uncomfortable, as were the pants wrapped around his swelling legs. How much longer would Gehart cum? How much more could those inadequate garments take?

...How much more could Khendar take?

It had been hard to bend his fingers before. Now they were stuck in a wide, five-fingered splay, unable to curl at all around Gehart's soft bottom anymore. His hoofed feet were growing thicker, along with the rest of him, the keratin growing oversaturated with the pearly slime spreading through his body. The tears in the corners of his eyes grew an opaque, off-white, and he practically expected it to start coming out his ears, as much tension filled him. He knew his antlers were softening further, expanding in the tight grasp of Gehart's hands. Was Khendar sweating cum? It felt like he should be, but aside from those semen tears, the rest of his body somehow kept it all contained.

Gehart began to slowly withdraw his hips, but only so that he could thrust back in to the hilt, further stimulating himself with the wet friction of the other deer's gulping throat. Khendar's relieved gasp was cut short with a wet splash of stag cum funneling out around Gehart's length, and the mortal deer found himself still filling more, and more, until his middle was pressing so firmly against Gehart's legs, the demi-mortal had to shuffle his feet backward, letting his weight lean forward over Khendar's belly and chest so that the younger stag's face could stay planted in Gehart's lap.

The growth only seemed to drive the older buck's lust even wilder. Gehart huffed through his nose and grinded his crotch against Khendar's muzzle while Gehart stared into one of the stall's mirrors, as well. Khendar's ears perked at the sound of tearing cloth, and he peered out from the corner of his eye, watching while his tunic's collar seam began to split, first stretching far enough for his fur to be visible between the threads, then ripping entirely. As soon as that happened, the tunic tore down from collar to waist--or at least the waist of the garment, which was spread and straining over the deer's gut. But the lower hem held for a few moments longer, bunching in around the top of the stag's inflating belly until it just couldn't contain the growing pressure.

The tunic shirt must have been tearing somewhere behind him at the same time, because when those last strands finally gave in, the cloth exploded outward from his body in at least three different pieces, setting Khendar's midsection to sloshing in turgid waves. The waves didn't last long, though. His body was simply filled too full, his skin taut enough to begin to restrict all his fluid wobbling.

His trousers didn't last much longer, white and brown fluff already sticking out through tears running up and down the length of his pants. He trembled, watching in astonishment as his legs, following the course of the rest of his swelling form, threatened to burst free of their fabric confines.

Gehart began thrusting into Khendar's muzzle again, if only in short, inch-long presses, not enough to let any fluids escape through the younger deer's mouth. Something new was surging through Khendar's form while his trousers creaked around his legs. A new sensation, a pressure that matched the tension he felt in his hide and muscles and bones, yet was somehow faint and subtle at the same time as intense. He had a hard time thinking straight with that extra pressure, even though he couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was he was feeling. It was like anxious expectation given physical form.

Another loud rip filled the dressing stall, and the tattered scraps of Khendar's pants fluttered to the floor, leaving him fully naked, a sprawled sphere of a deer with arms and legs struggling to stay bent, they were so full of supernatural seed. Almost in the same instant, he felt himself cumming. It almost felt as if his own climax had made his trousers burst away from him. But even as he spurted his own, thinner ropes of cum between Gehart's hooves, that new, pressured sensation lingered. It began to grow slightly stronger, until...

With a reluctant groan, Gehart pulled his hips back, leaving one last spurt to splatter onto Khendar's tongue, filling the younger stag's mouth as the demi-mortal slipped his spent shaft out past Khen's lips. Both deer were panting, but at least that unfamiliar, tense sensation was gone, now.

Gehart actually had to brace an arm on the wall behind him, right beside the dressing room door. "Hoo..." The older buck drew in a few long, deep breaths, smiling as he looked over his handiwork. "Don't know what came over me," he said with a pleased chuckle, squeezing out a long dollop of cum that swung from his tip and drooled halfway to the floor before breaking free and falling the rest of the way with a wet splat. "Wasn't sure I'd get control of myself, that time."

Khendar couldn't answer. He still had the other deer's last full spurt of cum in his mouth, enough to bulge his already inflated cheeks. How could he swallow, as full as he already was? There wasn't enough room inside him for another single drop, he was sure of it, and if he tried to get that final mouthful down...

A tiny bit trickled out the corner of his mouth and dribbled down over his chin. He looked up and met Gehart's eyes, knowing that the older stag would approve whatever Khendar decided to do with that mouthful. But somehow Khen thought Gehart would like it more if it all stayed inside him.

With a determined effort, Khendar gulped, getting down a tiny bit of his mouthful. Then he swallowed again, then another time, working it all down a few drops at a time, until his mouth was empty enough for him to breathe through it again. Which was a good thing, as dizzy as he'd become from lack of air. There was only so much oxygen he could get while panting through his nose around a cock lodged in his throat.

They just waited there, both bucks trying to catch their breath, Gehart standing and Khendar kneeling in front of the bench, unwilling to risk moving a muscle. He wasn't sure he could talk, even with his mouth empty now. His tongue felt swollen with all the cum Gehart had flooded him with. Khendar wasn't sure how it might have affected his vocal cords.

Eventually, Gehart let out a content sigh and leaned forward, bumping bellies with the overfilled mortal in the dressing stall with him. Khendar's whole body sloshed, as much as it was able to, as the older deer leaned against him and caressed the side of his face with a warm palm. "Thank you for that," Gehart said warmly, then turned toward the little door behind him and called out to the tailor, "Vern! Do us a favor and let out the new outfit by another three...make that four inches!"

His only response was an unintelligible curse from the weasel's workshop.