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This vignette was written for Yui_olp as part of my Patreon request days for December. It contains M/Solo masturbation and fantasies of M/F sex involving a consenting adult. :3

Embracing the Rut

Sage settled back in his chair, unfastened the belt of his robe and began to stroke himself. There had been a time when doing what he was doing had seemed like some wild experience, totally outside of his own control. But now, Sage was the master of his own body, even when it was in rut. The stag huffed, closing his eyes as his hand settled upon his straining erection. In the past he had filled his mind with fantasies of other people to heighten his pleasure, but now the clearer his mind was, the more pure the ecstasy that rushed through it. With every axon dedicated to processing and memorising every sensation of his masturbatory bliss, that was all he needed.

His hand moved slowly at first, the deer smirking as he felt his body demanding more, as he felt his arousal building to ever greater extremes. Outwardly though nothing changed, aside from an ever so steady, gradual, measured increase in the rate and the force at which he stroked himself. He shifted his legs a bit, altering the stance in which he was seated to push his hips a little further out from the chair and to more freely allow his cock to point directly skyward as he stroked it. His fingers ran up and down its underside. They squeezed at its head. He grunted as a string of pre-cum splattered across his stomach and chest, that slightest bit of increased stimulation producing such a potent response. And yet, he knew it was just the beginning. There was so, so much more to come, and he had all of that to look forward to, once he'd finished slowly, carefully letting his pleasure rise to the level where such rapture could be held back no longer.

To anyone watching the stag masturbate, it might have seemed as though he wasn't making progress at all. If anyone had known the signs though, the slight flaring of his nostrils, the occasional rocking back and forth of his hoofed feet against the wooden floor, the twitching of his ears and tail, they would have known exactly how to judge how close Sage was to orgasm just as the deer knew it about himself. They would have known that no matter how calm his body might have been his mind was a churning inferno of bellowing, savage, primal lust begging to be unleashed. And when it was, inside or out, there was absolutely no denying its almighty intensity.

With a single breathless snort and a ragged huff, Sage let his head lean back against the chair behind him, and felt pleasure consume him as his orgasm took hold. The first shot of cum, though it was less a shot and more a sustained surge that flowed from him like a firehose for close to ten seconds, struck the ceiling directly over Sage's head and began to immediately rain down all over him. The second eruption was longer, persisting for thirty seconds as it drummed at the ceiling and coated the stag from head to toe in his own cum. After that, the additional volume was rather irrelevant. Eventually Sage tilted his cock so he could spray his cum across the room instead, opening eyes all but glued together by his own cum to watch himself paint the wall and coat the floors in what was rapidly becoming less like a series of large puddles and more one shallow lake.

By the time he began to come down from that high, even the trailing off of his orgasm a gradual thing with his cock still cumming, just progressively less so over the course of a minute until it was ejaculating more conventionally normal quantities of cum, the already chilled out deer was even more relaxed. He murmured, stretched out in his seat, and let his body fall entirely limp save for the continued twitching of his cock. There he rested, feeling the cum clinging to his fur, the excess dripping off and soaking into the chair below while larger quantities dripped and oozed from the ceiling. He knew eventually he'd have to take a shower, but for now he was happy to exist right there, covered in his own scent, and play back the images and sensations of what he had just shared with himself. After all, his rut was only just beginning, and as a result his mind and body alike would want to indulge in lots, lots more before they were anywhere close to sated.

*******

Leaning back against the wall of the shower, the stag smiled gently to himself as he felt the flow of water rushing against his still rigid cock. The cum had recently been washed from his body, and now that he was clean once more he'd shifted the direction of the shower-head so that it was pouring water at full pressure across the length of his erection. His hands rested limp at his sides, making no effort to add to or hasten the stimulation of his body. He really didn't have to wait all that long though, his mind already primed with the vivid memories of one powerful climax, and his body eager to experience those sensations once again.

This time when he let loose, he left his cock free to do as it wished. The first several spasms painted the far wall of the shower cubicle, before a particularly violent twitch of the deer's cock sent cum hammering up against the shower-head with pressure enough to twist it to a new angle as it painted the ceiling above. Sage rocked his hips back and forth slightly, humping the air as his body reacted to suddenly being denied the excess stimulation of the shower's water, but his rut already had him in its clutches to the point where the beginnings of an orgasm were more than enough to self-perpetuate the rest of its pleasure without any need for additional contact. Spurt after spurt, minute after minute he soaked the already steamy, glistening shower cubicle with his cum, and by the time his orgasm started to fade once more the drains by his hooves had already been well and truly overwhelmed, with cum flooding around his calves and oozing out of the shower's sliding door to the bathroom floor beyond.

Before stepping out of the shower though, Sage reached up, twisted the shower-head downward once more, and stepped back into its full flow. His body was streaked with cum all over again, and though this time it hadn't rained down on him in quite such obscene quantities he still wanted to be spotless, clean, and thus free from the temptation of his own musky, rut-ridden scent while he ate dinner.

*******

So close.

Sage was so close to making it through dinner without making a mess.

He cooked without surrendering to the temptation of his cock rubbing up against the fabric of his apron. He plated up the meal and sat down at the kitchen table rather than going through to the living room, where any number of TV shows could have set him off with a provocative image. He was almost three quarters of the way through his meal before he idly moved his legs closer together, and in doing so gently stimulated his balls. His eyes widened, he sighed softly, and mere seconds later a loud thud followed by an even louder splashing echoed around the room as his cock struck the underside of the table at which he was seated, and he began to flood the kitchen's tile floor with wave after abundant wave of endlessly productive cum.

*******

Another shower followed Sage's attempt to clean up the kitchen, though that mostly consisted of opening the back door and washing the cum out into the lush, fertile grass of his back yard with a mop. He did make it through the shower orgasm free though, and towelled himself off without even finding himself tempted to massage his cock with the soft fabric. That was less because of a lack of desire to cum though, and more because he had already promised his body its next release. Or rather, a whole evening of continued, back to back orgasms once his chores were completed. Thus, the stag was grinning from ear to ear as his cock led him into his bedroom that night. He flopped down upon his bed, pulled the covers up over himself, and bent his knees to provide a tent-like space in which he could reach down and wrap not one, but both hands around his already liberally leaking cock.

Now, he could indulge.

He didn't have to focus on having the best orgasms, because he could have more, and more, and more of them until he was unable to remain conscious enough for his brain to provoke any more.

He started to squeeze himself. To stroke himself as he humped his cock up against his trembling hands.

He grunted audibly. He huffed, moaned, and even let slip a soft, longing bellow of desire as his mind began to spin.

Sage let himself fantasise, just as he had that first time he'd surrendered to his rut and its obscene potential for pleasure. A thousand images flashed through his mind of beautiful does and stags of all shapes and sizes, buff and petite, quadruped and biped alike.

They bred.

They surrendered to instinct, but went beyond it too. They fucked not just for biological imperative, but for pleasure. For ecstasy. Lowing, snorting, practically roaring to one another as those hundreds upon hundreds of simultaneous fantasies lost themselves to orgasm, while the stag lying in his bed groaned, huffed, and felt the sheets resting upon him getting heavier and heavier, stickier and stickier as he too began to cum, and began to saturate the fabric around himself until he was practically encased in a cum-drenched cocoon.

The smell, the heat, the texture of cum surrounded and suffused Sage's already reeling, unrestrained mind, and as he came yet again with volume enough to send cum trickling down from all sides of his creaking, squelching mattress, the stag found his fantasy-stricken mind wishing for what it always ended up wishing for when he let it roam free.

He imagined a doe, a woman somewhere out there in a permanent, unstoppable state of heat. A woman for whom all other men were but a temporary distraction before her demands grew too much, and their lust for her turned to fatigue.

He imagined meeting her.

Smelling her. Knowing exactly what she was feeling. What she needed.

And he imagined the result of knowing such a woman, of being in her presence and in the presence of her heat-stricken aroma.

Constant rut.

Never ending.

Never diminishing.

Rutting, breeding, fucking, cumming forever.

By Jeeves

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