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Dress Rehearsal

Dance Academy Cockfest - Prequel

© 2022 Bruno Hirschkoff

*

Gerald Hirschkoff could scarcely contain his excitement. He'd been offered his dream job. Well, of a sort. It was the most he could reasonably expect, given his patchy history. After arriving unannounced on his brother Bruno's doorstep months earlier, he'd followed his elder brother's advice and searched high and low through industries utterly disconnected from the performing arts, but with no success. Gerald Hirschkoff was a performer. He always had been, even when he'd been an obnoxious little fawn. His brief, debaucherous career as a stage actor in Frawic had come grinding to a very abrupt end when he'd been discovered deflowering Arman, the son of his theatre company's owner.

So it was, then, that Gerald could scarcely disguise the flutter of his heart when the Smithy Lane Stage Academy offered him a tutoring contract based on a series of glowing reviews he'd received years earlier.

The thought of how to break the news to his brother snagged in his mind, briefly, but Gerald dismissed it. Bruno would be supportive no matter what, he reasoned. If he didn't fuck it up. Gerald had been leaning on Bruno's charity for more than long enough already. His brother, and his twin boys Dieter and Kristian--who were, incidentally, Gerald's biological sons--needed to get their privacy back. While Gerald would have accepted almost anything, he could never see himself in a business suit, tapping away at a keyboard in an office cubicle somewhere. The thought of such work had always made his skin crawl.

It all started innocuously enough. After training, Gerald was assigned as a tutor for the Academy's _Stages of Development _program, which took enrolments from across the region. It was a program designed to introduce young-adult performers to the stage; to teach dance and self-expression and build confidence in those who'd had no prior performance experience. Gerald relished the job, and over several years carved out a reputation for himself as a performance instructor. Several of his students went on to take leading roles in various theatre companies around Rhocarn, and some even ended up in the film industry. Gerald was, in no uncertain terms, living his own career aspirations vicariously through his pupils. There was the occasional "moment," of course; teaching a rotating dance class full of horny, mostly queer young adults was bound to throw up such things on occasion. But Gerald kept a respectable distance between himself and the goings-on between his various students. The job was far more important than his urges.

Until, that was, he met Sammael.

*

Six Years Later

Gerald was teaching a new group. Most of the attendees were typical of what the elk had come to expect in the _Stages of Development _program, over six years of teaching it. They were a motley crew; mostly slender, effeminate types who absolutely oozed varying levels of queerness. In those days, the classes were segregated on biological lines, and Gerald was teaching the 'boys' class. Why it mattered, Gerald was unsure. It was something he was working on, behind the scenes.

Sammael was a young Ithenorian stag. Amongst Gerald's group, he stood out for his (relative) masculinity. Physically, at least. His antlers protruded asymmetrically from his mess of straw-blonde hair, the last lingering vestige of youth, a shadow of pubescence. His voice was soft and he spoke with a heavy lisp, but his shoulders were broad and strong and he stood almost a full head taller than most of the students in the group. He was also spectacularly uncoordinated, which tended to bring him the wrong sort of attention from his colleagues. His style and expression were confused and uncertain, and for the long-legged, cloven-hooved and top-heavy young stag, on-stage tumbles were a regular occurrence.

Sammael and Gerald, student and tutor, gravitated to one another with a certain inevitability in the months after Sam's enrolment. Something about antlers, and the way Sam fluttered his eyelashes at his instructor whenever Gerald came close enough to notice.

*

Sam sat alone in the changing room with his chin in his hands. The young stag was depressed. Not _clinically _depressed, just...unsure of himself. He was all antlers and hooves. Everyone else in the dance class seemed more graceful, better proportioned, better balanced, stronger... all of that. But his physicality lent a dominance to his presence in a group. He was just physically bigger than most of them, so he was unsuited to backing roles.

The only reason he stayed, he told himself, was Gerald. The elk was perhaps in his mid-thirties, old enough to have a certain air of experience and unflappability about him, but young enough to 'vibe' with his pupils. Not that Sam would've found him less attractive if he was older. Quite the opposite. In fact if Gerald had been a grizzled 50-something Sam would've perhaps been even more into him. The young stag sighed. He was just _horny, _and he knew it. He knew Gerald had noticed him. When he flirted, Gerald flirted right back. But they remained in orbit around each other, seemingly with no way of bridging the gap between them unless something radical happened. It was probably for the best, but Sam couldn't help the tingle he felt whenever Gerald's eyes were on him. Or his hands. Especially his hands. Those big, three-fingered hands.

Class had started. Sammael could hear the music and the sounds of choreographed stagecraft through the swing-doors of the changing room in which he sat. He'd missed the start, and he didn't want to draw even more attention to himself by joining late. Everyone would probably just assume he'd been beating off in the changing room or something. It wouldn't have been the first time, but right now his mind was very much elsewhere.

The Smithy Lane Academy provided uniforms for their students. Whoever had come up with the idea of white leotards either had no idea whatsoever, or knew _precisely _what they were doing. Either way, most of the students wore gym shorts or compression tights over them. Sam didn't. The leg seams of the leotard lined up near-perfectly with the transition in the stag's fur colour from the rich mocha-caramel of his thighs, to the downy off-white of his abdomen. From the front, at first glance, the leotard on Sammael looked like he was naked. Sam liked that. So did Gerald.

Sam stood from the bench he'd been sitting on and rubbed vigorously at his buttocks to get his blood moving again. He wasn't going to attend this week's class, he decided. He stepped into his sweatpants and pulled them up over his leotard. He wanted to speak with Gerald after he was done teaching, in an hour or so. In the meantime, he decided, he would wander around the Academy, try and rekindle his excitement for the stage.

*

Used to store costumes and props for the Smithy Lane Theatre Company, the Academy's dressing room was strictly off-limits for students. Which, naturally, made it a magnet for the curious and daring. Sammael had glimpsed some of the incredible costumes he knew were stored within, from sneaking into SLTC rehearsals after his classes.

The door was ajar.

Going inside was a risk, Sam knew. He weighed it up in his mind. If he was caught, he'd be in trouble. But if he wasn't, it might help to stoke the fire of his desire to perform. He hesitated, then silently slipped inside.

Workbenches lined one wall beneath a long mirror. Makeup booths and dressing chairs were draped with the most incredible array of costumery Sammael had ever seen. It was as much an art studio as it was a dressing room! The white leotards worn by the Academy students seemed frumpy and awkward by comparison, and Sam sighed at his reflection in the long mirror. Surely no one would begrudge him the opportunity to feel a little more immersed in his space, would they?

The young stag stepped out of his sweatpants, and stood in his leotard in front of the mirror. Where should I start?

*

"...and that's our time up for this week, thank you all! Next week we'll begin rehearsing the Athonian classic play _Empress, _so I'd like you all to think about which roles you can see yourselves performing within that. We'll audition for parts, and by the end of the semester we'll be performing for the Smithy Lane Theatre Company!" Gerald said, concluding the class for the week.

The elk glanced around his cohort. Sammael was a notable absence. The young stag would be a good fit for one of the leading roles; a performance where his height and bulk would be an asset. Gerald wondered where he was. He'd seen the young stag arrive, but he hadn't attended the class.

"Baxter, would you check to see if Sammael's in the changing room, and let me know?" Gerald asked one of his students.

Baxter nodded, and moments later poked his head out of the swing-doors again to give Gerald a thumbs-down.

Gerald frowned. Where had Sam gone? The elk left his students and began searching for the missing stag.

*

Sammael's heart soared. He knew he'd gotten a little carried away, but had vigorously suppressed the part of his mind that told him to stop, to look but not touch. So there he sat, in one of the big padded dressing chairs, leaning forward under the bright rim-lights of a makeup mirror. His face glittered with makeup. Heavy, gold-flaked purple eye shadow accented the thick, dark eyeliner he'd applied. He'd combed and slicked back his hair and sprayed his antlers with a kind of stage paint that was designed to glow under lights, and his lips were painted a dark purple that complemented his eyes.

_I look so pretty! _he thought.

He'd tried on half a dozen costumes, most of them simple and easy to get in and out of without assistance. Not everything in the dressing room, though, was obviously for stage use. In his rummaging, Sammael had come across a cupboard which contained rather more spicy costumery, from leather harnesses and full-face masks to clothes that were obviously designed specifically to be revealing. Sam couldn't help how those costumes piqued his interest, among other things. Why would the professional Smithy Lane dancers have such things in their shared wardrobes? Was it just for fun, or did they do... spicier performances as well?

Sammael ran his fingers over leather, lace and lycra, and found his heart beating quicker to the thought of combining dance with eroticism. An erection swelled in his leotard. He _had _to try something on.

Hurriedly, Sam shrugged out of his leotard and stood naked in the dressing room. His sizeable, uncircumcised member bobbed gently in front of him. This was going to be such fun! A tiny pair of sparkly lycra shorts made their way up Sam's legs, and he wriggled himself into a leather chest harness.

"Oh gods, this is incredible," Sam murmured to himself.

He twirled on one hoof, perked his butt out and flagged his tail. A sultry gaze over one shoulder, followed by a slow drop and hip-raise, finishing with him looking back between his legs, gripping his own fetlocks. He squealed in delight, straightened back up and pranced over to the cupboard to look for something else. The shorts hugged his slender, toned buttocks perfectly! He made a note to find out where he could buy similar clothes.

So lost was Sammael in his excitement, both physically and mentally, that he did not hear hoofsteps approaching the dressing room.

Without knocking, Gerald opened the door. There was Sammael, in full makeup and prancing about in front of the mirror wearing a pink crop-top emblazoned with the words _Daddy's Little Whore _and a tiny, sparkly pair of booty shorts. The elk's jaw dropped. Sammael froze. Their eyes met. Sam's heart sank.

"Sammael, I..."

"Gerald, this... this isn't... I don't... I..."

Sammael's lip trembled and tears stung his eyes, threatening to ruin his makeup. Sam wasn't sure what he was expecting. How would Gerald react? Would he be angry? Or worse, disappointed? Gerald's reaction was, quite possibly, the very last thing Sam expected in that moment... but the one thing he'd fantasised about for months. The elk shut the door behind him, and locked it. It was just the two of them. Gerald's eyes roamed Sammael's body hungrily and he stepped forward to enfold the young stag in his arms.

"All you had to do was ask, you know," Gerald rumbled into his ear. "I would've allowed it. You didn't need to sneak around. You're such a pretty little thing. Deliciously hot, all dressed up like this."

Sammael melted. Gerald's voice was slightly husky and the elk's rich, softly masculine scent filled the stag's lungs.

"So... so I'm not in trouble?" Sammael mumbled into Gerald's chest.

"Ohh, I don't know, Sam. You know how this looks, right?"

Sam peered up at the elk. His eyes widened when Gerald's hand dropped to his butt, squeezing it roughly through the tiny booty shorts he wore. Sam gave a shuddering gasp and pressed his hips back into the elk's strong grip.

"Didn't you think I was going to come and find you like this?" Gerald rumbled. "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you flutter your eyelashes at me."

Sam's mind was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions. But he couldn't deny that Gerald was right. And there, in that dressing room, in the elk's arms, Sammael suddenly knew with certainty that the attraction between them was mutual... at least judging from the ridge in Gerald's pants, and the firm kneading of his hands on the younger stag's backside. Boldly, Sam arched his spine backward to gaze into Gerald's eyes.

"Perhaps I needed to do this to make you notice me," Sam lisped. "It worked, didn't it?"

Gerald gave a husky groan and his lips split into a broad, lecherous grin. Sam bleated in shock to feel Gerald's strong hands shove him backward against the edge of the bench that ran the length of the dressing room. Something fell over and shattered, but neither of them paid any attention. Sam's legs clamped like a bear trap around Gerald's hips, and the elk raked his hand up Sam's spine, cupping the back of his neck and bringing their lips together in a fierce, heated kiss. Sammael's breath was sweet and hot and his smooth tongue met Gerald's in a lust-fogged dance. It wasn't the only part of them pressing together. Sammael ground his hips on the edge of the bench, mashing his rigid bulge against the elk's. One of the stag's hands moved to an antler, gripping it like a handlebar to haul himself upward against his dance instructor, deepening their debaucherous kiss and flicking his bulge across Gerald's, only to mash them back together again. Gerald flexed into the younger stag, digging his fingers into the nape of his neck and raking them up over his scalp until they bumped Sam's antler roots. When their lips eventually parted, it was with a messy string of saliva and left the pair of them breathless, lust-fired and with eyes only for each other.

"Get down. Turn around," Gerald commanded.

Sammael's purple-shaded eyelids fluttered. He spun on a hoof and leaned his elbows onto the bench, knees locked, legs apart, tail flagged. A sultry glance over his shoulder was all the confirmation Gerald needed. The clink of the elk's belt being unbuckled and tossed aside was followed by the pop-pop-pop of a button fly hastily wrenched apart. Sam wriggled his tail. The elk, down to his underwear, pressed heatedly up against Sammael's upturned ass. The barely-constrained hardness of his cock ground firmly between Sam's buttocks, and the stag fought back the urge to just rip off all of their remaining clothing and impale himself on his instructor. No, he reminded himself. Savour every fucking moment.

Gerald leaned in over Sam's back to exhale hotly against his ear. A slow grind accompanied it. Sammael could feel Gerald's heartbeat through his cock.

"Ohhh fuck spank me Da..." Sammael squealed and clapped a hand over his own mouth.

"You've been through all this before in your mind, haven't you?" Gerald said, straightening.

"Maybe," Sam giggled.

Gerald ground hard up against Sam's butt again, and the stag whimpered.

"I bet you've been jerking off over your depraved little fantasy for months, haven't you?"

Sammael nodded, and then muffled a horny squeal into his own elbow when Gerald's open palm came down with a smack on his right buttock.

"Wanna hear a little secret, Sam?"

Sam nodded again. Gerald's left hand came down on his corresponding buttock, and Sam groaned in lust. Gerald leaned forward over him again.

"So have I," the elk rumbled.

Sam nearly came in his 'borrowed' booty shorts. Already they were dripping with precum, either way he was going to have to get them laundered before they made their way back into the dressing room cupboard. Gerald chuckled, and slid a hand down beneath the stag to grope him. His fingers played with the slimy mess at his crotch, and squeezed Sam's straining cock.

"Goodness. Anyone would think you were into this..."

Gerald pulled back. Sam was momentarily disappointed, but it quickly became apparent that Gerald was rescuing the booty shorts. His fingers peeled the sparkly lycra away from Sammael, and the stag dutifully rolled his hips and kicked the garment away. Gerald's hand caressed his bare, toned little butt, and leaned forward to capture another kiss from Sammael.

"You know, if you just wanted to make out, all you needed to do was ask," Sam lisped. "We could do that anywhere."

Gerald rumbled and narrowed his eyes. "You little brat," he chuckled.

Gerald's left hand closed around Sam's uncut cock. The stag squealed and humped into his grip, oozing precum over his fingers. Gerald held it tightly, lifting Sam almost off his hooves to force him to present his buttocks. His right hand struck a glancing blow from his right buttock, then another, then two to the left, then two in the middle. Every blow shoved Sam's cock forward through Gerald's iron-tight grip, and the stag braced his elbows on the bench. His eyes were closed and his head hung downward, muffling his horny moans into his hands. He was drooling from several places and could not care less.

"Say it, Sam. Say what you're thinking."

Sammael whimpered. "H-harder, Daddy! Spank me harder! Th...then... k-kiss it better..."

Gerald obliged. He gave Sam's cock a few furtive, slimy strokes, holding back his foreskin with his thumb to slide his fingers around the stag's tender glans, and felt him tense. Sam gave a few shaky gasps, and Gerald released his cock. Sam edged and trembled, drooling cum onto the floor between his hooves. Gerald waited until he'd cooled down, then resumed. He worked Samamel's upturned buttocks until they glowed through his downy fur, although he did not touch the stag's straining member again. When Sam reached for it himself, his questing hand was slapped away by Gerald's. Sam's mind was a fog of lust, desire and total depravity. He was rambling, whimpering out all of the wild fantasies that galloped through his mind as they occurred. Gerald was listening. One more round of hard, echoing smacks to his buttocks, and Gerald paused. He slid his hand up along the elegant curvature of Sammael's spine, until he could hook two fingers around an antler and gently urge Sam to turn his face upward. He was a mess. His makeup was smeared, his mouth hung open, he was drooling and breathing hard. Gerald smirked.

"Ask for 'harder' and you shall receive, Sam."

Gerald framed Sammael's reddened backside with his hands and dropped into an easy squat behind him. Sam's pucker winked at him, a clench that might've been instinctive, or maybe not. The elk ran his fingertips through the downy, speckled fur of Sam's thighs, and began with a feathery nuzzle to the back of one knee. Sam giggled. A dainty hoof raised and a fetlock flexed. Gerald moved upward, leaving a trail of kisses and playful bites to Sammael's hamstring, then up and over the glowing globe of his right buttock, all the way to his tail. Then he kissed down and over Sam's left cheek. Sam squirmed. It tickled, in the most intensely pleasurable way he'd ever experienced, with his buttocks tenderised by Gerald's spanking. Then the elk's hot breath washed over his balls, from behind. Sam squealed and parted his thighs further, jutting his hips backward demandingly. Gerald lipped at his scrotum, then bathed it with his tongue.

"Oh yes... oh fuck... Please, Daddy," Sam whimpered.

Gerald's cock throbbed in his boxer-briefs every time Sam said that. He knew the stag could see it. He was rock hard and drooling through the cotton, and Sam's eyes, when they were open, were fixed on it. It was painfully clear where this was going, but that didn't make it any less exciting for either of them. As Gerald dragged his tongue deliciously slowly up over Sammael's arousal-swollen taint, his hands moved up to the stag's hips in concert. Sam knew it was coming. He'd begged for it. But when the elk's tongue pressed to his tight backdoor, Sam's brain completely short-circuited. He bleated loudly, no longer caring where they were. Gerald dragged his tongue around the tight muscle, holding Sam's hips back onto his muzzle, and then sealed his lips against it, top and bottom. Sam could feel the elk's excited, elevated breathing blowing up against the base of his tail, and he pushed back even harder; all but sitting on Gerald's face. The elk's tongue ground hard into Sam's pucker and, after a long moment, he relaxed it. Gerald slipped inside. Just a little, enough to really make Sam feel _entered. _His face pressed roughly between Sammael's toned buttocks. The heat of the stag's cleft invaded Gerald's lungs and he kneaded Sam's cheeks roughly in his broad, strong hands. His jaw rolled inward and upward, and he pressed his tongue deeper inside his pupil, then withdrew it to circle wetly around the tight ring. Gerald's hands moved to the fronts of Sam's thighs, and yanked the young buck back onto his face. Sam squealed in lust and Gerald slipped his tongue inside again.

It was enough.

The stag grunted and bleated, and Gerald abruptly felt a rhythmic flutter around his tongue. Sam's balls had clenched upward, and the stag couldn't stop himself from tumbling over the edge he'd been denied half a dozen times already. A messy splatter of cum dripped to the floor between his hooves, and Gerald rumbled hotly under his tail. He pulled back with a lewd slurp and slipped a hand around Sam's thigh to take hold of his ejaculating cock. Sam bleated again and Gerald pulled back his foreskin, then pushed it forward to milk the stag's cock of what little cum remained.

"Oh gods... G-Gerry... Daddy... fuck me... p-please..."

"You literally just blew a load and you want me to keep going?"

_"Please," _Sam insisting, giving his best 'determined stare' back over his shoulder at the elk.

Gerald grinned and rose fluidly to his hooves. "That's a good boy," he teased. "Turn around, get on your knees and get it nice and slick for me. I wouldn't want to tear you open."

Sammael wasn't sure how much more of this his heart could take! The stag stood upright and stretched his spine. His cock had wilted just slightly, but remained almost fully erect. Gerald's, however, was raging. Sam could clearly see the outline of the elk's glans straining at the cotton of his underwear, with a tiny wet spot of precum at its apex. So, _Sam thought. _I guessed right. He's cut.

"Staring at it isn't going to get the job done, Sam."

Sammael went to kneel, but his legs gave out under him and he fell heavily against Gerald. The elk caught him, and cupped his cheeks to tilt his face upward.

"Are you alright?"

Sam nodded wordlessly. He was more than alright. And he'd be damned if he was going to let this stop now. He was face-to-crotch with Gerald. As the elk released his cheeks, Sam felt those hands move up to his antlers, pulling his muzzle softly in against the stiffness in his boxer-briefs. Sam inhaled deeply. He mouthed at the side of Gerald's cock, dampening the elk's cotton underwear with his saliva, then playfully bit at his glans, squeezing the spongy mushroom between his lower lip and dental pad. Gerald groaned quietly and allowed Sammael his moment of worship. He knew it wouldn't be long before Sam couldn't resist going all the way. He was right. Within moments, Sammael's fingers were fumbling with the waistband of Gerald's boxers, tugging outward and down. The elk's penis, all seven circumcised inches of it, sprang rigidly free once the tip cleared his waistband. Sammael stared at it while his hands worked Gerald's boxers down to his fetlocks, and then he reached for it.

No matter how often it happened (less often than many might have been led to believe), Gerald could never get over the thrill of the first touch. Even if he had been dry-humping Sam's pretty little ass, that first touch of skin on skin was electric. The younger stag's slender fingers curled around Gerald's thick root and squeezed. Gerald could feel the hot, shaky moisture of Sam's breath against the underside of his glans, and subtly dropped a hand from his antler to rub behind his ear. This little devil was _craving _his cock, Gerald knew.

Sam couldn't possibly wait a moment longer. His tongue flicked over his lips to moisten them, and the hand gripping the root of Gerald's penis angled the spire of flesh downward. The stag's painted lips parted to leave a circle of wetness at the crown of Gerald's glans, and his makeup-framed eyes rolled upward to seek the gaze of his instructor. That was an image that would burn itself into Gerald's brain for the rest of his life, and he was ecstatic for it. Where's a fucking camera when you need one?

Aloud, he grunted; "Good boy... Go on, suck it. Get it nice and slick for me. Go at your own pace, I won't force you."

Sam's tail flickered behind him and an ear twitched. That was his only response. The young stag's hand dropped smoothly from Gerald's shaft to his hefty balls, and at the same moment his muzzle plunged forth, engulfing Gerald's bell-shaped glans in slick, eager warmth all the way back to his scar in one fluid motion. Sam didn't suck. He wasn't trying to get Gerald off in his muzzle--although, he considered later, that would have been nice. No, this was still foreplay. Most people would have turned off by this stage, but not Gerald. For all his macho posturing and parading of kink, he was a soft-hearted dom. A gentle top. Sammael could feel that now. The slightest display of weakness or uncertainty on his behalf--as soon as it was genuine, at least--and Gerald took his hoof right off the throttle and let Sam re-establish his boundaries and comfort zone.

Sam bobbed his muzzle wetly along Gerald's shaft. The elk throbbed in his muzzle and Sam could detect a hint of saltiness at the back of his tongue, where precum had oozed forth from Gerald's member. He wasn't a heavy leaker, then. All the more reason to lube him up. Sam sealed his lips around the very subtle ridge of Gerald's scar, knowing it would probably be a source of pleasure for the elk, and rolled his tongue slickly around his glans. Gerald grunted and Sam felt the elk's cock flex and throb.

"Alright, alright. Time for the main event. Show me how bad you want it, Sam," Gerald said hastily, gripping an antler and reclaiming his glistening cock from the cloying warmth of Sam's muzzle.

Nearly made him pop, _Sam thought impishly. _Fucking hot.

The young Ithenorian stag held eye contact with his tutor even as he turned away from him, fluttering his eyelashes and flicking his tail upward to expose the cleft of his buttocks once again to the elk. Sam deliberately dropped his eyes to Gerald's cock, and bit his lip sultrily.

"You are _such _a good actor, Sam," Gerald observed. "The way you use your expressions is... fuck. So fucking hot. You know how well that makeup accentuates your eyes, right?"

The compliment was entirely unexpected in the moment and Sam blinked a couple times, feeling a blush rising into his ears. "I...I... th-this is... I'm not..."

"Yes you are. You hardly need to speak. You're _begging _for my cock under your tail with little more than a glance. Own it, Sam. Project it."

"Hrrrng..."

Sam fell forward onto his elbows on the dressing room bench again as Gerald's hand landed in the middle of his back. The stag arched his spine and parted his hooved, standing straight-legged with his buttocks raised, presenting his wet hole to his tutor. Gerald was done looking. The elk stepped up behind Sam and used just his thumb pressed down into the base of his cock to line it up. Sam whimpered at the feeling of Gerald's glans testing his pucker.

"Hey," Gerald said hoarsely.

Sam pricked an ear.

"Stop means stop, okay? I don't wanna hurt you."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just shove it in, Daddy!"

Gerald laughed. "Brat!"

He couldn't help but oblige, though. Sammael's tight entrance parted around the elk's swollen, slick glans with a subtle 'pop' sensation, and he was in. Sam fluttered and clenched around him and Gerald paused, before leaning forward to force another inch into his pupil. Then another, and another. Another pause, a roll of his hips to pull back and press in. Gerald worked himself into Sammael slowly and with measured experience. Sam ground back onto Gerald when he could, and waited when he needed to.

Gerald's hands moved from Sam's hips up along the curve of his waist, over his broad shoulders and up to his antlers, pausing to fondle his ears on their way.

"You ready?" the elk rumbled breathlessly.

"Is it in yet?" Sam taunted.

"Fuck you!"

"That's the idea!"

"I am... I d..."

Sam ground roughly back onto Gerald's groin. His buttocks pressed firmly to the elk's thighs.

"Hah! Mmmg... Balls touched. You're gay now," Sam lisped.

Gerald's hand curled around one of Sammael's antlers and the elk grunted. He ground roughly forward, hilting himself properly inside his pupil, then pulled back almost all the way. The emptiness Sam felt was momentary. Gerald's thick, rigid flesh rammed forward into him and the elk's heavy balls slapped against his own. Then again, and again. Gerald built a slow, deep, rough rhythm, rocking Sammael's slender body forward against the dressing room bench with every inward thrust. Sam's eyelids fluttered and his eyes lost focus. His mouth hung open, drool stringing from his tongue onto the dressing room bench he leaned on. Gerald kept hold of his antler, holding his head up.

"You look so pretty when you're being fucked, Sam," Gerald grunted. "From the back and the front."

The elk's thighs struck Sammael's tenderised buttocks over and over again, driving that rigid rod deep into the stag's guts. Deeper than anything or anyone had gone before, and certainly harder. Sam was lost in the moment. He had no words to respond to the elk. His bratty retorts melted away long before they could form coherent thoughts. The only thing in his brain was his dance tutor, balls-deep under his tail, pounding away at him like he was a fleshlight between two pillows in a motel room. And that was a fantasy Sam knew, even in his cum-brained daze, that he could entertain safely, knowing Gerald would stop in a heartbeat if asked.

Sam didn't ask.

He arched his spine and rolled his eyes, tilting his head back to utter a gargling bleat of lust and desire. Gerald's hand naturally relocated from his antler to his chin, holding his head up and slipping his thumb into Sam's mouth. The stag sucked on it like a lollipop, and that only made Gerald grunt and thrust and shudder and pant all the harder.

"Nnngh... I'm gonna cum so hard you'll be able to taste it," Gerald growled.

Sam whimpered hornily.

The elk lapsed into wordlessness after that. He was far from silent, but it seemed Gerald's ability to form coherent words had ceased as well, at least for the moment. He built up his rhythm, becoming shallower and quicker as time passed. He varied his speed and depth to maximise his own pleasure, using Sammael's upturned, spit-slickened backside like his own private living fleshlight. He was on the home stretch, now. In a brief moment of clarity, Sammael contemplated blue-balling the elk, but thought the better of it. Plenty of time for that, now the ice had been well and truly broken, melted and boiled away between them. He gnawed breathlessly on Gerald's thumb and tilted his head to nuzzle into the elk's palm. Bracing himself against the edge of the bench with one hand, Sammael dropped the other beneath himself. His cock wasn't as rock hard as it had been but masturbating still felt like the right thing to do--he knew it would tighten his ass around Gerald, if nothing else. He gripped his uncut member and began to furtively stroke it. Gerald didn't notice, or if he did, he didn't stop him. But the elk grunted and edged, ramming his cock roughly forward and holding it balls-deep inside Sam for a long moment while the stag fluttered and clenched and rolled his hips onto it.

"D-don't stop, Daddy," Sam whimpered around Gerald's thumb. "Fuck me! Fill me!"

Gerald made an oddly high-pitched bugle and Sam could feel him trembling with lust behind him. He hunched forward around the stag and withdrew his hand from Sam's face, bringing both hands to his hips once again. Gerald began to move again, drawing back and ramming forward. His angle caused his rigid cock to graze and milk Sam's prostate and the stag's legs nearly collapsed under him as precum filled his foreskin and drooled thickly over his fingers to the already cum-sprinkled floor beneath him.

"G-gonna..." Gerald warned.

Sam bit his lip. _Gods yes, come on... do it... do it... _he urged, silently.

Gerald's thrusts became erratic. His breathing was hoarse and ragged and came in sharp, shallow gasps. Flurries of urgent thrusts rocked Sam's body until finally... fireworks. Gerald rammed forward roughly and hilted himself. His fingers dug into Sam's hips and the stag felt a rhythmic pulse inside him, Gerald's orgasm causing his hips to jolt and buck against the younger stag's reddened buttocks. He exhaled a shaky groan throughout his climax, leaving the two Cervids sweaty, sticky, breathing hard and tender in all the best ways.

Gradually, Gerald regained his faculties.

"Are you... jerking off again?" he murmured against the back of Sammael's ear.

"Hrrng," Sam replied.

The stag straightened and rhythmically clenched a few times around Gerald. The elk, rapidly softening after such a powerful climax, slipped out of the young buck with a wet slurp. Sammael gasped. He spun around shakily to face his dance tutor and draped an arm around Gerald's shoulders. The elk looked down between them. Their antlers met with a _clack, _and Sam shuddered hornily. His hand flew wetly along his cock and, with a shaky bleat, he ejaculated a second time, sending a spritz of cum streaking up Gerald's belly, then a sprinkle of droplets cascading over his fingers onto the elk's softening shaft.

Sam couldn't hold back his grin as their eyes met, both of them breathing hard in a steamy cloud of their combined musk.

"What am I to do with you?" Gerald asked after a long, breathless moment.

"I've got a few suggestions..." Sam grinned.

*

Over the next half hour, Gerald and Sammael cleaned up the dressing room as best they could. Gerald helped Sam to clean off his makeup, although he had to promise the younger stag it wasn't because he didn't look pretty with his face streaked with sweat, spit and cosmetics. Sam was walking stiff-legged and gingerly by the time they finally locked up and left the dressing room, and not a moment too soon. In the hallway outside, the pair of them passed by a group of Smithy Lane Theatre Company performers, arriving for a rehearsal.

"So what are you going t--_Ysion's beard! _Oh fuck, what's... ew! It smells _skanky _in here!" came a cry from behind them.

Gerald placed a hand in the middle of Sammael's back, propelling the young stag a little quicker down the corridors back to the Academy hall, barely able to contain his mirth.

#