Buck and Doe

Tonight was the night.

John idly rubbed the white fur of his stomach. It had been almost a year to the day since he agreed to be a part of an experimental study in male pregnancy; four months since he made it to the final stage of the experiment; three months since he underwent the final surgery to be able to become pregnant. Three months since he had the talk with his husband Tom.

John wanted kids; little fawns, borne of his own body and his husband's seed. He wanted them now. Tom disagreed, of course - ever the voice of reason, he had charts and graphs explaining that it would be ideal for them to wait some time before having children; after all, they were still paying off school loans, and they had just bought the house last year, and--

No. Tonight was the night.

After John received his womb, Tom became exceptionally careful about mounting him for fear of knocking him up at an inopportune time. He refused to fuck him without a condom; "too risky" was his mantra. Oh, sure, his mate thought of all sorts of other ways to please him - their toy collection had tripled over the last few months - but he missed the feeling of raw stag-cock pounding him, twitching and spurting and filling him up with hot seed. Tonight he would make his husband forget condoms even existed.

Not to say he was angry at his husband; he loved Tom, as did he him. Tom was wholly supportive of the process, helping him through all the surgeries and hormonal treatments. His mate loved the idea of John swelling with their child... He was just afraid of commitments, especially long term ones. It took John three solid months of debate just to convince him to buy this house. Reason only serves you so long as you take the initiative. This is what John wanted - he just needed a push.

Like their quadruped whitetail ancestors, both he and his husband experienced yearly periods of rut, a time of elevated hormones that he would fondly associate with some of the best times of their relationship. They'd take the week off and walk around the house buck naked, fucking whenever the need struck them; heady days, indeed. Now that they were older and married, responsibility had caught up with their libidos and they abandoned their week-long sex sessions in favor of long days of adjusting their pants uncomfortably and all-too-short nights of urgent, impassioned lovemaking. Today was the height of the rut; he knew Tom would be pent up, and he would be ready.

When he received his womb, the doctors told him it would act just like a regular doe's; that is, he would go into heat, at which time he would be especially fertile. The best time to conceive a child. His heat started a week ago, around the same time Tom felt his rut coming on. It started with a tingling sensation in his gut, a blossoming of heat, an instinctual need to be filled. He was also pleasantly surprised to find that his heat causes his male womb to produce a thin mucus that lubricates and cleanses his rectum, making anal sex easy. The scent of it, laden with hormones broadcasting his fertility, also had the bonus effect of unlocking something primal in his husband; alpha-male instincts came to the surface when he smelled a doe in heat. Tom was so distracted by it that he almost jumped him bareback last night - almost.

By his estimation, today was the peak of his heat; it was now or wait another year for a good chance at a child. At least, then, Tom would be more receptive to the idea...

No. This felt good, it felt right. Tonight his man was going to put a baby in him. Speaking of which, Tom should be home in half an hour, and he had preparations to make.

~

Tom knew something was off as soon as he opened the door. His husband wasn't watching TV in the living room, nor cooking in the kitchen. "John? Honey? Are you here?", he inquired.

"I'm in the bedroom, dear!", came the reply.

Oh, the bedroom? Thoughts of what his mate had been up to since he left for work made his cock stiffen in his slacks. The house was pungent with his mate's heat-scent, and it tingled in his nostrils pleasantly as he moved down the hallway towards their bedroom. He opened the door, expecting something something banal - like his husband folding clothes - but he was certainly hoping for something... More.

He was not disappointed.

The room was completely dark, save for a dozen or so candles around the room that lent a warm glow to the room. John was lying naked on the bed, facedown; his white-furred backside on full display, propped up by a pillow under his stomach. Hearing the door, open, he shot a sultry look over his shoulder. "There you are! I've been waiting for you all day...", he purred. "Are you just going to stand there or --"

Before he could finish that thought, Tom's muzzle was buried under his tail, breathing deeply of his fertile scent. John flagged his tail up, relishing in the feeling of his mate's hot breath on his rear before Tom's nose bumped something rubbery. "Mmm, what do we have here?", Tom asked lustily, reaching up to pull the dildo from John's ass. In the candlelight, he made it out to be their favorite toy: it was modelled after a feral stag's cock - long, tapered and thin. John liked using it as a warmup - it stimulated him deeper than other toys, but kept his tailhole tight. Privately, they found the fantasy situation of being mounted by a feral hot as hell; John knew the toy was a huge turn-on for him.

He shot a bashful look back at Tom. "Oooh, I just needed a buck to fill me up, and my mate wasn't anywhere to be found...", he faux-pouted. Tom barely heard; most of his attention was focused on his mate's pert backside, while the rest of it was tied up trying to get out of his clothes as fast as possible. Before long (he was pretty sure he set some sort of record) he was naked behind John, his muzzle back under his mate's tail. John's now-vacant tailhole winked invitingly and glistened with beads of natural lubricant.

"Fuck. Have I ever told you how amazing your body is? You smell incredible, too...", Tom asked huskily. "Only every night, you sexy - oof!", John replied as he felt something warm and wet lap at his hole. Tom's tongue teased the ring of muscle a few times before diving into his mate's hot passage, chasing the source of the pheromones that were burning in his nostrils. Rimming had long been a part of their foreplay repertoire, but since John had gone into heat the appeal of it increased greatly as the sheer olfactory overload activated something primal in him, something that made his head spin and his cock feel like it made of diamond. Tonight, though, he was eager to get to the next phase in their little mating ritual.

Withdrawing his muzzle, he shuffled forward on the bed, leaning forward to give John's neck a lick and a nuzzle as the buck mounted his doe. With one hand on his cock and the other on his mate's hips, he lined his erection up and felt the electric sensation of flesh meeting flesh. He didn't remember it feeling this good lately; it must be the heat-scent. He didn't have much time to ponder it as his mate spread his legs, and wiggled his ass; they both needed it now.

WIth one smooth motion of his hips, John got what he wanted.

Thanks to John's natural lubricant and preparation, his cock slid into his husband's depths without a hitch. He still felt as tight as their first time together, his hot tunnel already gripping and milking Tom's dick. Finally, he bottomed out, his furry balls coming to rest against his husband's. He moved his muzzle to lick and nip his husband's ear as he slowly withdrew, relishing the feeling of John's anal muscles trying to keep him inside. He kept withdrawing until just the tip remained inside, then slowly worked his cock back in, making sure to angle his thrust to maximize the pressure on his mate's prostate; his efforts were awarded with a low moan and a pleasant clench about his cock.

John felt like his entire world consisted of his tailhole and his mate's cock; every thrust inward satisfying him like a hot three-course meal, every withdrawal like the most sensual massage to his sensitive insides. They managed to keep the slow pace for a while before John broke, crying out for his mate to take him fast and hard, a request Tom fulfilled enthusiastically.

He increased the pace of his thrusts gradually; first withdrawing three-quarters of the way, then one half, then finally bare inches at a time, his hips moving in a blur as he worked his mate over. He continued until he felt his climax rise, then backed down to the slow pace, sometimes just leaving his staghood buried to the hilt in his mate, slowing dribbling pre into John's guts as he appreciated the gentle squeezing of the muscles around his cock before starting again.

They fucked for what felt like hours, their pace varying wildly. Sometimes Tom would whisper sweet nothings into Tom's ear while they slow-fucked; sometimes they'd cry out dirty, kinky things to each other as they rutted like mindless animals; sometimes they'd just be silent, lost in each other's bodies with their only communication consisting of grunts and moans.

Of course, all good things had to end, and John's new maternal instincts were crying out for him to fulfill his new body's needs.

He began pushing back against his mate's thrusts harder, and bore down hard on each of the outward strokes. Tom seemed to get the message, and changed his strokes to be more efficient, more purposeful, pushing deeper into John on every thrust. The sense of fullness was incredible, and John felt his climax fast approaching. With his cock firmly wedged between the pillow and his body, he could only grip the bedsheets as one particularly deep thrust grazed his prostate in just the right way, and suddenly he was cumming. Hard. He cried out in a particularly deerlike bugle as his ass contracted around Tom's cock, enhancing his sense of warm fullness as his cock shot ropes of seed against his belly..

Tom was also close from their long session, and his husband's orgasm was more than enough to send him of the edge. Rippling contractions started at the entrance to John's rear and moved their way up his passage, expertly milking the deer cock buried deep inside it to its own climax, Tom's bugle joining John's as their mating culminated.

Nothing made John feel more content, more loved, than when he felt the first jet of his mate's cum fill his heated rear. The jet was followed by another - and another - and another as the buck emptied his balls into his doe, leaving John with a pleasant warmth sitting in his lower belly. He smiled as he imagined the muscular contractions of his ass bringing the seed to his male womb, where one sperm would unite with one of his eggs and create new life inside him.

Finally, the flow of semen abated, and Tom collapsed on John's back. They both laid there, panting and seeing stars, completely unable to move. Eventually, Tom mustered the strength to withdraw his softening cock and roll them other onto their side, spooning in the warm afterglow. Tom snuck a hand under the covers to fondle his mate's well-bred ass; he even slipped a finger into the loosened tailhole, still slick with his spent seed - wait a minute. In a millisecond, Tom's precoital brain caught up with his postcoital body.

"John, honey?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I wasn't wearing a condom at all during that, was I?"

"No, dear."

"...And you're in peak heat, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Probably."

John rolled over to face his husband. His eyes flickered with the candlelight. "Are you mad at me?", John asked quietly. Tom looked very serious for a moment, then broke into a wide smile. "No, hon. We'll have to start planning the nursery soon, I think.", he said before pulling John into a deep kiss, stealing what little breath they had left.

Tom pulled away with a lecherous smile before flipping John onto his back. Stroking his flagging cock back to full erection, he threw his mate's legs over his shoulders and rubbed his staghood on John's messy undertail. His mate looked up at him, shocked; "What are you doing?!"

Tom leaned down to press his muzzle to his mate's ear before whispering his reply:

"Trying for twins."

Stiff deercock slipped into squelching ass, and the buck began rutting his doe anew.