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The Maze in the Fields

By: BeaverReturn

How did I get here? A paralyzing question. Such a thought had occurred to me as I was standing in a wheat field, a cooling breeze passing me by. It was a bright and sweltering mid afternoon in August. Prior to this, I had been watching the tips of golden stalks, incalculable in their ranks, sway in mass before me. There was a hiss amongst their ranks; tails swaying gently, in those days my dreams were gentle. When the wind kissed my fur I then closed my eyes; I then drifted off in search for an answer.

Prior to this, during that day's morning, I was pulled out ankle first from beneath my bed's covers. I tried to protest against the strength of that initial pull but I was just a feather. I was pulled onto the ground, naked before a lion, my eyes rising up his exposed chest; my deerhood already swelling. I grinned. The lion chuckled and then crossed his large arms.

"At least part of you got up this morning." His accented voice was deep and grated, a taint of his old age. His mane was trimmed, making it something like a beard, sprits of grey decorated throughout his fur. Lines of distinction ran across his face, a scar lay across his muzzle. He was old, looked old; he was a farmer full of experience. Yet he was healthy, muscular, of a strong body and a sound mind.

I gave myself a few teasing strokes and grew a bit harder, enticing the lion to a morning warm-up before daily chores. I was his exact opposite. I was a deer, red in fur; I was young, exhausted, slim and weak, ultimately burdened by the weight of my own world, a world different from his, a world which was then so far away.

I positioned myself, kneeling before him. I was fully hard as I placed my mouth over his momentarily soft cock. I started to work him over, kissing and licking, stroking and feeling. I relished his flavour as I felt him grow harder, grow longer, his full on hardness pushing deeper into my throat as he gave me an approving grunt. I loved it. I loved him. I loved the feeling of his swollen orbs as I rolled them around my grip and I loved the feeling of his strong paws as he grasped my antlers to pull me deeper. I pet across the soft fur of his buttocks, and played with the opening between it, rolling the flesh in circles.

"Great way to start a morning, isn't it?"

I faded again into dream sensations. _How did I get here? _ I remembered thinking to myself. The Lion threw me on the bed. I fell backwards. I started to think back.

A few months prior I had arrived at his doorstep, a duffle bag at my feet and a pair of bright yellow Knockarounds over my eyes. The old farmer had answered the door, his entire large frame practically naked save for a pair of tight and dirty overalls. He looked over me disapprovingly, a mean scowl on his face. His eyes lingered over my mouth. I was chewing on a wad of gum.

"What do you want, boy?"

"This your ad?" I said, unfolding a paper from my pocket. He looked it over.

"Yes but you're no farm hand," he replied bluntly, drawing attention to my scrawny figure.

I lowered my shades, checking both my sides. "Yea, but, I don't see anyone else applying for the job."

"Lose the shades. I don't like them."

I cocked a slight smile, folding the shades in my grasp. "Sure no problem, whatever you say."

He invited me in. We came to sit within his small kitchen. Outside its single window, the sky was overcast, the day gloomy and telling of afternoon rain. From a file he brought out some employment papers for me to sign. Leaning forward I moved to take the papers. I stopped as I noticed the lion eyes fall on my duffle bag, a baggage claim ticket wrapped around its handle. He studied it silently as though trying to read it from a distance.

"I'm from Canada," I told him, looking over my shoulder and at the bag. "Here on a visa."

"Canada." He grumbled. "You don't mind the cold?" At first it was hard for me to understand the farmer. After all he spoke with a type of regional English that was not quite perfect. I mistook the muttered comment for small talk.

"I don't like it but I can mind it," I said, cracking another slight smile.

"I don't like snarky attitudes, drop that too," the lion grumbled, causing me to slip back in my chair. "I don't know the procedure for hiring foreigners. This is not good."

"No problem, I've got all the necessary paper work right here." We exchanged papers, silencing ourselves as we read them over.

The Lion raised his eyes off the page. "You work for me now. I give you room and board. I feed you. You sleep upstairs in the guest room. You will help me out wherever I need you. You will work long, and you will work hard. On weekends you can go into town but do not be late come Monday morning." He paused to sign his name a couple of times across the papers I handed him. I glimpsed at his signature but could not read it. "How long will you be staying under my employment?"

"Till the fall."

"Good. Then you will be here as long as I need you."

Old grumpy man. I thought before sighing. I scrawled my name across the paper. At that moment a melancholy wind ripped through, sweeping away each resting paper. They scattered across the floor, tiles of paper on hardwood.

During my first morning life was already rough. I was not used to rising so early. I was not used to feeling so jet lagged; I did not sleep well the night before. The lion showed no sympathy. He made it clear it was best not to complain. The lion was always watching me; always judging me. He was always anticipating for me to quit. But I never did. That day was the longest day of my life, and after, I was sorer than I had ever been. I was miserable. Over dinner, I acted out my misery and the lion took notice of this.

"This work is not for you." He slurped his stew, his dark glare aimed directly at me. Caught in the setting light outside, his spoon glimmered. Beside its shine rested a column of disturbed dust that danced on light feet. My eyes prior drifting snapped back in response to the lion.

I stammered. I made excuses for myself. "I've only every done gardening at home. I'm sorry if I seemed a bit slow today. This work is still new to me and I'm still a bit jet lagged..."

He cut me off, "no excuses. If you want to leave, then please, leave." He opened a large paw to the door. "I work better on my own anyways."

The lion's words grasped me. I looked around the kitchen. There was no evidence of anybody else living with him. His house was not decorated. No pictures remain hung on any mantle, or on any wall. It remained functional, cluttered; nothing but tools for decoration. His home was in social poverty, isolated. His farm seemed massive in size, though his home was small. I assumed that somebody else was around to help. But no, he was alone. _Alone..._I let the word simmer on my mind till the pot started to boil. He saw me with sympathy in my eyes. He was taken aback.

"What?" He dropped his spoon by his side.

I smiled at him, "Give me a week. If you don't see an improvement, then I'll go."

The old farmer leaned back on his chair. He scratched his beard. "You get a week, only a week."

A few days passed. It did not get any better. From dawn till dusk it poured everyday and yet still we worked. I would not let myself grumble, I would not let myself be miserable. Despite all the pain and fatigued caused by my labour, I sought within myself to find an ulterior perspective. I fought to challenge myself, to find strength in places I didn't know existed.

Though the rain was cold, I eventually learned that it was indeed a thing of astounding splendor. Somehow the colours, all those natural colours, came to become brighter against the backdrop of the dark sky. It was storming, it was windy, but it was also alive, and it was also electric. It was authentic, unplugged. Labor was real, felt very real. Everything was dirty. I was muddy. I was wet. My hands were shaking. I was cold and yet I was smiling. Reality had awoken unto me, even though I dreamed often within those fields.

One day, the lion put a paw on my shoulder, forcing me out of a long strain of soothing contemplations. It was still raining. It was still so cold. I was stuck in the mud beneath me. I turned to see the lion checking up on me. Prior, he did not talk to me much. He did not care about me much, though at that moment, for whatever reason, he showed concern. His face was serious. He too was soaked under his hat. Water droplets fell off the hat's brim. I just had to laugh at him; I just had to laugh. His face fell into deeper concern, a look of strained upset, but then he burst out, laughing as well. Deep and hollow, his chuckle rolled. It was evident he did not know what was so funny, yet he laughed all the same. Then on impulse I hugged him, and he hugged me back. He gripped my wet body to his. This moment lingered between us. It came to feel like we were going to kiss, but then he let go, inviting me to come inside. For a second, I became scared to follow. Then the rain stopped, the clouds broke, and for the first time, the sun broke through.

How did I get here?

**

_ Now I will trace backwards to another time. I will trace back to when I was at home. I remember my apartment; I come to recollect my urban life before. I remember waking up to the sound of an alarm, a hangover pounding in my head, a naked zebra beside me, his black beast half-swollen. He moaned through his erotic dreams. I could not picture myself as being involved within them. I tried to remember the night before. It feels like jagged pieces of a broken mirror floating in my head. How did I get here? I wondered to myself. In response, flashes of drunken memories flittered across my mind's eye._

_There had been a fight between us. _

During that morning the zebra slumbered beside me. He seemed content for the while. I knew eventually the zebra would leave me. I tried not to let that thought bother me. As I got up, he remained still, unbothered by the alarm going off. From my bed, I watched the snow fall from outside my window and pretended like it was something worth my concern. I no longer wanted to think about the zebra, to think about the night before. I just wanted a moment to drift, to dream about a land far from where I was, but then the zebra's own alarm went off. Still, I managed to slip away.

**

Back at the farm two weeks had pass. I had become bonded to the farm, bonded to the routine. Though I had weekends off, I rarely ventured away, staying instead to help even when I wasn't getting paid. Sometimes the lion would refuse my assistance. He often said that I should relax. He would tell me this more often as the weekends passed. On those days I would relax by lying on the porch with a book while listening to lullaby melodies: swaying wheat, singing cicadas, and the summer breezes which whistled through the chimes above me. Sometimes I would dream about the lion. Sometimes I would fantasize about those few times when thin walls would betray him, about those nights when I could hear him moaning under the sound of a pumping paw. I would always jerk in rhythm to him, moaning myself, hoping that he would hear me in return.

"So where are you going after your contract expires here?" The lion said one weekend, sitting down beside me. On that day it was pouring rain just as it had in the days before. The lion was concerned about this. All this rain was not good for his crop. He did not expect a bountiful season.

The Lion was soaked once more. Underneath his coveralls, he seemed to want to shiver but restrained himself in front of me. It was a handsome gesture and I appreciated it. I shifted towards him, sitting up so that we were now side by side, my book resting on my lap. My hand lingered close to his. We did not touch. His face was defeated. It looked to be from exhaustion. It was not. I could tell something else was stirring within him.

I pointed forward, passed the reach of his fields. "As far that way as I can go."

"No place in mind then?"

"No." I shook my head, pointing in the opposite direction. "I just want to be as far from that way as I can be." I thought back to the zebra. I thought back to our fight.

"So why did you come here? Not just for the adventure I assume?" Suddenly his fingers shifted even closer to mine. We became close. A heavy sense of nervousness filled the air. The lion then sneezed breaking the tension. "Aw, god dammit."

"You're going to kill yourself if you keep working in such heavy rain. If anyone needs a break it's you."

The lion turned his head to me, baffled by the authority I had spoken to him. He blinked a few times before letting out a deep chuckle. He rose to his feet. "Oh alright. I suppose I've gotten enough done today."

For a moment, I felt disappointed. I had grown so comfortable sitting beside him, and so when he got up my heart sank. Those low feelings only lingered for a moment. Eventually I got up to join him. The lion asked me if I would make supper. He wanted to take a bath. I agreed. We both entered his home.

As I prepared supper I couldn't help but think back to our moment on the porch. Some kind of uneasy feeling was inside of me, something that made me feel nervous, yet excited, terrified, and yet antsy. I knew these feelings only as desire, a demand of lust. I did not know these feelings as infatuation. I had done well avoiding any bout of infatuation in my life, running from any who confessed words of love. To me, it was all a fools' game, something I was not ready for, nor ever wanted to be ready for. I shook my head, and swore under my breath, fighting back the desire which had infected my heart. I focused on only my task, on only making supper.

My thoughts betrayed me moments later. In folds, desire would return, would pull on me-- would try to carry me away, though I wished only to stay. I would start to think about the lion, to think about his body, about those moans I heard at night, about his muscles, and then again, about his body crafted so perfectly. I would think about his strength and awareness to nature, about his sense of simplicity in all things. I thought about going to the bathroom, I thought about peeking at him. Just to see. Just to know. I thought again about those moans, about those moans heard during so many nights before.

"Aw god dammit." The lion cursed loudly breaking my concentration. I grew in an instant both equal parts concerned and curious. I left the kitchen. I peeked into the bathroom. The lion did not see me. He was too busy rubbing a kink out of his neck. The bathtub was running, a slow steam rising from its pool. I had come just at the right time, as it was then that the lion started to remove his overalls. One latch after the other, I watched as the lion unknowingly revealed his back to me, exposing a terrain of tough muscles. He pushed the overalls further down, past his tail, exposing the perfect roundness of his behind. Then the overalls fell even further and the lion stepped out of them. He was completely naked. I started to grow hard. I rubbed my pants. I grabbed myself.

My heart started to pump so painfully that I thought I would keel over. The lion must have sensed this. He turned around exclaiming out his surprise as he grabbed a tea towel and threw it over his crotch. It did little to hide his massive figure, the full detail of his developed chest and abs fully visible for me. I gawked a second, losing any sense of where I was.

"I heard you scream," I said, snapping back into reality. "I came to see if everything was alright?"

"It's fine." The lion sighed, composing himself. "I'm just a little sore that's all."

"You've been working too hard. You need to relax more." I commented as I restrained to look towards the towel barely covering that which I desired wholeheartedly.

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" he snapped back, throwing a paw towards the filling tub.

"Maybe you need some help?" I spoke without thought, my words guided by instinct.

"What? I, uhh," the lion stammered off, averting his gaze and rubbing the back of his head.

"I mean, I'm practically seeing you naked right now, and, uh, I am your hired help." I laughed, stepping forward, entering the bathroom.

The lion stood, contemplative. Without a word he then turned around, dropped the small towel, and stepped into the tub. The water rose, a protesting splash rising from it. He shut off the tap, closed his eyes, and let out a sigh. I stood where I was, paralyzed for the moment. His muscles seemed to all move at once, relaxing instantaneously from their previous tautness. I wanted to touch then so badly and yet I could not move.

The lion reopened his eyes, turning his head towards me. I took it as an invitation. During this moment there were no words between us.

I shuffled forward, keeping my gaze down as I pulled up a stool beside the tub. The lion pointed me towards a sponge and soap. Grabbing these items, I then sat down beside him. His eyes fixed on mine as I dropped the sponge in the water, and then rubbed it together with the soap.

First I moved across his chest, from left to right, dissolving all of the mud previously caked into his blonde fur. I rinsed the sponge in the water, and then started to move lower. His devote gaze never left me. With stern eyes he watched. Waiting for me, maybe even anticipating that I would--

I looked down at the bathwater, a cloud of soapy bubbles passing across. I could not see his lionhood, but I could see his legs. They were rounder, bigger than most legs. The lion raised a wet paw and rubbed against my cheek and immediately my gaze broke from the scene beneath me. My mouth came to feel dry; I once again was coming to feel nervous. His sharp eyes lowered, and then rose again. Suddenly he was pulling me in closer, I did not resist. Our lips met, we kissed.

Suddenly the soap bubbles, previously clouding his privates from view, shifted away and I could see it, I could see it all. He was a good size, his red flesh joined by two pairs of fuzzy blonde balls. I dropped my hand into the water, sinking into the warm depths as I came to grasp them. The touch jolted him, and he turned his gaze away from mine.

"It's been so long," he muttered at first, before restating his concerns, "What would a deer like you want with an old lion's cock and balls?"

I smiled, leaning forward as I kissed him again. Under the water, my teasing touch was causing him to grow hard. I continued to stroke his shaft, appreciating every inch it grew into.

"Why don't you join me?" he suggested, bringing a wet paw from over the side of the tub and sneaking it underneath my shirt. He rubbed my chest, as I quickly unbuttoned my shirt, and then pants. With both the Lion and I naked, I joined him in the tub, sinking down across from him. We started to kiss again, this time sharing our tongues in a state of rising fervour. I moved closer to him, my body now rising over his. My cock slid against his own and I rubbed myself against his hardened length. He dug his head into my neck, rubbing against a nerve that made my whole body shiver. He was purring now, his pulsating lionhood against my deerhood, our shafts held together.

The lion pulled me upwards, and I got up to stand. With my cock now level with his mouth, he brought me forward, his paw pushing on my backside. I began to slide myself over his tongue, pushing my meat deep into his large maw. He responded by pushing more on my rump, a pawfinger circling around my anus. I shivered again; I face fucked him as deep as I could. It seemed for awhile his finger had wanted to penetrate me but after awhile he stopped, unable to do it.

The big lion grabbed me by the hips and turned me around. He rolled his tongue across my ass, his paw finger twisting and pulling at the puckered flesh. I moaned in ecstasy. He continued to work me over, my legs quivering as he deepened his pawfinger past my barrier. I pawed myself, a stream of pre falling from my cock into the warm water. He got a pawfinger into me, and soon came another, and then I was riding his two fingers as though it were his dick. Soon it would be.

We both came to stand in the tub, me over the lip of the tub, bent tail up with my exposed ass towards the lion. In order to fit into the tub we both had to remain close, which at this point was not an issue. The lion placed his cock between my ass cheeks as I rocked back and forth, the lion's tight grip holding his cock between my bottom. His breath was heavy, his eyes tightly closed. Soon he'd slip inside me, my insides widening as I took every inch of his tool.

Now he was fucking me right there in the tub. Water splashing over every side of the tub as we both rocked back and forth, panting and screaming. Every bit of his strength went into each thrust and he pounded me with an immense passion, an immense need. We were lost, both of us were, in a frenzy of lust delirium, fucking away because we could, because both of us were living the same dream.

I felt him climax into me, his warm seed spreading across my inside before he pulled out. He was breathless, his knees giving way as he fell back down into the water. I followed behind, breathing heavy myself. For a while we stayed in the bathwater, cuddling as we listened to the rain hit the tin roof. After our bath, we ate but we did not talk, and then we went to bed, but did not sleep. We merely had each other, all night, and then every night following. Some nights we would be outside, under the full spread of stars. Sometimes I'd forget; I'd forget everywhere else. Sometimes I would wonder, how did I get here? Often that answer would never come. This was not because I did not know, but because I did not need to know. It had happened, I would tell myself, all of it. That moment of life's great giving, both unexplainable and unforgettable, had happened. And then it was over. But not before one last dream in mid August where the harvest was bountiful with rows of swaying wheat. Not before one last dream. Not before I began to drift back.