The Infamous Taking of Brehoun's Tail
Warning: This story depicts explicit sexual acts of a homosexual nature. If you are under-aged or if you are offended by such material, exit now.
The Infamous Taking of Brehoun's Tail
This is the story strictly as Miska tells it. There is no claim whatsoever as to its veracity.
They stumbled back to Miska's tent with no clear idea who was helping whom. After an eternity of leaning on his unsteady companion, laughing and shushing each other past row after row of their semi-sleeping regimenteers, they fell into his little tent with a total lack of grace.
Brehoun fell backward onto his butt with a heavy jolt and renewed his fit of constrained laughter, lying back with his boots in the air. Miska, hardly any more agile, sank to his hands and knees in the cramped tent and dog-walked over to Brehoun to give him a hand.
Brehoun grabbed Miska's arm and hauled himself onto his unsteady seat, muzzle to muzzle with his grinning friend. Looking into Brehoun's glazed expression, Miska wondered for the hundredth time if he wasn't taking advantage of his drunken state.
"Been a while, huh?" Miska mused, smooching the side of Brehoun's broad nose. "Not gonna regret it tomorrow, are ya?"
Brehoun cocked his head and gave his friend a short but firm kiss on the mouth. Miska was pleasantly surprised. The big lug had never done that before. On the rare occasions Brehoun had indulged him, he'd been all business and even rather selfish about it. He briefly wondered what other firsts they might accomplish tonight.
Miska slipped out of his armor harness and turned to help Brehoun, who was fumbling with the clasps on his own. With those out of the way, Brehoun lifted one brawly leg and groggily requested "help!"
Miska pulled off his friend's boots, which was slow going with the strange lurching the ground seemed to offer. Meanwhile, Brehoun tugged his shirt-tails from his britches.
Miska smiled. What a nice view, he thought. And Brehoun was certainly fine on the eyes. Tall, even for a Prouthan. A lean and muscular lion with short, tawny fur and a great flare of a red-brown mane that made his narrow shoulders seem broad. And in just his mussed white shirt and tight black pants, he seemed all the more roguish. Still, Miska could hardly wait to have nothing but fur between him and his friend.
Compared to Brehoun, Miska was short and thin. Aside from a rather full, dark and curly adult mane and a wild black puff on the end of his long tail, Miska's fur was still the same soft peach-and-spots fuzz he'd sported in cub-hood. More than once his slight build had been likened to that of a lioness's, as had his appetites. He preferred to think of himself as ever youthful and sensually friendly, however, and used his charmingly cubbish face to what he thought was good advantage. Hovering over his large friend, he felt impossibly happy to be himself.
Miska pulled off his own shirt and eagerly slipped from his pants, frowning at the tactical delay caused by forgetting his own boots. By the time he'd freed himself of his clothes, Brehoun was already out of his rakish shirt and lay back watching. Legs spread just so, Miska noted.
Those tight pants, Miska thought to himself, as pretty as they are on you, they gotta go. He crawled forward onto Brehoun's lap and untied the big boy's waistband. Brehoun always left this to him and it was always a thrill. He tugged the pants down and grinned. Above what had to be the loveliest set of balls in all Prouta--large, pliable and flanked with long tufts of deliciously musky brown fur--his friend's thick sheath continue to retreat from his ample and beautiful growing cock.
Closing his eyes, Miska sank his muzzle into Brehoun's fragrant lap. He enjoyed lingering there, but the big impatient lion scruffled Miska's mane and gently urged him to business. Gladly complying, he lightly tasted Brehoun's shaft with the side of his tongue, careful to keep the rough fore-tongue rolled back. He wet each side of the cock's full length, gently tugging aside the sheath at its base to dip his tongue just inside its warm walls.
Brehoun breathed deep as his sheath was licked out. Miska was a master with his muzzle and his big friend began to throb in anticipation. Taking that for ready, the cock-hungry lion spread his lips and took in the eager glans, tongue lolling down the shaft's meaty length. Brehoun lifted his hips, wanting the warm, sloppy kiss to take his entirety. Miska grinned, teasing the lion further, letting the cock slip all but the tip from his lips, and wrapped one paw under Brehoun's rising rump.
Brehoun usually shied away from any kind of tail play when it was his own tail on the line--a habit Miska found in turns amusing and frustrating. Though the vast majority of males longed for the ladies and fancied themselves with a wife or two when they had the right worldly means, it was common, even expected for them to seek a measure of solace in one another as well. A good-natured tail-whuffing exchanged among soldiers was, for most, just a sign of friendship. But not for Brehoun, though his tail advertised otherwise.
Early in life, Miska had observed that most boys and men kept their tails tucked lightly down over their backsides. But there were those like Miska, real puffs as the ranks might say, who had little interest in the opposed sex: males who liked being males and liked taking males and being taken by them; males who delighted, perhaps a bit overly, catching the proud release of another man's gush in their maw, gut or paw, and equally well, give or take, pounding their own release deep into a man's tight ass, a surprise rush down the back of his throat, or in a messy barrage on his fur.
For that breed of boy, the real boys' boy, Miska had noticed some differences. They walked and talked a little softer perhaps, relaxed with their legs a bit wider maybe, wore their pants a shade tighter sometimes, and hiked their tails a tad higher--always. As did Brehoun. Oh, he walked with a manly gait, guffawed a manly laugh, and swung a manly sword, but he carried his fine lion tail like a puff: lightly hiked and ready for play.
Maybe if that tush weren't so pretty no one would care, but at times it seemed the talk of the camp. Puffs and tuck-tails alike wanted a piece of Brehoun's butt. On bath days, Miska always followed the lad to the river. The long, nude walk through camp, though everyone did it, caused lip-biting stares as Brehoun passed. Miska wondered if the big lug ever suspected how much seed was being spilled in his honor while he was splashing around like a puff on the beach.
And he did splash like a puff! Miska was always amused to watch men with an aversion to cold water bathe. They typically waded in only to their knees, bending over to cup the water to their bodies and flashing the shore a most dazzlingly explicit yet endearingly innocent invitation: the full and glorious presentation of their asshole and balls. If Miska could take his eyes from the spectacle, he'd raise them to the spheres in thanks.
And here Brehoun's butt was king. The lad sported a stark, white flag of fur about a hand-and-a-half tall on the underside of his thick tail, and it flashed like a beacon against his otherwise perfectly tawny posterior. That beacon drew all eyes to that fully-hiked come-take-me swoosh of a tail and singled out his exquisite and oh-so-pert little anus. Time and again Miska ached to jump the big hunk's ass right there in front of everyone. By the time Brehoun finished his bath, half the other bathing males were left with surely the same desire, sporting similarly blazing erections despite the water's chill.
Miska never explained any of this to Brehoun, of course. It would be a crime against beauty to make him self-conscious. The thought of Brehoun curling his tail between his legs like a perpetually punished cub was an anathema.
But of all Brehoun's frustrating behavior, one night stood out for Miska. Just a few months ago in early summer, despite the unseasonably oppressive heat, Brehoun paid a surprise visit to his tent. Although Miska's bed was rarely empty, on nights like these he was usually eager to be the only one warming the sheets.
Laying naked on his bedding, with both tent flies open, he'd been so sharply startled by the paw on his shoulder that he nearly struck out. Seeing that it was a fellow lion, he felt a sudden need to cover himself. Seeing that it was Brehoun sliding in next to him equally naked, having already shed his short summer pants, he merely dropped the tent flies.
"Can't sleep," Brehoun explained, though from the look of him--thoroughly fluff-rumpled and sweat-matted--he'd been trying some rather energetic means to relax himself. To no avail, Miska noted, grinning at his friend's bulging sheath.
"Come here then," Miska offered, "let me help you really relax. Get on your stomach."
Miska massaged the big lion's shoulders, pressing through the warm, sweat-moist fur and kneading the springy muscles underneath. But as Brehoun grew more relaxed, he also grew more aroused. Miska watched with amusement as Brehoun spread his legs and slowly lifted his tail.
Mmmm, what a fine piece of butt! he thought, biting his lip. It seemed such a natural, innocent extension of his rubdown to honor it. So what if it turns me on, he mused, each paw firmly groping an amazingly chiseled cheek.
Soon, Brehoun started to groan in appreciation, squirming his hips under Miska's strong paws. He was only vaguely surprised when Brehoun's squirming developed into a more rhythmic thrusting.
Oh you randy dog! His smile widened as he pushed on Brehoun's ass, helping him grind his crotch against the cool sheets.
It hadn't taken long for Miska's own tingling cock to shove its sheath aside. Immediately it started to twitch in the hot night air and as if in response Brehoun's tail hiked even higher over his quivering asshole. Miska knew better, but couldn't help himself. He reached out to that pert little pucker, and began softly massaging it around and around. When Brehoun's thrusts came undaunted, Miska grew ever more bold.
"You know what you really need?" he'd finally asked.
"Hmmm?" Brehoun mumbled.
"This..." Miska suggested, leaning over to poke the tip of his stiff lion cock under his friend's oh-so-inviting tail.
"Hey!" Brehoun whooped, turning to shove Miska away, his whole body tensing and his tail clamping down. "You know I don't go for that. What's the matter with you?"
Miska had bristled in frustration. How? he wondered. How can a man lift his tail for you, let you paw his ass and spread his cheeks and caress his tight little pucker and still expect it to go unfucked? It was beyond his understanding. And that day, it was beyond his self-discipline as well.
Brehoun then lay back down, and Miska, more than a little confused, returned to his massage. After a while, Brehoun had again melted under his paws, again began pumping his hips, and again hiked his tail in obvious invitation.
Oh, my aching balls! You're just gonna fuck my bedding and leave me dripping like a sieve with nowhere to turn, aren't you?
Miska wrapped one paw tightly around his neglected shaft and pumped his fist furiously, his other paw half-heartedly squeezing the selfish lug's butt cheek. It felt great, thrusting his hips behind Brehoun, humping the air over his friend's perfect ass, the fantasy of rutting that exposed pucker all the more vivid as Brehoun's hips rolled up and down underneath him.
Yes, yes, hike it up, he gulped, throttling his shaft. Beautiful hole, that tight pucker! Hump your balls, big guy, hump 'em... Clench for me, yeah, yeah! So tight, so--ack!
It was too quick. He'd meant to turn away and blow his seed on the floor. But the eruption was so eager, the waves so debilitating, that he sprayed cum all over the object of his desire.
Brehoun's pumping seized as he felt Miska's hot spray splatter his backside. "Stars!" he cursed. Brehoun, like most lions, had what in Miska's opinion was an overly fastidious compulsion to stay clean. Miska, by comparison, had learned that a little sheath-smut, greasy balls, or a cummy ass were just the spices of life. Brehoun, however, was entirely nonplussed and this time had begun to push himself up.
"Oh, you big fusser," Miska had scolded, pushing him back down. "You're just spreading it. Let me," he said, bending down with a grin. Miska liked the salty-sweet taste of his own cum, especially during the afterglow of the release. He went after the most errant drops first, scooping the glistening gel onto his tongue and lapping away their runny trails.
A short way into his ministrations, he had felt Brehoun resume his self-pleasing yet again, rocking his hips over a soft wad of bedding, spreading his legs and yet again revealing his deliciously chubby balls.
Miska marveled at the volume of gush captured between Brehoun's buttocks and pooled on the back of his balls. This big mess, instead of swallowing it right off, he herded into gooey mouthfuls up Brehoun's backside, smearing it up the sweaty crack and into the little divot surrounding his asshole. He let it collect there, the whole glossy puddle quivering as Brehoun's pucker twitched in his self-excitement.
Miska started to stiffen again, muzzling Brehoun's butt and smelling his own pungent goo mingle with Brehoun's sour tail musk. He'd been terribly unsure how the tail-shy Brehoun might react to his next move, but after only a slight hesitation had decided to chance it. He slurped the thick cum into his maw, lapping at the hot tail hole. Instead of resisting, Brehoun shivered, humping harder. Encouraged, Miska drove his grinning muzzle at Brehoun's ass, kissing and licking his bright white flag and sucking his cum slathered asshole with genuine fervor.
Brehoun begun to groan in earnest, lifting his ass to Miska's muzzle, tail hiked high and eager. Miska pried at the hole with his tongue, wrinkling his nose in concentration, his hot breath a noisy snort against Brehoun's sticky backside.
Miska couldn't believe how hard it was to tongue-fuck the boy. Though Brehoun's ass was desperately grinding up at his muzzle, his sphincter refused to yield. And then suddenly Miska understood. Brehoun wasn't resisting--he'd been in the throes of furious pleasure, his tail hole fiercely clenched as he spent great ropes of cum in vice-like convulsions beneath him.
Miska had been so awed by the force of Brehoun's climax it had taken him a moment to realize he'd cum again himself in the process.
"Whew!" Miska announced after a moment, smacking his lips. "Like that, did ya?"
He'd meant it to be rhetorical, but Brehoun had sounded a terse "no!" and rolled over on his side, tail tucked tight.
"Brehoun...!" Miska started, concerned.
"Just go to sleep," the big lion interrupted. "Please."
All night, Miska had been sick with worry that he'd crossed a line, that their friendship was ruined, and that Brehoun might be seriously hurting somehow. The next morning and following days, however, things seemed just as before. And then, a few months later, here they were again.
This night, as Miska sank his mouth over Brehoun's big, perfect cock with a deep muzzle-to-sheath kiss that made the lad roll his head back and groan, he gripped and stroked the hilt of his friend's thick, presumably still virgin tail. And as he began to slobber and bob his soft, muscular muzzle up and down over Brehoun's spreading legs, he felt the tension of that tail diminish and found no resistance as his fingers slid up and down the white flag of its underside, the back of his hand stroking both ass cheeks in time with the increasing intensity of his oral wrangling.
Miska slowly worked his fingertips upward under Brehoun's tail, continuing to bob and swallow over the jolting cock. Eventually, he found himself prodding the warm button of Brehoun's tail hole. He was greatly heartened to feel Brehoun giving over to the pleasure of his kiss and the tickling under his tail, his legs straining and hips pumping, stroking his shaft in and out of Miska's silky muzzle.
Miska spread his friend's asshole and timidly worked one finger inside. He wished it were his cock, which was now painfully engorged and beginning to drip unattended beneath him, but of course Brehoun would never indulge him that far.
The large lion's hips rocked high as he tried to shove his dick into Miska's throat and then crashed down again, squirming his ass onto his friend's wriggling finger. Twice more and Miska had what he needed to get his finger firmly prodding Brehoun's sensitive abdominal gland.
Almost immediately Brehoun reeled, the first salty tingle of impending climax washing onto Miska's tongue. He opened his mouth and let the big cat slip free and fire. Most of the blasting splatter caught Miska on the roof of his mouth where it clung a moment before slipping to his tongue. Brehoun's butt clenched around Miska's paw as more and more of the big hunk's cum found Miska's cheek, nose, neck and mane. Miska reclaimed his paw from Brehoun's sweaty behind, generating yet another bout of satisfied spurting.
"Wow," Brehoun breathed after a moment, spent. "What was that?"
Miska winked, waiting just a moment more before giving the prickly bumps on the back of Brehoun's sensitive, ooze-slicked cock a good cleaning lick with his bristled fore-tongue.
Miska laughed as Brehoun let out a yowl that caused cursing in the next tent. The big lion pushed his ill mannered friend off him and shot him an unmistakable are-you-crazy? look.
"For my inevitable disappointment," Miska quipped.
"That so?" Brehoun asked and swept the slim lion up into his arms. Brehoun planted another firm kiss on his friend's lips and this time it lingered. Miska opened his mouth and kissed back, surprised again but ready, his tongue seeking access to Brehoun's and the big lug's seeking back. Miska felt his heart melting. He'd been badgering Brehoun for a long time, and sure, they'd fooled around, but Brehoun had always been barely there before. Miska had become convinced he was pining for someone who saw him as a regrettable diversion. But here, the ale glaze was gone from Brehoun's eyes and what was there instead suddenly made Miska afraid--or hopeful--though he couldn't tell which.
Brehoun smacked his lips. "What is that taste? Is that me? It's awful." He made a face.
"Yeah," Miska agreed, handing Brehoun his canteen and then taking it himself. "You've got the wrong diet for this, my friend. I, on the other hand, am like candy."
"So... your turn then?"
Miska was incredulous. Brehoun usually just stroked him a while, and then watched while he pawed himself. "For... ?" he began, but thought better of questioning. "Okay," he said quietly.
Brehoun got onto all fours and dog-walked to where Miska was kneeling, still blazingly aroused. His spine tingled to feel Brehoun's long mane tickling his thighs and his breath on his balls. We watched his uncertain friend as he reached out with his tongue and--
"Wait," Miska warned, "not the bristles..."
"Oh, right." He reached out again and stopped. "Then how?" he asked, annoyed.
"Well, you just, um, use the sides, and--oh, okay," he barked as his cock was enveloped in Brehoun's toothy maw. Miska spread his legs and lowered his small, loosely dangling balls almost to the ground. He put his hands on Brehoun's strong back and started a slow thrust and draw. Brehoun sunk on his elbows and Miska swallowed hard watching Brehoun's tail dance ahead, just out of reach, beautifully hiked over the mounds of his bare tush.
Oh yes, I can certainly fuck that handsome muzzle and ogle that pretty tail, Miska thought, but Brehoun's novice tongue kept slipping and Miska's pleasure refused to build over the painful interruptions. Eventually Brehoun sat back, nagging his jaw.
Miska sighed. Brehoun's spit would dry quickly and make his cock sticky now. It'd be almost impossible to rub himself off. But he was impressed with his friend for trying something new.
Suddenly Brehoun volunteered, "um, the other end then?" and began wriggling his tail. Miska's jaw dropped. Brehoun spun around and presented his rump to Miska. "I must warn you though," he said, glancing back over his shoulder, "I've, um..."
"You've never done this before."
"Right."
The sight of that hiked rear end made Miska's cock twitch and his spine tense. Oh please don't be teasing, he mouthed silently. He'd dreamed of this for a long time and now his dangling balls literally ached for it.
"I can show you," he mumbled eagerly and began rummaging his belongings for a small vial of effar grease. He'd been saving it for a special occasion, but, well, this was it. The substance made an excellent lubricant with hardly any taste and only a slight herbal odor. It would also numb them both quite a bit, which was not merely for Brehoun's comfort, but also for Miska, who was so hot to rut he feared blowing his chance at the gate.
Miska bit his lip, admiring that gorgeous ass. "Never done this before, eh? You present yourself like an eager little lioness, you know."
"That's where I learned it," he said, swishing his tail. "But how would you know?" he ribbed.
"Oh, I've sailed those skies," he said. "Just never found a heaven sweeter than this." And with that, he swaggered over to Brehoun's rear, leaned forward and slipped his paw underneath the big lion. After a brief ball-fondling, he moved up to feel the tense, fleshy button of Brehoun's hole and dabbed a good little wad of grease there, soothing it around and around. Then he knelt down and nibbled Brehoun's hip, applying the stuff to his own throbbing, almost purple member as well. "You can't imagine how hard it is to go slow with you right now," he rumbled.
Brehoun laughed. "You better," he said.
Miska slowly pushed his finger into Brehoun's hole, far easier now with the grease, but still tight. Brehoun grunted a bit as Miska worked in a second finger and clenched down tightly as he was preparing a third. Miska retracted his fingers and Brehoun exhaled sharply.
"I'm not so sure about this," Brehoun said, starting to get up.
"Lay on your belly, big guy. You'll be fine."
Brehoun complied, warily.
Miska bunched up a pillow. "Put his under you and get your paws in there," he directed.
Miska spread Brehoun's legs apart with his knees, still marveling at the big balls exposed there, so nicely plumped up by the pillow. He mounted his friend from behind then, letting him feel his weight, his warmth, and the pulsing heft of his eager dick against Brehoun's butt.
Miska shifted, using one hand to probe under Brehoun's tail again, gauging the position of his own overdue satisfaction. He put his dripping tip against Brehoun's warm, virgin pucker and rolled his hips forward. "Just relax," he gulped, unconvincingly, wanting nothing more than to spear and rut.
Miska's aim was true and Brehoun gasped as the stiff shaft pried him open. He grunted and wanted to resist but his alarm seemed to pass when Miska ordered him to start stroking himself.
Again Miska gulped, pressing deeper, spreading Brehoun wider, his own quite well-proportioned shaft now sinking into that gloriously tight, warm, masculine ass. Miska's weight made it hard for Brehoun to stroke his own cock, but he found that pulling the pillow up against his sheath was helping. In no time he felt his expanding cock sliding against the cool, smooth fabric.
"Still okay down there?" Miska asked. Brehoun nodded, and Miska pressed himself home.
The big lion groaned, not so much in discomfort as in feeling himself opened further and further and Miska surging deeper and deeper. It seemed to just keep going, filling him beyond full. It felt wild and weird and uncomfortable, and... nice. His friend, one who'd pleasured him without asking hardly a thing in return, was now taking his own pleasure from Brehoun, taking his tail. "Oh, you're big," Brehoun grunted, his own cock tingling in his paws. "But... hurry," he urged.
Miska wasted no time. He pressed his cock into Brehoun's ass, pressing and releasing, rather than humping, wanting to keep his shaft as deep as possible. Even with the grease he was already embarrassingly on the verge of climax. He had to give Brehoun time. The boy just had to feel himself release with his tail wrapped around another man's driving pole.
When Brehoun eventually found a rhythm, his breath growing deep and irregular, Miska let go gratefully and began a long, slow rut, shoving up into that perfect ass and drawing his bow for plunge after plunge. Quickly, he forgot himself and began pounding to his pleasure. He stroked and pulled, drew and sank, faster and faster, the warmth of Brehoun's clenching tract working his cock high and hard, sending it closer to explosion.
He heard Brehoun moan and felt him tensing up around him, his ass a slick vice over Miska's unrelenting cock. He grabbed Brehoun's sides and kept pumping, unsure whether the big lion was cumming himself or trying to buck him away. He quivered and bucked back, riding his lovely male lion just that last bit further and then--
Miska cried out over Brehoun, spilling himself up his virgin friend's clenched ass. He thrust through each wave of gush, wanting his seed buried deep and completely accepted. He pressed himself as hard as he could, arching his back into the pleasure of it. After all this time... worth it, worth it, he thought.
And they both sank into a spent heap.
When Miska was convinced the rough nubs of his cock had retracted, he pulled himself from Brehoun, who groaned again with the release. He then rolled over and flopped down beside the big lion.
"Wow," Brehoun sighed. "I really had no idea."
"So," Miska inquired. "Did ya like it?"
Brehoun dragged a cum-drenched paw from under him. "Guess so."
Miska smiled. "Brehoun," he started, "I'm sure you know this, but I..." he hesitated and sighed. "Brehoun, I--"
"Don't say it, Miska."
"Oh?"
"Time for sleep."
"Oh." Miska turned away. Brehoun usually needed a lot of space after they'd fooled around. However, the big lug surprised him again as he found the strength to shift closer, spooning against Miska and wrapping one strong arm around him.
He smooched Miska's ear and whispered, "just don't say it. 'S all I meant."
Miska nodded, and as they lay there, he sunk deep into thought. The men could rut each other silly for all the army cared. But entanglements, as they were called, were a command problem and strictly prohibited. Of course no one could accuse Miska of failing to sleep around in the ranks, even though everyone knew how he pined for Brehoun. But something else suddenly occurred to him. "Brehoun?" he asked.
"Mmmph?"
"Do you visit any other guys like this?"
Brehoun snorted. "Like this? No. I told you."
Miska blushed under his fur. It felt good. "I mean, for... whatever."
Brehoun was quiet for a long time. "'S it really matter?" he finally groaned.
Miska snuggled in. He didn't want to push it. Brehoun probably thought he was being jealous. He sighed. Events could get misconstrued in so many ways and the tents were so close together. How could you miss what was happening... the giggling and grunting. Miska certainly kept tabs on his neighbors. And they'd made such a ruckus tonight. He rolled the word over in his mind... entanglements. Miska wanted one. This one in particular. But Brehoun had always been such an impossible catch. Safely unattainable. Was he? Miska wondered.
"No," replied Brehoun. Surely he spoke to Miska's earlier question and not the one on his mind, but that didn't stop the tiny shiver from racing down his spine. Or maybe it was just the feeling of Brehoun's now flaccid sheath, still endearingly chubby and wet, tucked so nicely under Miska's tail.
Oh stars! he cursed to himself. He'd forgotten to grease his own ass. Nothing for it, I suppose.
He smiled. Experience had shown him that somewhere in the small hours that the big lion's soft bundle would start to stiffen again. If Miska wriggled his tush just right, Brehoun would wake to slowly hump him, groggily prodding all over his ass in search of his yielding hole.
Miska would pretend to sleep, offering no help but to squirm himself back into Brehoun's randy lap should the big lug's exhaustion threaten to overcome his appetite. Eventually, Brehoun would find purchase and relentlessly squirm his thick, dry shaft into Miska's clenching asshole. It was always a terribly rough screw. The more of Brehoun's great, un-oiled cock was forced inside him, the greater the friction and the harder Brehoun shoved to fight it. It was ridiculous to think Miska could sleep through a slow-motion reaming like that, but that was the game they'd play.
When Brehoun finally came, he'd do it silently, holding his breath and stifling his groans. All would be still except for the powerful jolts tugging on Miska's tight tract. And though he thrilled at the sensation of Brehoun's hot bursts of seed in his gut, in this case there would be none. His tight, dry, raw-rutted ass would clamp Brehoun's cock head so tight that the throbbing lion would essentially cum into the tube of his own shaft.
It wouldn't be until Brehoun dragged his big cock completely from Miska's vice that the lion's cum would finally flow, depositing a great runny river of goo against Miska's tenderized asshole and down the side of his furry butt. And all the while, it would be Miska's turn to lay silent, fighting the urge to cry out at Brehoun's all-too-sudden withdraw, the big lug's still-erect cock-bristles rending Miska's thoroughly abused sphincter so savagely he'd see spots before his eyes.
Stars willing, we'll both be sore for a week, mused Miska, and all will be right with the world. All but for one thing anyway. And I may have an idea for that too.
* * *
In the morning, as the regiment wake-up blared, Brehoun found Miska already gone. He stretched his back and shoulders, and felt a strange tingling and an occasional throb under his tail. "Wow," he groaned, shaking his head. The memory came back with unrelenting clarity: Stars. I let Miska fuck me. In the ass. He CAME up my ass! It kept going around and around in Brehoun's mind as he reached to his butt and--
There was something odd. Something was tied around the base of his tail, flopping lightly against his ass.
It was a tiny scroll of paper, tied there with a ribbon. There seemed to be no bow, just a knot. "Cute," he muttered. He tried to unravel it, but the knot wouldn't budge under his blind fingers. He rummaged the tent for a blade, but found none. Then something else occurred to him: "Where are my britches?"
"Miska!" he called. No reply. "This isn't funny," he wailed.
A sudden tapping on the tent fly was followed by a startling voice. "Soldier, present yourself!" It was Colonel Ardo, the commander of the regiment.
A state of public undress wasn't terribly uncommon at wake-up, so Brehoun obeyed--not that he had much of a choice. He tugged the scroll from his rump, leaving the ribbon for later, exited the tent and stood at attention without a stitch. Shifting his eyes up and down the lines, however, he noticed everyone dressed and presented for arms. Impossible, he thought. Wake-up just sounded.
"Corporal Tam," the Colonel inquired, "where are your clothes?"
"My tent, sir." I hope.
"And whose tent is this, then?" he asked, in all likelihood knowing full well.
Brehoun replied as softly as decorum permitted. "Corporal Grayhe's, sir."
Colonel Ardo barked at battlefield volume: "CORP'AL GRAYHE'S TENT IS WHERE YOU SPENT THE NIGHT LAST NIGHT, IS THAT CO-RECT, CORP'AL TAM?"
"C-CORPORAL GRAHYE'S TENT IS WHERE CORPORAL TAM SPENT THE NIGHT LAST NIGHT, YYYES SIR!" he sounded back, ears blushing hot.
The Colonel regarded him for a moment. "Very well then, soldier. Go get dressed."
"YES SIR," he said gladly, and briskly marched down the line toward his tent. The whole formation seemed to be smirking.
"CORPORAL!" the Colonel yelled, freezing Brehoun in his tracks. "What is that on your ass?"
"Sir?" He'd almost forgotten the ribbon.
"On your ass, Corporal? That writing? What is it?"
Writing? Brehoun was speechless. He looked up and down the lines for Miska to no avail.
"Come here, please. Do turn around. There you go." The Colonel cocked his head, examining Brehoun's buttocks. He could feel the little ribbon cinched around his tail gaily wriggling in the breeze. His spreading blush had become almost painful.
"Aaaah," the Colonel drawled after a lingering while, "very well. Go make yourself presentable."
Brehoun gulped and double-timed it to his tent.
There he found a blade and removed his little decoration. At least the ribbon was a tasteful yellow. He couldn't find anything to let him view his own ass though, and gave up trying. Finally, when he unwrapped the scroll he'd been gifted his jaw dropped. It was a clever little poem: an outrageous, lewd, and totally accurate account of his night in Miska's tent. And it ended with a description of the statement boldly inked across his backside.
"That... dog-whuffin', cum-guzzlin' slut-of-a-puff!" Brehoun swore, trying to fight off a widening grin. "Deflowered?" he roared. "Deflowered, my ass!"
To which all the troops in earshot burst into spasms of laughter.
* * *
"I'm telling you it won't come off."
"Keep rubbing."
"Look--"
"More rubbing, less talking."
"Hmph. I'd say you were no fun at all, but we know better now, don't we?"
"Grrrrr!"
"Okay, okay. Rubbing. But I'm just--"
"Look, I gave up on that an hour ago."
"What? Well then why the spheres am I still--"
"Heh heh heh. Keep rubbing. Mmnnm, that's it. Now, lower..."
The End