The otter covered the back of his mouth with his paw, trying not to let the patrons

of the inn see his

yawn. Even this far from the city center most of them expected their servants to be quick of foot and
quicker of thought, even if they looked like they hadn’t seen sleep in the past week. It wasn’t that they
actually weren’t allowed sleep, of course: it was just a busy job. From serving the patrons in the main
room from shortly before the sun came above the horizon to when it sat in the middle of the sky at
noon; then up to the bedrooms to get things cleaned up and in order for the new day’s round of
travelers; then down and around to the stables to take care of all the business needing done there… as
he bustled from the bar to one of the tables up near the far wall, the otter surreptitiously lifted his shirt
to his nose and took a sniff. He didn’t smell like it, at least. A quick yet thorough bath in one of the spare
tubs helped with that.

At that table one of the patrons, a broad-shouldered lion with his long cloak curling down around the
feet of the chair, lifted his tankard without looking at him or the other servants. The otter raised the full
one in his other paw even though he wouldn’t be able to see it. That was one of the rules that the owner
of the place had set in place: never let a customer see the bottom of their drink. Always bring them a
new one before they can decide if they want it! The heavy metallic clunk of the new filled tankard
settling against the wood of the table brought the large cat’s ears flicking sideways, and then the otter
thought he heard a grumbled “thank you” before the huge paw came out to wrap around the drink. He
bowed his head, swiped the empty one away, and started back towards the bar.

Again, it wasn’t that they weren’t allowed sleep. That had been a rule at one of his past places of
employment, though that one he looked back on as almost slavery. The otter smirked remembering it,
how he thought he would be able to make if not a name, then at least some money for himself in the
richer district of the city. Instead what he found there was the loudest, the rudest, the most impatient
people he had ever encountered, as well as the ugliest faces… or at least they seemed that way, always
contorted into scowls and sneers at his appearance. Never let a customer see you, had been the rule
there, issued to him in hushed tones. That’s why I have you working the floor, Luke. Brown fur blends in
with brown wood. By the gods, don’t let them see you.

The sound of the bell jingling and then again against the front door brought the by-now reflexive head-
nod out of the otter, though he was too focused on his current task to properly greet the new customer.
One thing he by far preferred about this inn was the stables, something unmanageable in the
establishments within the walls, and especially not in that richer section. Those of bluer blood can’t
tolerate the slightest of unpleasant scents, Luke had found. That, and in this part of the country it was
seen as rude and impractical to take your mount within the city walls, which left places like this one just
beyond the walls with stables larger than the inn itself, housing the mounts of all the visiting travelers
from all around.

He liked the peace of working with the animals. Luke slid the tankard in among the others waiting to be
washed, then double-checked the other cabinet to make sure there still were enough for the rest of the
folks out there tonight. Customers could be loud and needy and rude, while the animals… it was harder,
nastier, busier work than he had originally imagined, but there was something satisfying about getting it
done. With a trained hand they responded to his touch and his presence like an old, comfortable friend,
often even if it were the first time that particular animal had stayed at the stables.

Sleek, powerful muscles kept taut yet at the same time relaxed beneath smooth, strong-haired hide,
wide haunches coming up to the center of his chest, all different kinds of colors and patterns… of
course, most of the patrons rode horses. That was the standard throughout the land, for a number of
different factors once listed to him from a persistent merchant of said beasts one night: favored for their
many traits superior over other similarly-sized creatures, such as their responsiveness and relative ease
of handling, not to mention the appreciable speed over every commonly-encountered terrain along the
roads between the main cities, and then they have a few other respectably well-endowed traits, if you –
but Luke never found out what those traits were, since right at that moment the merchant, who had
kept on drinking until he could not longer even find the bottom of his tankard, tripped over the foot of a
support pole and tumbled head-first into a pile of hay, where he remained until the following morning.
He smelled quite strongly of horse urine once he had stirred awake, a scent with which Luke had
become quite familiar in his time working here, and then offered some extra payment for the
inconvenience and embarrassment before heading on his way.

Horses were by far the most common mount brought to the stables but by no means the only. There
were also the big, meaty riding dragons, flightless beasts that Luke had never seen before he had come
north out of the main peninsula of Mora, his home country. Those were rarer among the patrons in this
part of the city, but mostly favored among students at the academy and their teachers, as well as a few
certain nobles… and then, alongside those, the similarly large yet more sleek lizards, apparently a carry-
over species from the near deserts of Maldeth where they skittered across the dunes, fast and unseen.
Still at home in the relative heat here, Luke had cared for one a few times. He liked the way their skin
felt, especially right after their morning baths, and he also enjoyed the way that they-

“Luke.”

The otter jumped at the voice, nearly dropping the tankard that he had forgotten he had picked up, and
then quickly tightened his face back into the comfortable, pleasant smile he used for customers. As soon
as he did so, though, the façade dropped and a true smile took its place. “Inks.”

The striped hyena across the bar did a small flourish with his cloak, the movement briefly showing how
he still wore the looser, more traditional outfit of his species beneath. A good friend of the otter’s as
well as a common patron of his inn even before Luke worked here, Inks made his living traveling around
the area and sourcing certain kinds of goods for museums, scholars, the eccentric, and the like. A
purveyor of strange and unusual artifacts from strange and unusual places. The brown-furred hyena
leaned in close over the bar, smelling as usual of dust, grit, and ancient stone.

“Looked like you were off in your own world for a bit there. Don’t want your boss seeing that, you
know.”

“I know, I know.” The otter glanced down at the tankard, having forgotten what he was going to do with
it. “I’m sorry. How can I help you?”

The trader straightened back up, placing his paws on his hips. “You know exactly how.”

He was also a favored patron of the owner of the inn. Luke nodded, grinning, and set the tankard down
so he could reach for the logbook. “Alright. Yes. Same room as usual?”

“If that’s possible, yes. And I need you to attend to my horse. Brutus needs some attention, but I’m
ready to get off my feet as well.”
“Oh.” Luke paused in flipping through the pages. “I can’t. I’ve been assigned to take care of the floor
here tonight, and-”

“Don’t you worry about that.” Inks waved a paw. “I already spoke to the big man and gave him a little
extra convincing. You’re good to go.”

“Well, first I need to…”

“No, no you don’t.” He held an arm out to block Luke from making his way back out onto the floor. “He’s
got some needs that should be tended immediately. You do remember everything, right?”

Luke chuckled, moving Inks’s arm out of the way. The hyena let him, and stepped briefly aside. “Only the
best of the best, right?”

“You got it. The best feed, the best bedding, the best stall…” In the stables here there stood a few stalls
specifically separate from all the others, designed for particularly skittish mounts or for those with
certain requirements by their owners. On more than one occasion Luke had pushed his way into one of
those stalls for the early-morning rounds of the stables, only to find both the mount and the owner
occupying the same space. Sometimes the scent curling his nostrils told him just why that stall had been
requested. “…the best attention.”

Luke stood up on his tiptoes to hang the tankard up along the wall, then turned back to the hyena.
“Alright. What’s this about immediate needs?”

Inks crossed his arms. “Come on, Luke. We just came back from beyond the border. There’s plenty of
streams and brooks in between there and here, and then I wanted to make it back before nightfall so we
didn’t really have time to stop…”

“Okay, okay. I get it.”

“And then, also because of that, I wasn’t able to give him – you know, Brutus, the stallion – the right
attention that he needs at least once daily…”

“Mister Inks.”

The hyena paused, paws intertwined in front of him, cloak drifting open to show his smooth belly and
the puff of his mane coming down over his shoulders. That was part of the hyenas’ traditional outfit:
light and airy, open and free. Luke intentionally kept his eyes on his muzzle. He was already well-
acquainted with what Inks had further down on his body.

“I understand. I’ll get it done.”

“Right now?”

“Right now. I will check with the boss, though. It’s not that I don’t trust you” – Inks had been the one to
demonstrate, multiple times, just how to do these tasks; how could he not? – “but it’s just a matter of
course.”
The trader clapped his paws together, raising the ears of a few of the other patrons in the inn.
“Wonderful. Will you be attending on me tonight, too?”

“It depends on how long Brutus takes,” Luke replied, lowering his voice. He dropped it to nearly a
murmur as he passed by the hyena. “And if I can get back in without taking a bath first, since I know you
like the way it-”

“I do.” In that moment both of them paused, then Inks came forward and drew the otter into a quick
embrace. Luke felt himself surrounded by his familiar, friendly scent, warm and dusty. “Woof. I missed
you, Luke. You’re always a big part of why I look forward to coming back through Mora.”

“I missed you too.” The otter slid a paw up beneath Inks’s cloak. “And not just for the extra gold you give
the inn, nor for the special time with your horse. I should be getting to it, though, if you say it’s
immediate.”

“He just needs a break,” Inks said, sinking back onto one of the stools, “and you do too. Have fun.”

In hardly five more minutes Luke found himself striding out around to the stables in the back of the inn,
holding his arms around himself against the approaching chill of night. Nothing too cold, just a chill
noticeable against the humid heat of the day; the gravel set around the pathways crunched beneath his
footpaws, adding another sound to the jumble of noise from inside as well as the general sounds of
nature from out here.

It was the sounds of the animals that hit him first, with the scent soon to follow. The otter briefly
wrinkled his nose against the pungent familiarity, though very soon grew used to it again. This was
where all of the new workers made their stands, of course, as the universally least desirable position at
the inn – but, again, Luke enjoyed it somewhat, and for more reasons than someone might think. Inks
had caught on to that quite early and used it for both of their benefit. As a trader of goods of
indiscernible origin, he had to be adept at reading faces and interpreting thoughts.

Before he had stepped out of the room, Inks had pointed him towards the third private stall, down the
way and around the corner from the main stables. Luke swiped up his tools on the way there – the
bucket, the towel, the brush, and the soap in one paw, with another bucket of water in the other – and
then pushed that door open with his shoulder, quickly setting the things back down against the ground.
Just before he turned around to see if he had counted correctly, a set of warm, wet lips and broad flat
teeth nipped at his shoulder, then neck, then ear. He chuckled and reached up to pat the horse’s muzzle,
then turned to greet Brutus more properly.

If he wasn’t outright friendly with the otter, Brutus was at least familiar with him. Ever since that first
time, during which Inks had requested to watch, the hyena had specifically requested Luke be the only
one to clean, treat, and handle his horse, in all the same ways that had been requested that first time.
He had been unsure at first, yet very eager: Inks had hooked onto that and brought it out of the otter,
guiding him around through his horse’s mane, along his back, over his haunches, down under his belly,
back into the stallion’s thick sheath and heavy balls…

Luke swallowed, forcing himself to pick up the brush and start with the familiar rhythm through the
rugged, thick hair of the beast’s pelt. The grooming would come first with everything involved, and then
the feeding and watering, and then he would be making his way back in to wait on the hyena himself.
Luke let his mind wander as he worked, just like usual, his paws and body working through the usual
rhythms: neck to shoulder, shoulder to chest, neck to shoulder again, chest to belly, back and forth again
and again. He murmured to Brutus as he did so, too, keeping the horse aware of his presence and
comfortable with it.

He grew used to the scent, the strong pungency of tired, well-worked equine, and it stung his nostrils
just as it filled him with the same feeling it always did: the appreciation, the enjoyment, the comfort…
the slight excitement. Luke took a couple steps to the side as he worked down Brutus’s body, keeping
his eyes stoically averted as he slid the brush around the horse’s wide rump and in towards his back,
with his other paw lifting the brushy tail bound at base away. Naturally, though, a few stray glances
made their way in, his eyes tracing over the also-familiar shape of the thick-muscled rim of the horse’s
tailhole, only further accentuating the excitement growing between the otter’s loins.

From there he made his way around to the other side, trying to maintain the same rhythm and pace, but
throughout it he continually glanced down at the mount’s hind legs. Brutus dipped his head down and
adjusted his stance every now and then through the brushing, each movement sending quite a
noticeable ripple and jiggle down through that particular part of his body: the closer he came the more
Luke imagined he could smell it, too, that pungent aroma turning instead to one thicker, heavier,
muskier, wafting up with each movement. He glanced around himself even knowing nobody would be
able to see him in this stall, then reached over with a footpaw and pulled each of the buckets closer.
Then, slowly, he dropped to his knees, careful not to position himself directly beneath the horse’s body.

There it was, then. The part of Brutus’s body with which Luke was likely most familiar, as Inks often
specially requested he pay extra attention her: the plump, velvety sheath, the wrinkles of smooth skin
bunching up near the tip, the stretch of flatter flesh leading down along his loins and pouching down
into full, heavy balls, each one nearly filling both of the otter’s cupped paws. Luke swallowed again, now
definitely unable to draw his gaze away, and just watched for a bit: he could see the horse’s pulse
thumping through the side of his thick sheath, as well as the slow rhythm of the beast’s breathing in the
way those balls rose and fell, rose and fell just enough for him to be able to see.

The empty bucket he brought forward, positioning it roughly within range of the feral stallion’s sheath,
while the other he just left forgotten at his side. Luke scooted forward on his knees a bit, paws poised to
touch and heft and handle, but still he hesitated… then reached down with one, adjusted his pants, and
went for it right after, one paw coming up beneath one of those balls and the other settling into soft yet
firm flesh at the base of the horse’s sheath. Brutus twitched with the touch though Luke made sure to
stay slow and careful in his movements.

Intense, concentrated heat, moist and humid with sweat and the natural oils of the horse’s body,
immediately seeped into and clung to the fur and pads of the otter’s paws. He licked his lips and came in
a little closer to more easily massage the heft between the stallion’s hind legs, bringing both paws back
to rub at that heavy hanging sack. The heft pushed back against his paws just as the thick, leathery skin
slid over his pads, the pair of weights inside moving and swinging just slightly with his touch and with
that changing warmth.

Both of them in his paws, kept contained within the supple, slick skin of Brutus’s sack, the weight and
warmth… Luke swallowed again and brought his muzzle forward, fingers and thumbs constantly, slowly,
carefully working back and forth over the dense skin and flesh, rubbing and massaging. Even before his
head had come fully beneath the horse’s body was his muzzle flooded with the rich, cloying odor of feral
horse, so close to the miasma consuming the rest of the stables yet noticeably different in its own way.
Here there was a brighter, sharp touch to it, one that came out more strongly as he came closer and
closer… and then which pushed its way back into his awareness right as the soft velvet of his nose
touched against the wrinkled leather of Brutus’s loins, into the spot right where his heavy sheath met his
heavier sack.

The otter’s maw fell partially open, thick breaths coming in through his nose and then dripping out
through his mouth while he still worked his paws along the stallion’s underside. Above him Brutus made
a sound somewhere between a huff and a snort, sounding to Luke like a noise of gentle exasperation –
gods, he’s doing it again, or something like that to Luke’s ears. He couldn’t help but still think about that
pucker of tight, strong muscle up beneath the horse’s tail, though, and while he dug his nose in against
slightly sweat-slickened skin Luke slid one paw up behind Brutus’s sack, over and against the thick-
haired pelt, following the line of wrinkled skin up… but, of course, he couldn’t quite reach it, and instead
just dropped it back down to squeeze those balls up against his nose and lips again.

Acrid wasn’t quite the right word for it. He moved back a bit, still able to feel the clinging slickness of the
horse’s sweat and oils, and flicked his tongue over his lips. It was definitely sharper, yet at the same time
deeper, earthier… the otter nuzzled back up into the warm, firm flesh, loving the way it pressed back
against his face and muzzle, and then started working his way up along the underside of the stallion’s
sheath, one paw remaining in place and the other leading his muzzle. Here the skin and flesh became
softer and more velvety, though inside there still pulsed a firm thickness, growing and tightening the
more attention he put to it.

Along the way Luke swallowed again, already able to taste the horse on his lips and tongue. He pushed
his nose up along the line of the stallion’s sheath towards his firm, strong belly, then moved back down
again. “Don’t you worry, Brutus…” Luke murmured, his breath washing right back over him tainted with
that earthy musk, “we’ll get you all cleaned up just like your owner requested. It’s just… I have some
other things I need to attend to, first…”

He tilted his head partially to the side, watching himself bring that other paw forward and cupping it
around the end of the horse’s sheath. That was one of his favorite parts, honestly, though it required a
thorough bath to himself after: digging his fingers into the tight wrinkles of sheath skin there, with or
without one of the cleaning sponges in his paw. That first time, Inks had shown him how to do with a
cupped pair of fingers and thumb instead, bringing his face and tongue in afterwards to make extra
certain… a bit of an unorthodox method, but one that Luke found he enjoyed at least as much as the
striped hyena guiding and demonstrating for him. The scent there, of course, had been much stronger,
much more pungent, and definitely acrid as opposed to the musk clinging to and dripping between
Brutus’s hind legs now.

Still carefully yet a bit more eager he worked his paw against the end of the horse’s sheath, squeezing
and rubbing, coaxing the horse’s length steadily out. The wrinkles of skin stretched and unfolded, the
smooth shiny black leather skin began to meld to a softer, warmer pink with spots of brown, glistening
in streaks with gathered sweat and a bit of natural grime. Luke licked his lips again, this time catching
the soft skin of the stallion’s sheath in the same movement, bringing that sharper taste more fully into
his muzzle. His paw pushed steadily back against the blunted head of the horse’s shaft as it came,
growing and sliding out of those wrinkles of skin, filling his cupped palm with that intense, wet heat…
then, though, he paused where he was, lips pursed against warm skin and nose buried between sheath
and body. The weight and warmth was there, but not the firmness. He glanced over, swallowed again,
then pulled back and looked between the horse’s legs just in time to see Brutus adjust his stance,
widening his legs, lowering his body closer to the ground – and then the first spurt of hot, fresh piss
sprayed right out into Luke’s paw, splashing right back against his muzzle and shoulders.

The otter gasped with the sudden sensation, the heat of the mark immediately cutting through the chill
of the night, and dropped his paw away from the stream. Once released, Brutus’s heavy shaft dropped
further down and swung slowly in the air, spraying the ground as well as Luke’s knees with that rope-
thick stream, rich yellow and steaming in the night. The scent quickly wafted up and hit him as well, not
so much replacing the bite of the stallion’s musk as adding to and covering it beneath its own, rich and
pungent still with that earthy, grassy touch to it. Luke wiped the back of his paw against his muzzle,
smearing some of it across his lips by accident, and scowled against the sudden bite in his throat – but,
still, he couldn’t take his eyes off the show in front of him, the horse’s thick length still smoothly
spraying out into the growing, frothing puddle at the floor of the stall.

The last time Inks had stopped by Luke had done all of this quickly and easily, gathering whatever
messes into one of the buckets and then disposing of it after, but now… the otter squirmed, glancing to
his side to see the other bucket still sitting there where he had first dropped to his knees, by now out of
reach with how closely he had come beneath the horse’s body. Above him Brutus tossed his head and
huffed again, perhaps from relief for finally being able to drain himself. Luke looked up at him,
swallowed, then again dropped his gaze back down to the fast stream in front of him, the heat from it
emanating out and warming the front of his body.

Then, slowly, he reached forward and took the base of Brutus’s shaft in his paw again, fingers unable to
wrap completely around it, meat soft yet firm at the same time. Around the back he could feel the force
of the horse’s stream, too, a faint rushing of the hot liquid through him as it poured out. His other paw
came up again, hovering nearby yet not closing the distance; the otter licked his lips again, swallowed
again, leaned in, took a deliberate, deep breath of the musky scent of fresh horse’s mark, and then
brought that other paw up beneath Brutus’s blunted head.

It poured out over his palm and between his fingers, quickly soaking completely through the fur of his
paw and spraying out around it. Luke shivered, enjoying the heat, the scent, the sensation, then closed
his eyes, straightened up, and gently angled the entire thing towards his body, spreading his fingers
around Brutus’s head to concentrate the aim of the stream more fully at himself. It nearly pushed him
back with the force of it, the spray emptying quickly and heavily out across his chest and belly, easily
cutting through his fur and to the skin beneath – and it was thicker, stickier, almost, than what he was
used to receiving from Inks and the few other patrons with whom he indulged in this kind of thing.

The otter let his breath out in a slow, steady sigh, straightening up further and tilting his head back to let
the stallion douse him down, fresh piss streaming down his chest and body, arcing down along his thighs
and pooling beneath him. While Brutus continued draining himself across his body, Luke slid his paw
steadily down along the horse’s still mostly-soft length, squeezing in along the slick, soft skin and flesh,
feeling his pulse and the force of his stream, letting the scent continue to soak into his fingers and palm.

A slight adjustment of his grip along the underside of the horse’s head, a little tilt and angle of his other
paw there… and that stream of piss sprayed directly along Luke’s own shaft, already twitching hard
between his legs. He shivered with the sensation and lifted up into the wet heat, the scent by now
flooding his head and awareness and filling him with something else, something more.
Before he could stop himself the otter had dropped his paws from Brutus’s hanging shaft again, instead
placing one on his thigh and wrapping the other around his own length dripping with piss, and then he
leaned in and touched his nose and lips right to the medial ring in front of him, still soft, close to the end
of the stallion’s sheath. He breathed in fresh, rich horse musk, swallowed again, then let his tongue drop
out of his mouth and start to lead him further down, sliding easily over already-slick, warm skin. It curled
down over the rim of the horse’s head and down beneath, coming close to the source of that mark, with
his lips following close by… then he closed his eyes, pulled in a slow breath through his mouth, tasted
that fresh piss on the air there, and continued down further, until that hot stream sprayed directly along
the tip of his tongue.

That sent a hot shiver down his back, the taste suddenly blooming over the odor of it. Bitter enough to
make his nose wrinkle, still earthy, with that same notable, characteristic salty bite, though that part
was less than he had expected. Luke swallowed down that first spray, felt it coat his mouth and throat,
shivered again, then moved down a little further and this time closed his mouth directly against the end
of the stallion’s shaft, the force and volume of the horse’s piss quite quickly filling his maw and
ballooning out his cheeks, until the rich yellow poured from the corners of his mouth and dripped down
his chest. He held it there rather than drank it down, letting the taste wash over him and curl his nose
and lips, though at the same time it kept him hard and twitching; the otter squeezed his eyes shut and
swallowed once, twice, a third time, small gulps still enough for him to feel the thick heat of it rolling
down his throat and into his belly.

The fourth swallow pulled an unintentional cough and splutter out of him, forcing him to release that
mouthful and a half of stallion mark out across his chest and the growing pool between his legs, but it
seemed that Brutus had finished up, as well: still holding the horse’s shaft in one paw and wiping his
mouth with the other, Luke both watched and felt as the stallion twitched, gave another push and
another spray, and then just hung down there with the last wide drops plopping down into the puddle
beneath. Luke braced his paws against his knees, taking the moment to catch his breath and let the rest
of that sharp taste drip out of his mouth, though most of it already coated his tongue and throat.

He expected to see the horse drawing back into his plump, wrinkled sheath when he looked up, though
saw quite the opposite. It hung there a moment, swinging and swaying with the horse’s breathing and
the last few drops, then pulsed and shifted. Luke wiped his mouth again as he watched, his own arousal
still staying at its peak as Brutus’s began to grow. This was something he had seen and initiated many
times before as well, though it still caught his interest and attention to see it happening without him
having to touch the horse any more than he already had, to see the long, thick shaft continue to drop
out of its sheath, to grow to its full girth, to unfold a bit… and then, with a firm throb, to swing up and
tap against the underside of the stallion’s broad belly, and then again with a pawing at the ground from
Brutus’s front hoof and a toss of his head.

Luke smirked, coming back to himself, and shuffled forward again. Both paws still on his knees he pulled
himself to his feet, wobbled a bit, brushed himself down, and then patted the side of the horse’s body
with one paw, using the angle to reach down underneath and trace his fingers up the line of that shaft
with the other.

“Yeah, yeah…” he murmured, again breathing in the muted natural scent of the animal. A second later
his pads brushed over the rim behind Brutus’s head; he pressed in there, reached down a little further,
cupped the head in his palm. “I know. Your owner wants me to take care of all your needs.”
As if hearing and recognizing these words, Brutus tossed his head again and gave a buck forward, nearly
pushing himself through Luke’s fingers. The otter moved with him and chuckled, already half-bending
down again: he angled the horse’s length out from under his body so he could more easily work at it, the
one paw remaining at the head while his other ran back and forth along the length, pads sliding easily
across warm, supple skin, moist and slick with having been kept sheathed all day.

The otter murmured softly, as much for himself as for the stallion, while he worked. He let his eyes drift
half-shut as his arms picked up the familiar rhythm, his paw around Brutus’s head rhythmically
squeezing and rubbing, fingers pulling along the rim behind and then palm pushing forward, while his
other pushed back as close to his sack as he could reach from here and then forward again, fingers
rolling over the ring along the way. His upper body braced against the horse’s and his muzzle sideways
on him, he could feel every reaction and response through the beast’s body, from the little intakes of
breath to the soft huffs, from the shifts in posture to the downward bucks, from the growing tension to
the shivering anticipation. Luke tried to grind forward against him too, though only found hot yet empty
air where he pushed his hips. If he angled the horse’s length just right, though…

…he shivered with the sensation, another throb pulsing through Brutus’s length as soon as Luke rubbed
it against his own. His paw wasn’t large enough to take both in the same grip, but still he went on,
replacing his cupped palm with his own shaft and sack and body, pulling Brutus in against him and
pressing forward as both paws now worked along the shaft, drawing forward and pushing back. He
could still feel the heavy, cloying heat of the horse’s piss soaking his chest, belly, and groin, and now
smeared some more of that straight from the source across the underside of his twitching length,
pulsing against the warmth of Brutus’s as both of them came closer to their peaks.

Luke had worked with horses before, and this one in particular: once he had figured them out, they
were fairly easy to take care of. He smirked, licked his lips, and leaned over a bit further, yet again
changing his grip with a paw returning to the head of the stallion’s shaft and the other coming down to
work at himself. With his paw squeezing and working, palm pressing forward against the blunted head,
Brutus started to snort and shiver, almost, muscular body pushing down towards the ground, hind legs
shaking and tensing… and then entire body giving a firm thrust forward and down once, second, a third
time, with Luke having to bend at the knees to follow him.

It was that third thrust that did it, the hot, thick seed suddenly spraying out against his cupped palm,
fingers stretched around Brutus’s flared head, and pouring down into the yellow puddle at his feet. Luke
gasped, more out of satisfaction than surprise, and did his best to turn that aim upon himself again. Still
pawing himself off, he took the second spurt, and then third and fourth directly against his lower belly
and below, the thick fluid clinging to his fur and rolling down in waves, the smell heavy enough to cover
the bite of the piss.

Luke let Brutus’s shaft drop out from his paw as it began to retract back into its sheath, squeezing out a
last lazy rope of his load as it went. He watched that, briefly imagining himself lying down beneath the
horse to catch all of the rest in his open maw… then closed his eyes, hung his arm around the beast’s
body, and got back to work on himself, the thick coating of fresh horse’s cum providing a slick, sticky
lube, paw sliding fast and hard, the noise of the movement filling the private stall with his own panting.
It didn’t take himself long, either, and instead of return the favor he turned himself to the side and
nearly buckled at the legs when his own peak washed over him, spurting out his own much less
voluminous load out across the thin coating of hay over the stall’s floor. He tightened his grip on the
stallion’s body as the pleasure washed through him, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing him to grit his
teeth, until it was done a few thrusts into the air later.

Naturally it took a moment for the otter to catch his breath, half-hard cock hanging out in the air and
dripping with his own load as well as Brutus’s, with the same clinging to his fingers too. He looked down
over himself, swallowed, sighed… he had only tugged his pants down to bring himself out into the air
instead of taking them off completely, and now the fabric was of course as deeply soaked as his fur. Inks
paid for a new set of clothing last time, though, so maybe he could do the same tonight. Still shaky on
his feet, Luke shook off his paw, looked at it, then pushed off from Brutus’s body and started around
towards the buckets.

The stallion eyed him as he went. He patted his snout and gave his most innocent smile. Yet again he
thought he picked up tired exasperation on Brutus as the horse averted his eyes and snorted, though
didn’t retreat from the touch.

“We’re not quite done yet…” the otter said, looking over his shoulder at the horse. All he could smell
was him, musk and sweat and cum and piss, soaking into and clinging on his entire body. “I’ve gotta let
this dry at least a little bit before I go back in. Can’t be dripping all over that nice wooden floor… and,
besides, I’ve just greeted you now.” He took Brutus’s snout in his paws and leaned down, briefly
touching his forehead to the stallion’s before pulling back, another huff blasting out across his chin and
neck. He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ve got the soap here. You’re about to get my paws right back
where they were a second ago – hold still…”

As he knelt back down, he idly wondered if Inks would want to see this, too. Then the otter realized –
well, he’ll just have me give him the same treatment as I’m giving his horse. Just like every other time.

And we’ll both love it.