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The wolf ran the brush over the stallion's sleek pelt again, eyes watching closely for any tangles or other problems. This was something he meticulously did at least twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening, just as the job description had said. Some number of months ago he had signed on with a horse ranch, at a place not too far from his own home... he'd passed by the open grassland and rolling hills countless times before when on his way to past jobs, but never really paid much attention to the feral beasts and their riders and handlers. Honestly, he had originally taken this job in desiring for a break from a forty-minute twice-daily commute to somewhere that paid less than this - and also because he may or may not have been laid off at the end of last year... but, over time, he'd admittedly started to enjoy the easy, calm rhythm here, and he'd also gotten to know the horses themselves.

There were six of them in total, three mares and three stallions, and the wolf was to ensure twice a day that their coats were smooth and clean, that they were fed and watered, and that their harnesses fit well. And, one a night except for one, he was to make sure that the horses were clean and groomed, to prevent any sort of disease or parasite or infection. That was the part of his job that he tended to have trouble with, not because he disliked it, but - rather - because he enjoyed it a little too much. It was part of the reason he awoke already worked up and at-attention in the mornings, in the hopes that he might again be the last person at the ranch to be sure of that extra "cleanliness"...

The wolf shook his head, swallowed, and returned to his brushing, trying to ignore the pressing stiffness that had grown in the front of his pants. The owner of the ranch as well as the vixen who most often headed horseback-riding lessons and tours, was still present in the house adjoining the stables. Wouldn't be smart if he were to almost get caught 'enjoying' his job - again.

He still shuddered to think about it. That night had been the scheduled cleaning for Ella, one of the younger, fertile mares, and the wolf had just assumed everyone else had already left. It had been approaching midnight, after all. So he had been standing behind her, bucket of soapy water atop the stool near his feet, sponge in one paw, back aching somewhat from all the time he'd spent upright. This ranch was one of those that kept the bases of their horses' tails bound in firm colored cloth, probably - of course - for purposes of cleanliness, with the sometimes-inconvenient side effect of exciting the stallions... as well as this wolf who had recently joined the crew.

It had actually happened his fourth night here, and the first time he'd had to do this without supervision and guidance. So he took in a breath, lifted his sponge in one paw, brushed the mare's tail out of the way with his other... and then inadvertently sucked in another breath, this time through his sensitive canid nose. Even above the cloying aroma of fresh hay, the weighty scent of mud, the familiar stink of the feral horses - right then, he came to know for himself just how'fertile' Ella in particular was that night. The movement of his paw had wafted her scent towards his muzzle, the dry spice of her sex quite noticeable even beneath the heavier musk of her rump and tailhole.

He'd had to take a moment to just... look. Sweet folds of glistening black flesh beneath the taut muscly ring of her tailhole, folds that yielded readily to his gentle touch, once his curiosity and growing arousal had gotten the better of him. Warm, wet with slick moisture - the kind of slickness that stuck to his fingerpads and between them in a thin sticky string if he were to press them together, the kind of slickness that strongly carried that same enticing aroma constantly tickling his nose- and that tasted of it as well.

Again and again he ran his fingers between Ella's supple lips, his ears perking up and his pants further tightening at every slick noise, each wet squelch. The wolf forgot about the sponge in his other paw, and instead steadily dug his fingers deeper into Ella's moist flesh. He'd seen many videos before, and thus knew just how much a mare could take... and as such, soon felt those wet lips squeezing around the middle of his paw, and then his wrist, and then halfway to his elbow-

And then, the vixen's voice from the door of the stables almost literally scared the shit out of him, and he slid his arm back out of the mare with enough speed to make her paw at the ground and whinny. The wolf thought he was done for, thought that she'd seen it all... and then, somehow, managed to calm down a bit at hearing the tone in her voice, smooth and easy. She'd just wanted to let him know that she was heading home, and to wish him a good night - and remind him to lock up once he'd finished with Ella.

And, then, she extended her paw. The same paw that on the wolf had just been buried a full foot and a third inside this lustful mare in front of him, her tailhole still clenching and relaxing with her arousal, and her sex still squishing as it periodically winked. The same paw that still bore the mare's slickness, matting down his fur halfway up his arm. He wiped that paw off on his pants leg and tried to keep his face even and ears raised - but when the vixen took that paw... her nose and whiskers twitched, he inhaled almost imperceptibly through her nose, something glittered in her sunset-amber eyes, and her 'goodnight' smile carried a bit more weight than it otherwise might have.

So, that had been that. The interruption had ruined the mood enough that the wolf actually started and finished Ella's cleaning without again straying, and then headed home... but, he intentionally neglected to shower and wash his paws once he got there, and also stayed awake until around three in the morning shoving his nose against various areas on that paw and arm where that scent still lingered heavily, and repeatedly pawed off and emptied his load out across his chest and belly... until his balls had nothing more to give. He practically passed out from the physical and sexual exhaustion that night, and slept more soundly than he had in months.

Just like that night, it was that vixen who startled him into awareness tonight. This time, though, she just leaned against the open stable door, leather bag slung over her shoulder and jacket half-zipped as she waved at him. It was clear in the chill on the air that winter was fast on its approach; the wolf felt warmest where he stood now, by one of the beasts with both his paws against its sleek muscled body. He lifted one, though - not the one still clutching the round brush - and waved back at her, then watched until she disappeared around the corner.

That was convenient. The wolf licked his lips, swallowed again, and turned back to the stallion. He had come far enough back on this side that he had to brace his non-brushing paw on the back of the horse's haunch, muscles firm and taut beneath the short-haired hide and fingers along the spot where the hair thinned to bare skin...

Even at this angle - there was no way he'd be able to avert his eyes - he could see the round bulge of the stallion's donut of a tailhole past the arc of its rump, tail kept elevated by the binding at its base. The wolf licked his lips yet again, eyes focused there, as his brushing became less and less effective... until he just dropped that paw down to his side, and reached over to set the brush down on the stool.

Except the stool was on the other side of him. The brush thumped against the wooden floor, hay strewn about muffling its noise. Just like with Ella that night, the wolf lifted the stallion's tail up with the back of his paw as he made his way around to its rear, and then eagerly drank in the sight now that he knew he was alone... smooth, sleek brown hide shining in the lights from the ceiling, the contours and curve of the horse's rump highlighted. This brown hide thinned out closer to the center valley of the feral's rear, hair shortening and giving way to mostly-smooth black skin, puckered heavily at its tailhole and then wrinkling towards the sack that hung beneath.

The wolf had had plenty of time to get to know the weight that each of these stallions carried between their hind legs, but still he couldn't resist reaching forward and cupping one of those massive balls in his paw. Even with his fingers splayed out, it far exceeded the volume of his palm, even when he "tried" again and again to squeeze it. Slick, heavy heat hanging down in a leather-skinned sack, large meaty balls rolling across his fingers with the movement of his paw... he brought his other up along the stallion's rump against the grain of its hide, the short hair prickling at the pads of his fingers. If he stretched his thumb out he could just barely brush it along the ridged skin along the outside of the stallion's donut, firm muscle able to be felt directly beneath the supple skin.

He continued forward with his paw underneath the stallion, lifting his arm up between the hanging balls and letting them drape around him - so he could then rub and squeeze at the horse's sheath, similarly soft and supple with the undeniable firmness underneath. Part of him enjoyed cleaning the stallions more than the mares, as it gave him an excuse to dig his fingers and paw (and tongue) deep into their sheaths, to get them to grow to their full length so he could thoroughly clean them... sometimes, the scent remained on his muzzle and tongue all through the following day, keeping him from focusing on just about anything else.

The further along the horse's sheath he rubbed, the closer and closer he had to bring his muzzle to the curve of its rump - and the better his nose picked up the scent, the same thing he was meant to be cleaning off. He stood at just the right height that if he bent over just a little, if he tilted his muzzle down... he could touch his nose right up against the puckered center of that taut tailhole, heat and scent washing over his muzzle and almost consuming his senses. Tonight he _had_brought along the same pail of soapy water and sponge that he usually had with him, but those sat forgotten on the other side of the stool at his feet: the wolf breathed in through his nose, drank deep of the stallion's unwashed scent, and let each exhalation out in another shuddering sigh over the beast's presented rear. Due to the single point where he focused his eyes, he couldn't see it, but - the stallion hiked its tail further up into the air as he pressed his nose deeper into the center of its tailhole, almost firmly enough to cause the ridged skin to part and spread.

One thing he knew from experience was that the flesh inside a feral horse's rump felt much the same as that inside a mare's sex, except a little less slick and a bit tighter. The wolf firmly squeezed the stallion's sheath, rolling fingers feeling the way that the skin squished and squeezed in certain places. Just as he had been buried up to the elbow in a mare before, he'd been as deep inside a stallion's rear - and his arm came back bearing a different sort of musk, though one that still made him catch his breath and buck upwards into his paw later in the night.

This was much the same scent that already coated the skin of his nose and his lips, as he tilted his muzzle back up to place a kiss directly against the puckered rim of the stallion's tailhole. In response, that firm muscle tightened up against his lips - so he did the first thing that came to mind, and parted his lips to slip his tongue up against it. Again and again it did the same thing, tightening up at his touches and then briefly relaxing, only to close up again... but the wolf lifted his muzzle further, curled his thumb around the base of the stallion's tail, and moved his tongue back to swirl it all around the outer rim of its tailhole.

Already he bore its musk on his nose - and now, as he thoroughly dragged his tongue along its ridged skin and slowly centered in on its crusted interior, he could taste that musk spreading to his maw as well. Though he had started to feel a stirring halfway along the stallion's sheath, the wolf moved that paw back to cup its hanging sack again and to make the position easier on him. Some nights he went home with a crick in his neck from shoving his muzzle so firmly beneath one of the horse's tails, tongue and lips working until his jaw locked up in soreness...

Almost unconsciously, the wolf ran his other paw down from the stallion's tail and along his own chest and belly to slip beneath the waistband of his pants, to rub at his already throbbing hard length - and then to undo his pants fly and release the pressure on it. Nothing got him harder than shoving his tongue up into the strong rump of one of these feral horses. Tonight, his licking had changed from smooth, long swirls, to him just dragging the flat of his tongue up over the whole of the stallion's tailhole again and again, with him swallowing down the taste and whatever else - and he couldn't tell if the stickiness in his throat was due to his own salivation, or due to the natural musk and slickness of the horse beneath his lips.

Once more he swallowed, and then closed his lips around the outer rim of the thick donut. The wolf traced his tongue up around the inner ring of it, pressing firmly and repeatedly swallowing down, willingly taking the heavy musk and taste into his muzzle... and pressed harder and harder until he felt that skin and muscle part for his tongue, still squeezing tightly but slack enough to allow him to wriggle his way in. He dragged one of his paws along the horse's haunch, feeling the lines of the powerful muscles beneath the hide, while steadily stroking his other along his own length, knot taking shape and bulging out under his sheath.

With his tongue steadily pushing its way deeper into the stallion's rump, the wolf breathed in through his nose pressed firmly up beneath the base of the bound tail, and let his sighs and moans out through his open mouth and across the slowly-relaxing tailhole. One of these stallions - the one in the stable behind and to his left, precisely - he'd discovered he could get to cum purely from pistoning his arm in and out, in and out of its tailhole... so one time, of course, the wolf emptied his water pail and positioned it right beneath where the end of the horse's hard cock would hang, and he did just what he did now in getting its tailhole slickened up.

Then, he'd started to press his paw in, fingers closed to a point... and he'd push in a short distance, bring his paw back out, drag his tongue all around it, press it back in... until he could smoothly drag his arm back and forth within the stallion's rear, slick heat squeezing his arm on all sides. He kept one foot stretched forward along the side of the pail, knowing full well what would happen once he got it to cum - and when he did, he bent over, grabbed the handle of the pail, and held it sideways up against the beast's underside, as it kicked its hoof against the ground and slapped its cock against its belly in emptying its balls, squeezing even tighter around his elbow. Only about half of its load ended up spurting into the pail (and the wolf almost lost hold of it, what with the sudden weight and slickness) while the rest splashed out along the floor in long, thick ropes...

And then, he slowly dragged his arm back out of the horse's rump, sat down on the stool, looked down into the thick milky seed coating the inside of the bucket and filling it about two-thirds of its volume, and sniffed at it. It bore a warm, flat musk, similar to his own cum but definitely different, a little sharper... and he put his lips to the edge of the pail, tilted it back, and drank it down, rubbing himself to orgasm with the same paw that had been buried under that raised tail, while feeling that slickness roll down his throat and fill his belly up. The texture, the consistency of it made him gag at one point - so he stopped, licked his lips, and poured the rest down over his crotch and pants, and used it as lube to finish himself off.

All of these horses had a different smell, a different taste to them, and so far he had worn all of those scents and tastes on his muzzle, tongue, and cock at least twice each. Tonight he was already far enough along in pleasuring himself that as soon as he'd start to push his tip past the tight ring of this stallion's tailhole, he'd end up sinking in to the knot and shooting his load out into it. That was something else he knew from experience, though with a mare: his knot had slid easily past her lips even after he had swollen up, and when he pulled back out of her, he watched his cum drip down along her winking clit. Not for long, though - since the wolf bent over and pressed his lips to hers, licking out the remnants of his seed and swallowing down her slickness.

Though he must have been doing something right, because soon his entire muzzle was soaked with the thick yellow-white liquid that gushed from a mare whenever pushed to her orgasm, coursing out over his muzzle and nose and pooling in his open mouth, for him to then (of course) swallow down. Had the wolf not already finished, _that_certainly would have done it for him.

He flicked his tongue back out of the stallion's tailhole, just to run it over his own slick lips and swallow again. He'd loosened the stallion up enough that he could dig that tongue of his into one of the natural ridges of its pucker, curl it up along the inner rim, and then drag it back out into his muzzle, the smooth, slick flesh on the inside having a tangier taste to it. One thing he still wanted - and had - to do was dig both of his paws into one of these horse's rumps, spread its tailhole open, and dig his muzzle into it that way...

Now the wolf's breath came and went in unsteady gasps and moans, and he churned his hips forward against his paw with his rising force and urgency of stroking. His mind always went wild as he approached his climax, making him think - I could stand up on this stool and finish across his ass, and then lick it off, or what if I shove my cock into his sheath and cum there and then suck it out?, or I've only felt one of these horses' tongues under my tail before - what does it feel like on my sheath?, or a few other things - but before he could do any of that, the wolf straightened up, pressed his muzzle firmly into the stallion's rear until he could feel it stretching open against his lips, just as it had for his tongue-

-and sucked in a deep taste of the stallion's heavy musk, the wolf bucking forward and shuddering with each spurt of his cum streaking out into the air and splattering across the hay-covered floor beneath the beast. He kept his muzzle in place even after his spurts had died down to periodic dribbles, inhaling the rich scent along the inner ring of the muscly tailhole. After a little bit longer, he could feel the last of his load rolling down over his fingers - as well as he could feel the stallion clenching and squeezing, trying to close its still-spread tailhole. He pressed his tongue forward into the soft flesh one more time before moving back, the warm slickness matting down his fur not all just his own saliva.

Good thing was, though - the wolf stood there to catch his breath for a moment, and kept the stallion's tail lifted with his paw - he'd done a good job of cleaning it up, without having to touch the pail and sponge. If he remembered right, there was no scheduled cleaning for tomorrow night... so he could leave this stallion's sheath tonight, and finish up then. Another thing he loved to do was purse his lips against the wrinkled end of one of the stallions' sheaths and rub at the base until it hardened up, so he could feel its cock grow - regardless of the musk and slickness that clung to it. Part of the reason the vixen had been so lenient with his shifts was because he did such a good job of cleaning the horses.

The wolf waited until his cock retreated back into his sheath to do his pants back up, then left the horse with a pat on its rear - a strand of saliva hung down from the bottom lip of its tailhole; he nuzzled its tail to the side and licked it off, refreshing the musky taste in his throat - and picked up the cleaning and grooming supplies to head to door of the stables. Tonight would be another night for him to not shower, due to how strongly that scent lingered on his muzzle; he couldn't stop curling his lip up against his nose and breathing in, tasting it again...

He didn't notice until after he had closed and locked the stables that the vixen's car still sat along the side of the road, engine and lights off. It was too dark to see if she was in there, though, and he didn't much like the idea of talking to her while his breath reeked of feral horse rear and worse, so - he just quickened his pace to his own car. Tonight the stallion had been remarkably receptive: sometimes he had to struggle and work at it, against squirming and turning and backwards pushing (in more than one way), so... maybe that meant the beasts were finally starting to get to know him as well as he knew them.

He knew their scents and tastes inside and out, though - nothing so far compared to the slick stickiness of a feral horse's saliva coating his own tongue and inside of his mouth - so, next, they_would have to learn _his.