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Chakkir's Rest

The first houses of Chakkir's Rest passed to either side of Khendar and his cart, and the brown deer breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, they'd reached safety, or at least more safety than the road could offer. Chakkir's Rest was a fairly large town, and the Crimson Blades, an ex-military group that had turned into little better than brigands after the war, had no authority there. A large contingent of the Blades had been harrying Owren's caravan since the day before, first stopping them on the road and demanding a toll for safe passage, then chasing after the merchant train even after that toll was paid. The supposed road tax had just been a means of gauging Owren's wealth, and after that wealth was confirmed, the Crimson Blades had only waited long enough to tell the rest of their raiding party before following close on the caravan's heels.

Fortunately, Owren was no fool, and they'd begun pushing their horses as hard as they could to reach Chakkir's Rest before the Blades reached them. Just as fortunately, not all of the raiders had mounts of their own, but it had still been a sleepless night of riding.

Khendar led his mule-drawn cart up beside Owren's wagon at the head of their caravan, looking up to the broad-shouldered stallion where he sat with the reins in his hands, his team of six feral horses stamping their hooves and flicking their tails now that they'd finally come to a stop. Most of the caravan was still outside the town's outer houses, but they'd reached a larger building, a full four stories, and Owren was already swinging down to land heavily beside his wagon, confident enough to leave his team unattended.

"Is this the inn?" Khendar asked the stallion, following after the other male after an uncertain glance back at his cart's mule. That dumb animal was likely to wander to another town entirely if left to its own devices, but Owren didn't tell Khendar to stay, leading the way up to the front door at the back of a well-made, polished wooden patio. "I don't see a sign, or a stable."

"It's not an inn," was Owren's gruff reply, but before Khendar could ask anything else, the door swung inward, to be filled by a silhouette even broader than the doorway.

He was another stag, closer to Owren's age than Khendar's, and must have been the town's mayor or something. He was even bigger around than Owren, and where the caravan master's girth was made largely of muscle, this deer looked quite a bit softer.

Once Khendar took a good look at him, though, he realized the other deer's softness never came close to reaching his expression. Not that he appeared cruel or harsh, exactly, but there was a calculating shrewdness in the older stag's gaze as it swept over the wagon train stretching down the road.

That all changed, though, when the portly stag smiled, his face turning kind and welcoming. "You lot look like you could use a night off the road." His warm eyes drifted from Khendar to Owren and back again, and Khen couldn't help but stare into them. There was something unusual about those eyes, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. "It's been some time since we've seen any merchants in Chakkir's Rest. I hope you had no trouble on the road?"

Owren frowned, glancing back over the other merchants in his caravan. "If only we had been so fortunate. The Blades have become more aggressive than I've ever seen them. They must be getting desperate."

The round-sided stag grimaced, that hardness returning to his eyes before softening once more sympathetically. "Those pests have been ever more out of hand, it's true. Something will have to be done about them soon. But you're here, now, and no bandit army will harass you in my town."

"Your town?" Khendar piped up. "You're the mayor here, then?"

The other deer met Khendar's eyes again, and once more Khen found he couldn't quite bring himself to look away. "You could say that," the older stag said, arms folding across the broad expanse of his chest while giving Khendar a small smile. "My name is Gehart. And who might you be?" His voice had grown quieter, into a low murmur that made Khendar think he was the only one being addressed, not Owren. For some reason it made Khen's ears heat up, and he had to glance away, clearing his throat.

"Owren," the big horse said gruffly, planting a hand on the younger stag's shoulder. "And this whelp is Khendar. Who should be back minding his cart." The last was clearly delivered for Khen's benefit.

"Owren and Khendar, then," Gehart repeated, and Khen couldn't help but think there had been some slight emphasis on his name over Owren's.

The portly deer opened his muzzle to say something else, but Owren cut in curtly. "I would be grateful if you could point us toward your town's inn, sir. And if you would permit it, we have a great deal of merchandise to sell. As you said, there hasn't been another caravan this way in quite some time, yes?"

Gehart spared Khendar one last glance--did it linger an instant longer than it needed to?--before replying, "That is true. We're fairly self-sufficient at Chakkir's Rest, but there may be room in the town square for your people to set up shop for a time. We can make it a proper bazaar. That said, so many carts will take up quite a bit of space, and you'll be taking custom away from the tradesman who live here. You'll have to pay to rent the space in the square, and there will be a small recompense fee."

Owren's frown deepened, but those terms were hardly unexpected. "Just how small a fee are we talking?" The fee was just to start the haggling, to ensure that Gehart would get payment for the space Owren's caravan would take up, and perhaps add leverage for any other conditions the big stag might have.

Khendar glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, his mule was beginning to drag his small cart away from the rest of the caravan, toward a narrow alley between two buildings where a few tufts of grass were growing between the cobblestones. Cursing under his breath, he glanced at the others, but Owren was too absorbed in the negotiations now to pay him any mind, and Gehart only lifted an eyebrow when the younger deer turned and trotted toward his mutinous mule.

"I swear," he mumbled to the animal, snatching up the mule's bridle and turning it back toward the rest of the carts and wagons, "if this keeps up, I'm going to cook you in a stew. One night Owren's gonna ask me where you are, and I'll just tell him that you ran off, but wouldn't you know it, I went and made dinner while he was away." The cart's wheels creaked as the mule plodded back to where Khendar had left it, knowing exactly where it was supposed to be. The deer glared hard at the animal before dropping its reins. Then it looked up at Khendar's face, meeting his stern gaze, and promptly shuffled to one side, beginning to make his way back toward that alley and its tempting grass even as Khendar grabbed the mule's bridle and tugged it back into position. "You. Stay. Here," Khen told it firmly. "Stay. Don't move."

He heard a snicker from the caravan behind him, but when he looked over his shoulder, there were too many merchants and wagon drivers watching him with half concealed grins. There was no way to tell who'd laughed.

The mule started toward the alley again as soon as Khendar broke eye contact, even with its reins in the deer's hands, and he had to turn his back toward the others in the wagon train again to get the animal under control.

By the time he had the little beast in hand, Owren was clopping his way back to the head of the wagon train from Gehart's house. "We have leave to set up shop in the town square," he said, raising his voice so the other merchants nearby could hear and pass word down the line. "There's an inn there with enough room for everyone to stay at, as well. The Jester's Crown." As they began to get their wagons moving further up the street, Owren leaned toward Khendar and told the deer in a quieter voice, "You and I, however, have been invited to dinner with Gehart and his household."

"You and I?" Khen repeated. "Both of us?"

"Both of us. Master Gehart insisted." For some reason, Owren didn't sound very happy about that.

Turning to walk backward beside his mule, Khendar looked back toward Gehart's home and found the older deer still standing on his short porch, blocking the open doorway with his bulk. Gehart was looking straight at him, and showed no embarrassment for having been watching the younger stag. He gave Khendar a lifted eyebrow, a small smile that somehow implied a secret shared between them, and then turned to go back inside.

"Khen," Owren said sharply. It was the third time he'd called Khendar's name.

"Yes! Uh, what?" The deer spun back around, blood still heating his face from that smile.

"Until dinner tonight, I want you to stay close to me. If anyone asks you anything or offers anything, tell them to talk to me. Understand?"

He looked up at Owren's face, tilting his head. "Not really. You don't think anyone here has ties to the Crimson Blades, do you?" He'd seen a few of the townsfolk making their way up and down the street beside the wagon train, and they looked harmless enough, even if they did return his glances a little more directly than he was used to.

"No. It's not that..."

"Then what?"

Owren didn't respond for nearly a full minute, until they rounded a corner and the town's broad, open square came into view before them. When he did, he simply repeated himself. "Just stay close."

***

Gehart's dining hall sat directly above his house's kitchen, taking up nearly half of the building's length and all of its width, with open, arched windows overlooking a balcony over the street below. Khendar barely noticed the view, however. Or, at least, not that view.

Serving girls of various species and builds were setting platters heaped high with food in front of the guests, and pouring white wine into the goblets set before them. Working their way down the long table, the females wore elegant dresses that contrasted beautifully with their own natural colors, and would have made them fit for a ball, had those same dresses not been cut to expose a nearly indecent expanse of cleavage in the front. Next to Khendar, Owren nearly choked on his wine when one of the serving girls turned away from them. The white mouse's red dress might as well not have had a back; it dipped down all the way past the small of her back, hooking underneath the root of her slender tail and exposing the fur all the way down her lithe frame. Khendar couldn't help but notice that the other females' attire matched the mouse's. Owren's eyes looked ready to pop from his head.

They sat nearly at the end of the table, with one empty chair on Khendar's other side, and it looked like they would be the last to be served, though it wouldn't take long for the girls to make their way to Owren's and Khendar's platters. Before they made it that far, however, a sturdy, tan paw reached over Khendar's shoulder, tipping a porcelain pitcher to pour white wine into his glass. A second hand lowered over his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze, and just before he could look back to see who was serving him, a deep, steady voice murmured into his ear, "Taludian moscato. It's an excellent year; I only break this out for special occasions."

It was Gehart himself filling the younger stag's glass. The broad deer set the wine pitcher on the table next to Khendar and reached toward a tray behind him, to bring a deep bowel around and lift the metal lid over it to display a stir-fry of crisped vegetables and meats stewing in a rich, bronze sauce. Khendar could smell the sweet spice of it, and he felt his stomach rumble eagerly. "Try a sip," Gehart went on. He spoke conversationally, but with his face still held so close, it sounded more personal than Khendar would have expected from a near stranger. "If it's too dry for you, I can have one of my girls bring a Riesling up from the cellar."

Khendar did as he was told, bringing the glass to his lips while Gehart spooned out a more than generous helping of the stir-fry into the other deer's platter. He had to clear his throat after taking a sip, feeling the moscato warm him on the way down. "It's good," he said awkwardly. He wasn't a complete stranger to wines, but he'd hardly call himself a connoisseur.

"Good," Gehart repeated with an approving nod, then ladled out an even greater portion of food into the empty platter beside Khendar. He set the nearly empty bowl onto a tray behind him, sat down at Khendar's side, and poured himself some of the moscato, as well.

On his other side, Owren cleared his throat, the big horse tearing his own attention away from one of the serving girls to lean forward and look past Khendar toward the other stag. "Master Gehart, I had hoped to speak more of the Crimson Blades. When we leave--"

Gehart held up a hand, cutting the stallion off with a polite smile. "We'll speak of them at another time. Tonight we are celebrating your arrival. We should keep our thoughts on more pleasant subjects, wouldn't you agree?" Did his eyes flicker toward Khendar as he said that, for just an instant?

"Yes, but--"

The older deer gave his antlered head a shake. "The Blades will be dealt with as they deserve, Master Owren. For now, content yourself with that, and enjoy the food and drink. It's been a long time since I've had occasion to break out my best wines."

Owren's mouth was open to doggedly pursue the matter, but at that moment there was a strum of musical strings from the stairs' doorway, a melodic chord that sent a chill down Khendar's spine. He thought at first that must have been a harp, but was surprised when a tall red panda strode into the dining room, absently tweaking a tuning knob on a plain wooden lute. He gave that string an idle pluck, and a haunting note filled the room, only Khendar and Owren seeming to notice how pure it sounded. The red panda grimaced and made another adjustment on the tuning knob, then gave the instrument a single strum that again made Khendar think of a harp in a royal palace rather than a simple tavern bard's instrument.

"Ah," Gehart said with a pleased smile. He lifted his wine glass and gave the panda a nod and a small salute, which the minstrel returned politely. "A shameless showoff, that one," Gehart murmured conspiratorially, leaning close to Khendar though his voice was pitched to include Owren, as well. "He'll use any excuse to dust off one of his instruments. But given the circumstances, there should be no harm in indulging him."

The red panda made his way to an open area along one of the room's side walls, between two long tables. The floor in the middle of the dining hall was left open and clear, and when the musician finished tuning his remarkable lute and set into a simple, familiar tavern song, three of the serving girls all found ways to pass their trays of food to someone else and began dancing in front of the tables. Khendar's ears were perked at attention, and his eyes couldn't stop following the dancing females, even though he wasn't quite as interested in them as Owren seemed to be. The dance wasn't especially exotic, and the tune was as commonplace as a song could be, but something in the notes still made him think of an elaborate banquet hall in a king's castle, and there was something inexplicably...enticing, about the dancing girls' simple steps and innocent laughter. Beyond their revealing dresses, of course.

The food struck Khendar the same way. It was delicious, of course, and there was nothing surprising there given the quality of everything else under Gehart's roof, but there was something inexplicably more than he was expecting in each bite he took of the stir fry. Not better, exactly, but different. The cooks must have used a spice he hadn't tasted before, or something. He couldn't quite put his finger on the peculiarity, but whatever it was, he liked it.

During that first song, a late arrival appeared in the dining hall's doorway, a brown-furred and well-dressed bull whose horns nearly touched the doorway's top. Even from across the room, he managed to loom, while scanning over the diners and serving girls, broad nostrils twitching at the smell of so much food. Khendar found all his attention drawn to the bull, wondering at the larger male's slight frown. The bard's song had just reached its swiftest verse, and the serving girls were twirling around each other and giggling madly as they made each other dizzy, but the bull just strode stolidly right beside them without even seeming to notice the music, eyeing the meals in front of each guest as if deciding which one he was going to take.

Then his eyes fell on Khendar.

The young deer shivered under that steady gaze, the bull's hunger every bit as evident as when he'd looked over all the food being served, but Khendar went still when he felt a firmly gentle hand pat his leg. He glanced over to Gehart, breaking eye contact with the bull, and the older deer just smiled at him. The smile didn't stay, though, when Gehart looked back up at the bull, and for the bull's part, his dissatisfied frown twitched into an amused smirk as he met the older stag's gaze.

That was all, a cool exchange without a word spoken, and then the bull was making his way to a different table, where a few seats were still available.

Gehart leaned close and whispered into Khendar's ear, "You've got nothing to fear from that one." It was only then that Khendar realized he'd been holding his breath. He also realized that the older deer still had his hand on his leg, giving a reassuring squeeze to the top of Khendar's thigh.

Khendar forced a smile, still feeling a little unsettled, though he really didn't have any reason for it. The bull was setting into a huge dish of stir fry and ignoring everything around him, and though he was still tall and bulging with muscles from every angle, he didn't seem nearly as imposing as he had when he'd been looking at Khendar. "Of course not," he told Gehart, glad that his voice didn't waver.

With a steady nod, Gehart returned his attention to his own meal, though he ate with only one hand, now. His other remained where it was, resting on top of Khendar's thigh, offering an occasional squeeze or rub, and though Khendar tried to focus on his food, as well, that paw was too distracting. It was far too familiar, and he had only met the older stag a scant few hours ago. And yet...

Even as Gehart's paw shifted a few inches up his thigh, fingers dipping slightly inward, Khendar found he hoped the older deer wouldn't stop.

Khendar glanced toward Owren on his other side, but the stallion's eyes were all for the dancers in the middle of the room. The bard had moved on to another song, this one slower and more sultry, and the dancers were following suit, their movements undulating and coy where they had been energetic and innocent. Gehart asked Owren a few questions during their dinner, through that song and the next, but the horse barely noticed enough to provide brief, distracted responses, never looking away from the dancers.

The side of Gehart's hand nudged at the front of the subtle bulge at the front of Khendar's trousers, and the younger deer felt his member twitch from the contact. The broad stag must have felt it, too, but he just smiled around a mouthful of food and gave Khendar's thigh yet another squeeze. This time it was more than suggestive.

Khendar gulped, flicking his eyes toward Owren, but the horse was still distracted by the dancers. He felt a moment's indecision, but as unnerved as he probably should have been, he found Gehart's attention flattering more than unsettling. Taking another bite of chicken from his plate, he smiled over at the other stag, then reached his free hand down and settled his palm on top of the older deer's soft thigh, right where Gehart had first touched him.

A rubbery lump was right underneath the edge of his hand, a half-firm cylinder that twitched at his gentle squeeze, and Khendar's eyes went wide as saucers. He glanced toward Gehart again, but the older deer was just placidly watching the dancing girls in front of them, chewing on another mouthful of food. The slightest of smiles tugged at the corner of Gehart's muzzle.

Licking his lips, Khendar dared to take a glance down in front of the long tablecloth that draped over his wrist. The other stag's trousers weren't especially tight, but he could see the rough outline of Gehart's shaft underneath them, a subtle hill traveling past that tablecloth. He gave it another squeeze, wrapping his fingers around it, and could feel it firming up more under his fingers.

The young stag almost moaned aloud when Gehart returned the favor, cupping his thicker fingers inward and surrounding Khendar's package with a full-palmed grope to his groin. Gehart still showed no sign of what he was doing on his face, and Khendar tried to imitate him, to make a show of watching the dancers and listening to the bard's enchanting music.

He looked toward Owren again, but the horse was even more interested in the dancing girls than before. The white mouse that had caught the horse's eye earlier had joined the dancers, the four of them twirling and trading partners with each of the latest song's verses.

Swallowing again, this time with no food in his mouth, Khendar scooted a little lower in his chair, settling into an awkward slouch. His member twitched when Gehart's hand followed it. Owren didn't notice, so he slouched himself down just a little bit lower. Then a little bit more.

The stallion beside him never looked away from the dancing girls, not even when Khendar had slithered so low that his butt was off his chair and his crotch was out of the other stag's reach. So with one last glance toward Owren and one last gulp, the young deer ducked the rest of the way under the tablecloth, leaving his chair entirely.

He couldn't believe he was doing this. The tablecloth was almost so long that it draped against the floor on all sides, but not quite; there was just enough space at the bottom that someone might have been able to see the shadow of his hooves if they were paying attention. Khendar tried not to think about that, settling on his heels and keeping his head ducked low enough that his antlers wouldn't scrape against the table.

He shuffled forward between Gehart's knees, for a moment worrying that he was taking things farther than the older stag would allow, but Gehart wasted no time spreading his legs and making room. After taking a deep breath, Khendar leaned in, resting his hands on the other stag's inner thighs and feeling that firming bulge again under one palm.

He could smell the older stag already, a subtle and masculine musk filling the air between Gehart's legs, and the scent grew after Khendar moved his hands inward and carefully released the clasp at the front of the other deer's trousers. Khendar shivered, chewing on his lower lip, then awkwardly leaned in the rest of the way, his antlers pressing lightly against Gehart's expansive belly, and nuzzled down into the soft pubic fluff he'd exposed.

His chin found the root of Gehart's growing shaft as he inhaled the other's scent deeply. Khendar's ear twitched, hearing the other deer humming along with the red panda's latest song, Gehart's hoof tapping a steady rhythm by Khendar's knee. For the most part, the older deer didn't show any sign he noticed Khendar's nose dragging down beside the base of his shaft, those nimble fingers pulling the fly of his trousers open as far as it would go. But one part of Gehart wasn't ignoring the younger deer at all.

There was still just enough rubbery give to the large stag's impressive phallus to fish it out of his trousers, the long shaft bowing slightly until it was free, then springing up and throbbing right next to Khendar's face. He pulled back, taking in the impressive sight, his hands curling around the meaty shaft with a gentle squeeze, and that quickly, it was hard and rigid, veins visible even in the faint light under the tablecloth. Khendar gulped, glancing toward Gehart's body, but the other deer still didn't move.

With his fingers wrapped behind the member's crown, Khendar pulled it down away from the table over his head, far enough for him to reach it with his lips. After enjoying so much stir fry, he wouldn't have thought he'd have much appetite left, but the sight and smell of that juicy cock had his mouth watering all over again. Without any more hesitation, he closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and slurped its crown between his lips, careful not to graze it with his teeth.

It tasted much like it smelled: cleanly masculine, with a slight spice of sweat from being inside the stag's pants all day. The younger deer gave the thick shaft a slow pump with both paws, and was rewarded with a pungent dribble of pre on top of his tongue, which he eagerly swallowed.

He very nearly moaned his approval, when Owren's voice past the table above him reminded him exactly where he was. "Gehart? Where has Khendar gotten off to?" Khendar almost choked. He went completely still, not even daring to let the other male's phallus slip from his muzzle for fear of the slurping sound that might make.

Judging by his lower half, though, and his voice, Gehart didn't even flinch. "Oh, I believe he said something about finding the privy. He ought to be back before too long."

Khendar heard a muffled sigh from the stallion, along with a muttered, "I told him to stay close."

Gehart just chuckled; his erection wobbled between Khendar's lips. "He can hardly get into much mischief here." Owren must not have looked very convinced, because after a moment the portly stag added, "I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. You've left the Crimson Blades behind you."

Khendar could feel his ears heating up with a fierce blush, but the thrill of suckling on Gehart's arousal right next to Owren with the stallion none the wiser had the young stag's heart racing, and his own member seemed to be trying to push a hole through his trousers. He gave Gehart's shaft another couple double-fisted strokes, setting into a slow rhythm while making sure he didn't jostle the tablecloth draped over the other stag's lap. He started bobbing his muzzle forward and back, too, for good measure, and when he heard Owren mutter, "If trouble isn't here already, Khendar will find a way to make it," he just grinned around the other deer's glans.

The two males above him continued chatting for a minute or two, Gehart politely steering the conversation to safer topics than Khendar's whereabouts, all while the deer under the table began plunging his muzzle far enough for the tip of Gehart's erection to nudge at the back of his throat. He tried to stay silent, but the squelch of a reflexive gag escaped him before he could stop it. The next bob of his face went better; he swallowed deliberately that time, and the next, holding the older stag's tip in his throat while gulping around it. Even then, Gehart didn't move, but by the copious stream of pre slathered over the back of his tongue, Khendar thought the other deer must have been getting close already.

Owren's attention was soon back on the dancing girls, or at least off of his conversation with Gehart, and for a moment all went quiet above Khendar. He could hear himself swallowing, a squishing sound that was worryingly loud under the sheltering tablecloth, but his ears twitched at a similar noise echoing from above him. Gehart was eating again, and chewing and gulping loudly enough that no one above likely even noticed the sound of Khendar diving over more than half of the older stag's length, a thin snort wafting the pubic fluff above Gehart's base. The young deer grinned again around his mouthful of meat and started trying to time his bobbing to the other male's chewing.

It had been a while since he'd taken a penis so deep in his throat before, but he was handling it better than he'd thought he would. With one hand steadying the root of Gehart's member, he let the other drift down to the other's balls, slipping his fingers under the portly deer's trousers and exploring the heated confines. He blinked at what he found there. The other stag's round testicles were large, but not unnaturally so. What caught Khendar by surprise was the sheer heft of them, each a heavy weight over his cupping fingers, stretching the broad stag's scrotum with their weight settling against Khendar's palm.

Unusual as that heft was, it didn't dampen the younger deer's arousal in the least. He moaned around Gehart's tip, and when he realized he was voicing his lust-fueled approval so loudly, cut himself off by swallowing every inch of the other deer's shaft, burying his snout in the other male's groin. He stretched his tongue out as far as it would go, drooling over the front of those weighty balls, and could feel Gehart's shaft twitch right behind his Adam's apple. There was a liquid heat in his throat, and at first he thought the other deer was cumming, but Gehart's sack wasn't convulsing or drawing up at all, still wobbling freely over his fingers. When he drew himself back, the rich, musk-laden flavor of pre was stronger than ever around the phallus's tip, and as he curled his fingers behind Gehart's scrotum, squeezing at the same time at the base of the erection in front of his nose, another slimy rope landed on his tongue. It was as much as most males would produce in a full-blown orgasm, but the shaft in Khendar's mouth wasn't throbbing enough to be an actual climax.

Closing his eyes with a content smile, he started bobbing his head forward and back again, fondling the older male's plump nuts with one paw and reaching down with the other to rub himself through his trousers, tucking his own aching shaft along one inner thigh and giving it a couple squeezes. If Gehart hadn't reached his peak yet, that only meant Khendar had that much longer to enjoy his taboo dessert.

More and more pre glazed his throat and the inside of his mouth, a couple strands splattering on either side of his muzzle when he pulled back far enough to rest his jaw for a moment or two. He'd thought Gehart was almost ready to burst back when he'd first fished the other stag's shaft from his pants, but it was starting to look like Gehart could go all night at this pace without actually cumming. Khendar could have gotten more vigorous, but he was making enough noise as it was. So instead, he slowed down, suckling firmly and slathering his tongue around the fat glans at the shaft's end before lazily lowering his face toward Gehart's crotch, holding his breath while nuzzling into the other deer's soft crotch fluff. When he needed air again, he pulled back with another long, drawn-out suckle, only to repeat the process, over and over again. He stopped worrying about getting Gehart off as quickly as possible, relaxing into the motions, and at the same time growing closer and closer to his own peak, with barely a touch to his bulge.

Realizing he was about to cross beyond the point of no return, Khendar hastily unclasped his fly and tucked his pants underneath his balls. With his nose once more buried in Gehart's groin, he gave his own shaft a firm squeeze, and that was all it took. Khendar's semen splattered in four long ropes onto the floor between his knees, the second strand jetting straight out underneath the tablecloth to make a pearly puddle under Gehart's chair. He gulped convulsively, pressing forward as if trying to hide his face under the other stag's expansive belly, and didn't pull back again until the last dribbles of his climax had finished drooling to the floor.

Usually after such a satisfying orgasm, it would have felt like a chore to keep pleasuring another male, but at the lazy pace he was setting, he went right back to his ministrations while his afterglow hazed over him. His paws moved to the creases of Gehart's inner thighs, framing the root of the other stag's shaft as he continued slowly bobbing his muzzle up and down, eyes lidded and content.

Khendar lost track of time, but listening to the vibrant lute music in the room past the tablecloth concealing him, he thought he counted two songs before the red panda bard set into another rapid, jovial dance tune, a familiar tavern song that had all of the caravanners at the banquet thumping their hooves and footpaws. It was too perfect an opportunity, and Khendar didn't squander it. With a cock-muffled chuckle, he closed his fingers around Gehart's base and started pumping right along with that rhythm, the slaps and fur-dampened thuds of his wrist drowned out by all the other noise. At long last, he saw Gehart's legs tense, and felt the other deer's sack begin to tighten against his free hand. Sealing his lips around the other male's quivering glans, Khendar dared to pump his paw up and down in double time, and one last, slurping suck was all it took to finally coax out the larger deer's orgasm.

A thick hand darted underneath the tablecloth and grasped around Khendar's antler, pulling him firmly forward until his muzzle was once more smushed up against Gehart's soft groin, that erection plugging his throat as it quaked. The shaft's throbs and convulsions were slower than Khendar was used to, but that was because what felt like a cupful of semen poured into his throat with every pulse. He gulped as fast as he could, but some of the thick slime seeped back up his throat to pool in his mouth, so much that it began to fill his cheeks and leak from the corners of his lips. He kept swallowing, gulping like mad, but there was just too much of it.

He'd had the presence of mind to take a deep breath just as Gehart had grabbed his antler. Normally he would have been able to breathe out even with his throat plugged, if thinly, but now.... Khendar felt a moment's brief panic as the pressure grew, then twin jets of Gehart's cum snorted out of his nostrils, splattering against the other stag's crotch and soaking the tawny fur, with more semen dribbling from the young male's nose with each shallow breath.

This orgasm lasted far longer than four thin ropes. The bard was well into his next song before Gehart's climax began to slow and he finally loosened his hold on Khendar's antler. The younger stag pulled back slowly, letting Gehart's cum-glazed shaft escape his lips inch by inch and trying his best not to cough messily when it finally slipped from his mouth and spurted another long geyser into his open maw. He kept swallowing, over and over, but as much of that final splash drooled down to the floor as made it down Khendar's throat. Sitting back on his heels, he groaned, never thinking about who might hear, and rested his palm gingerly over his belly. He'd been full before. Now he felt bursting at the seams, as if he'd guzzled an entire pot of thick soup on top of the rest of his dinner, and it showed. He'd never been especially thin, but his abdomen was rounded out visibly, and he still had to keep swallowing just to keep himself from burping.

He stayed like that, recovering slowly, still in the midst of his own fading afterglow, but once he could breathe clearly without gurgling, he noticed Gehart's paw gesturing him to one side underneath the tablecloth. He crawled toward it after absently tucking his penis--once again erect and horny--back into his trousers. As soon as he was close enough, Gehart's hand closed around the tablecloth and used it to dab around Khendar's face, cleaning the mess he'd made of his muzzle. Once Gehart gestured again, Khendar ducked under the table and cautiously peeked up from under the stag's chair toward Owren, but the stallion was as absorbed in the dancing serving girls' performance as he had been when Khendar had first disappeared.

At a short nod from Gehart, Khendar stood up, smoothing down his tunic and shirt while trying to check as inconspicuously as he could for any stray smears of cum. Clearing his throat, he walked around behind Gehart and returned to his own seat, staring at the scraps of stir fry still in his platter and hoping against hope that Owren wouldn't ask why he didn't finish his meal. There wasn't an inch of room left for another bite.

Owren just glanced toward him with a distracted grunt when he sat back down, though, not even asking what had taken Khendar so long in the privy. After a few moments, Khendar was able to let himself relax, and he had to hold back a sudden, relieved urge to laugh. He couldn't believe he'd just done that. And no one aside from Gehart had a clue!

Well, almost no one. His smug grin faltered when he glanced over the others in the dining hall and his gaze caught on the muscle-bound bull from before, who was staring right at the two stags with a knowing smirk. Khendar gulped as he met the bull's eyes, something in that gaze unsettling, even beyond the bull's hungry expression. He'd felt that something was just a little bit off when he made eye contact with Gehart, too, but just as with the older deer, the bull looked away and turned his attention back to the dancing girls before Khendar could pin down just where the feeling had come from. It was just the bull's expression, he decided, an uncomfortable blend of envy and arrogance that he didn't like having aimed at him.

He was able to put the bull out of his thoughts, though, until after dessert had been served and eaten by everyone except himself. He told Owren that his stomach was disagreeing with him, and the stallion took him at his word. Thanking Gehart for his hospitality, the horse led the other merchants toward the stairs at the other end of the open room, heading back to their inn for the night.

Khendar hung back until the rest of the caravanners had left, sharing a conspiratorial grin with Gehart before making his leave, as well. He was in the arched doorway at the top of the stairs when a heavy hand closed over his shoulder, spinning him around.

He was staring at a broad chest barely contained by a stretched cotton shirt and vest, the outlines of thick pectorals clearly visible. Khendar slowly traced his eyes upward, finding that overbearing bull looming over him. "You certainly make friends quickly." The bull's voice was a low, powerful rumble.

"I, uh..." Khendar stammered. He licked his lips, suddenly sure that the scent of Gehart's cum was still strong on his breath. "I guess I'm just a friendly guy."

The bull just stared at him for a few uncomfortable heartbeats, and Khendar glanced away to one side, rubbing the back of his neck. The solid male's stare was even more disconcerting up close. "You don't know, do you?" the bull rumbled. He took Khendar's chin in his fingers and forced the deer to meet his eyes.

Khendar's ears lay flat, and he gulped. "Know...know what?"

The bull shook his head with a low chuckle. "Oh, you have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. Listen. I'll tell you, but not here." Khendar tried to tilt his head, curious and confused at the same time, but the bull's hold on his chin was too firm. There was something odd about the deer's reflection in the bull's pupils... "You should come with me back to my house. If that overstuffed whitetail has you impressed, it's nothing to what I can show you." The bull's free hand moved to Khendar's side, giving him a slow, firm squeeze. "And maybe then I'll let you know just what you're dealing with with our esteemed Master Gehart."

Khendar felt a blush blooming over his ears. The bull was intimidating, to be sure, but Khendar could hardly complain at getting so much attention. It was flattering, really, no matter what was odd about the other's eyes, and the stag was actually considering taking the bull up on his invitation, but as if his name had summoned him, Gehart himself appeared behind the bull, politely tapping the taller male on the shoulder.

"Bunt," Gehart said quietly. He was perfectly congenial, but there was an edge of steel in the older stag's voice that Khendar hadn't heard there before. "I'm so glad you were able to make it tonight. I was worried you might not have gotten an invitation."

The bull grunted, glancing back over his shoulder at the stag, but he didn't let go of Khendar's side or his chin. "Gehart," he muttered. It could have been a greeting. Or a curse.

"And I must thank you for taking it upon yourself to walk our guest here back to his inn. That is, I'm sure, what you had in mind?" Bunt didn't say anything, so Gehart went on, patting the bull on the shoulder in a friendly manner that was at odds with that hard edge in his voice. "No need to bother yourself, in any event. I'll make certain Khendar here makes it outside to his friends safely." His other hand went to Khendar's arm, but the bull didn't let go of the younger deer until Gehart used his own hold to steer Khendar around and start walking him down the stairs. A dissatisfied huff came from behind them, but neither stag turned at the sound.

"I hope I'm not causing you any trouble," Khendar murmured. He was still blushing, but what embarrassment he felt was offset by a thrill of excitement. It was sort of fun, being caught between two impressive males both competing for his attention.

"None at all," Gehart assured him. "Don't you worry about that slab of steak. He likes to throw his weight around, but he won't be of any harm to anyone. Now." They reached the bottom of the stairs, where they found Owren and the others waiting. The stallion was tapping his hoof impatiently. "You all have a wonderful evening," Gehart told them, speaking to Owren in particular. "It's been some time since Chakkir's Rest has had a proper bazaar. I'll be there in the morning myself to browse your wares." He shared a small grin with Khendar before letting the younger deer go. "I'm sure I'll find something among your wagons that I simply won't be able to go without."

He gave Khendar's arm a parting squeeze, and the younger stag returned a parting wave goodnight, his blush returning to his ears before it had a chance to truly fade. He barely even heard Owren grumbling about Khendar making them all wait.

Still, though, as exhilarating a night as it had been, and as flattered as he felt, Khendar found himself scratching at an ear as they made their way back to the inn in the town square. He'd met Gehart's eyes one last time while waving goodbye, and this time he was sure he'd seen something peculiar. His reflection in the portly stag's eyes had been reversed, waving back to Khendar in the lanternlight with the wrong hand.

He shook his head, deciding it must have been a trick of the light, and followed alongside Owren, looking forward to a night of proper sleep after the long road behind them.