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For Skruf

The Visiting Side

Hello! It's Skruf here. I thought you might like to know how things are going at Oakmount College. Hopefully you've heard the story about my team tryouts and what happened afterwards. If you haven't read it: go read it now! Basically: things are going rather well. First up, I made it on the team. After my tryout, and after that extra session with my team-mates, Coach Harvin said he'd give me one final chance. In return however, I'm to report to his office after training whenever he says. I knew right away what these visits would entail. So it came as no surprise when I first opened the office door to find the bull standing facing me, bottomless, his cock resting on the desk leaking precum. He told me to close the door, strip, and then crawl onto his desk, making sure to keep my ears flat and to whimper. For the next half an hour he kept me there, chest-down in a pool of bull pre, while he smeared that big bovine dick on my muzzle and dripped onto me, coating me with his musk, grinding back and forth, uttering dangerous snorts and tossing his chipped horns. I played my part, whimpering, staring up with pleading eyes. Suddenly his grinds took on a sense of urgency, and he told me to open my maw wide, tongue extended as far as I could. His bullcock was slimy on my tongue, but thankfully he didn't last much longer. His first load came with a hearty sigh. At first it poured onto my tongue-tip but then he shot, hard, against my tongue and my palate. He told me not to swallow, and so I held still, feeling the bull's semen and my husky saliva drool through my teeth and over my gums to pool on the desk and wet my chin-fur. He didn't soften, and after a few minutes of stroking himself he grunted again, unloading his second round all over my nose. I shut my eyes, letting the scent of warm bull milk drift into my nostrils. I knew I looked like a wreck. I certainly smelled like one. Thankfully nobody saw me on the way to the coaches' washroom afterwards.

It's underhand and probably against some teaching code. Not only that, I know he's married with two young calves. I wonder if his wife knows.

But I have no choice. Football is my life. But hey, it's not all bad. Coach is hot as all hell, buff, athletic even into his forties. The staying power of a bull, with the libido of a teenage rabbit - it's a scary combination. And one I love.

Anyway, we're two weeks into classes. And in between those classes, I've got my training. Boy it's tough: four sessions a week, a whole-team strength session every Friday, plus most of the guys are in the gym any spare moment they find. Of course our quarterback Kinley and the front-liners make a contest of it. There's something mesmerising about watching a huge Dall sheep strain, his teeth gritted and his muscles tense, as he hauls four hundred pounds of cold hard iron into the air. I play wide receiver, so there's no massive need for me to lift heavy. Stamina's more important for me - although I do enjoy showing the guys how much I can actually press (I'm already topping 250 - not bad hey?) It's only been a month, but the results since I've been stateside are amazing. I'm fitter, stronger and healthier than ever before in my life. And I'm only going to keep getting better.

Which is all going to pay off where it matters: on the field. Right now we've just finished our first game of the season - an away game, and one of the toughest of my life. But we weren't going to be deterred. Right from the first quarter we fought hard, dug in and gave it everything we had. It was a challenge, but we chipped away at them just enough to keep our noses in front. The final quarter came, then the final minute. They came back strong, but still we grit our teeth, driving and running and throwing and catching as the rain poured down and our paws and our hooves churned the gridiron to mud. One mistake, one slip-up from any of us, and our two-point lead could disappear in an instant. But then we found our break, with twelve or maybe fourteen seconds to spare, and Kinley our quarterback powered through their defence for one final touchdown. And when that final whistle went, and the announcement rung around the stadium - 'Oakmount Win' - the celebrations kicked off right there and then. All eleven of us, and our team-mates from the bench, out on the field, arm in arm, chanting and celebrating this sweetest of victories. This is why I play - for moments like these. Fighting and scrapping for every point, every yard of advantage... and the utter delight when we cross that line, one unit, victorious. The team bus is buzzing, every player hollering at each other, slapping each other on the back. I sit near the front of the bus, next to Fernando the coyote our defensive captain. I've never been the rowdy type and neither has Ferny. Plus many of them have played together for years - and here I am, still a fresher and barely a few weeks in the team. Once or twice, one of them slaps me on the back and says 'great game'. Some even dare to call me 'pup'. I say thanks, but for the most part, I let them carry on. I'm just happy to observe what's happening around the bus. Not just because it's a confined space filled with over twenty hulking and musky footballers. I'm not that shallow.

"No point hiding it, Skruf. They all can see."

Okay, maybe a little shallow. I am an animal after all. Still, I was hoping all the ruffles and folds in my sports gear would conceal me.

"And is same for me, too."

Ferny splays his paw on his crotch. There, wedged between the coyote's between thumb and index claw, is his canine arousal, unsheathed, and by the looks of things almost swollen into a knot. Heck, if even Ferny's this comfortable with his own masculinity, why shouldn't I be?

"Howdy boys!"

A raucous cheer fills the air as Coach Harvin takes to the mic. I have to marvel at the respect this huge black bull has earned from these young men. The bull waits for silence, and I let my arousal subside. I am happy to wait until the bull's finished.

"Well then... what a start to the season. Our first game, an away game as well, and definitely one of our hardest this season. And we nailed it. Every single one of you played a part out on that field, and believe me when I say: if you play for the rest of the season, like y'all played tonight... we will make the playoffs. I guarantee it. So thank you all. And of course, I couldn't speak about the game without mentioning a certain dog..."

Oh please don't.

"To make such an important interception in the dying seconds, on his team debut, and to set Kinley up for that final crucial touchdown... that took guts. And for me, that just sums him up. A quiet dog, but gutsy as all hell. Skruf, where are you?"

The bus falls silent, save for the rumbling of the engine. Ferny turns to me. A couple of other guys nearby turn to me. Why did Coach have to say that? Slowly, I stick up my paw.

"Well played, Skruf."

There's a smattering of applause around the bus, and Ferny slaps my back. I sigh. It's all over. Now I can go back to being just one of the team.

"Now as you know, we're booked into a hotel for tonight. We'll have a meal, then it's straight up to your rooms. Lights out at midnight. You boys need a decent night's sleep before our six-hour journey tomorrow. I have the list of room shares here."

To be fair, there are more than a few guys I wouldn't mind rooming with. And yes, I do mean so I can have sex with them. Oh come on, you've read my other story. You should know by now what kind of a husky I am. I glance in Ferny's direction. He gives me a half-second glance, a quarter-second, before turning back to Coach. I think of that coyote cock, trapped in his tight jock. My own tracksuit gets that little bit more uncomfortable.

It's a short list, and it's not long before I hear my name. My ears perk.

"... Skruf will be rooming with Chuck..."

What? You have got to be kidding me. You remember Chuck, don't you? Handsome mustang, flamboyant, enormous cock? I'd given him a wide berth ever since that day in the locker room. Barely spoken to him, in fact. But I know if I ever offered to meet him later and re-enact that scene, he'd probably mount me right there instead. He'd probably do it on the field, with the whole team watching. I can just picture him now, back row center of the bus, dropping that big horsey length of his, remembering how it felt thrusting into me. I try to shake the thought of stallion cock, sliding down one of his tracksuit legs, longer and harder by the second. My own cock throbs. Fuck.

The hotel have laid us out a full dinner. Some of the boys start complaining to Coach that they aren't allowed alcohol, asking for 'just one beer', but the bull sticks to his guns. The herbies like Chuck and Kinley have a salad of course, full of beans and pulses and other protein-packed mulch. I don't exactly have much of an appetite tonight. I glance sideways at Chuck, wolfing down his plate further along the table. The entire far end is enraptured by the mustang, hanging on his every word, guffawing at his every joke. I look at his plate of plants. That was what he tasted of last time: wet, freshly-mown grass. I look at my plate. It's chicken, a plump cut of breast meat smothered in gravy. And I'm supposed to be top of the food chain. Will I still be after tonight?

We head up to our floor en masse, and head along the corridor, counting the numbers, peeling off two by two in turn. Chuck and I are near the end. He swipes the key card and barges in, with me batting the door away behind him. Without a word to me, he flips the switch, bathing the room in harsh fluorescent light and starting the air conditioner. It's a functional room. Plastic furniture in bright primary colours, twin beds with no-nonsense white sheets. It's artificial in here, toxic even. He unzips his jacket and tosses it on the far bed, the one with extra space the other side. His trousers aren't far behind, slipped down with soft whinnies and grunting sighs. He shakes them to the side, and then starts stretching, his back to me, reaching his hooves to the ceiling, rolling his shoulders and muttering something about a 'tough day on the field'. But this isn't an ordinary post-game stretch. We both know what he's doing. And it's working on me. God I hate that nag. I try to busy myself, slipping off my own jacket. But I can't resist sneaking little glances in the horse's direction. Then without warning, he spins around, wearing nothing but his jockstrap. He's smirking, bare-chested and gorgeous as hell. He catches my eye. The smirk twitches wider, just half an inch.

"Yeah... I'm not even gonna say anything. That cute little tent in your pants says it all."

Reflexively I cover my crotch with paws. Chuck just shakes his head and holds a pose.

"Look, it's bad enough we have to share together. The snide comments really don't help."

"Whatever."

He slides his jockstrap down, over his hooves, and tosses it towards my bed. It lands on my nose before I can duck. Yuk. Figures a running back would be a good aim.

"A little toy for ya, puppy. Have some fun with that 'til I get back. I'm taking a shower."

I peel the horse's underwear off my face, and think about tossing it onto his bed. Then I look at him, nude and slack with one eyebrow cocked, and I secretly bite my tongue. I've never seen Chuck fully naked, and my gods he's hot. First to catch my eye are his shoulders. They're massive, muscular, the product of goodness knows how many years' lifting. The rest of his body is lean, mantled in his trim hazlenut fur, every muscle beautifully defined. Strong arms, rounded pecs, and a stomach that's equally flat as mine, but carved into a tight six-pack that puts mine to shame. I sweep my gaze to his haunches, those thighs and those calves which garner so much power in dry packed earth and churn effortlessly through muddy ground. Finally, I focus on what hangs slack between his quads. He's soft and leathery, but I have a strange feeling he won't be staying soft all night. I keep the jockstrap in my paw while mumbling. Chuck simply smirks, that confident and almost cocky smirk I've come to expect. He paces across the room, clearly showing off, knowing full well that I'm going to stare. In the bathroom, he pulls the cord and shuts the door. First I hear the fan, followed seconds later by a rush of water.

Hrumph. I roll onto my bed and close my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep. I don't even care that I reek like a bull. The quicker this evening ends, the better.

Unfortunately, I cannot drop off. The sound of the shower, Chuck's hooves in the shower, Chuck in the shower... it puts the image is clear in my mind - a young strong stallion grooming himself, his fur glistening under the running water, trickling over his copper mane and his muscles. Yeah, I'm not getting to sleep any time soon. Maybe if I just face the wall, shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep, Chuck will turn in, no further questions asked.

But gods, that musk is everywhere. The jockstrap is discarded, between our beds, and it's certainly not helping matters.

It's almost a shame he had to shower...

Wait. I did not just think that, did I? There is no way I'm doing anything with that stallion. It doesn't matter how attractive he is. He would love having that power over me. And I'm not giving him the satisfaction.

The rush of water stops, replaced by a drip and the clack of hoof on porcelain. I hear a fur-dryer whirr into action, accompanied by some very satisfied stallion snorts. I know how good it feels, letting that warmth wash over you. Especially after a hard and brutal workout. I can picture him now, smoothing his hooves over his fur, over the taut muscle underneath, drying himself and admiring his own strength. Briefly I wonder if he's pawing off while those currents of warmth wick through his fur. I think of the sheen on his coat, his stallion length dropping afresh, longer and longer... the dot of precum in my jockstrap cuts that fantasy short. This is the one time I don't want to be popping a boner. I mean, Chuck is dead handsome and all that, but... he's just too nasty. The fur-dryer cuts out rather quickly - which makes sense, as Chuck is rather short-furred. A few moments later, I hear the door open. My eyes are still closed - golden light floods through my eyelids. I lie still on my side, not reacting, pretending to sleep. I try to keep my breath as shallow and as regulated as I can.

"Shower's free."

Still I stay still. There's silence for a second or three. Then I hear one or two hoofsteps, muffled on the carpet. My neck fur prickles. He's closing in.

"Now then... ain't that a fuckin' cute sight."

The steps stop. Then his voice is louder, right by my bedside.

"I know you ain't sleeping, puppy."

I freeze. His breath is on my neck. It's hot and smells of stale salad. I open my eyes, mumbling as though I've just been roused. I roll over to see a stallion snout above my bed. Chuck's muzzle is long and hazelnut-furred, his head topped with a burst of coppery mane. His flat teeth are all on show, lifted into the most cruel and horse-like grin I've ever seen. Without ceremony, Chuck clambers over me, giving a little whicker of very clear pleasure as our strong bodies roll and jostle together.

"What the hell, Chuck?"

The cheap hotel bed buckles and creaks under the weight of two athletes. I lift up my paws, up to his chest, warding him off as best I can... or at least I try to. The lithe mustang presses back, easily withstanding any force I can muster. I twist and try to get away, and then he lowers himself, his crotch flush to mine and my paws shaking under his weight.

"This isn't funny, Chuck. Get off my bed."

He tosses his mane. "You know as well as me that it ain't gonna happen. Come on, pup. I know you've been thinking about last time we gotta play, back in that locker room. You've got a real thing for horsecocks, don't you? At first I wondered if it was just peer pressure, that you were just doing it because Coach made ya. Then you got that skilled little maw of yours around my cock and I thought, 'Hoo-hoo, English boy's done this before!' So don't pretend to be offended. Besides, if you really wanted to push me off, you'd be trying harder. But no, you like this, don't you? Having a stud of a stallion pressing into you, grinding into you. Your little paws, kneading into my muscles, struggling against my weight. Guys always love that, they do. They take a look at me, think I'm all skin and sinew. Then they lay paws on me, feel how damn strong I am, and they're hooked."

Yeah, and I wonder how many of them used their claws. I don't, though. I don't exactly want to be hauled before Sports Council for a disciplinary hearing.

"Come on Chuck, I haven't even showered yet."

"So? Thought you were going to sleep without showering. Heh, besides, you should know by now that I like my guys fresh off the sports field. Mmm... love myself a sweaty pup, still in his sports gear. Do you have any idea how irresistible you smell?"

I make a show of rolling my nose. Which of course does nothing to discourage Chuck. And when that big horsey length of his begins to drop, it's no surprise to either of us. Chuck chuckles to himself, and grinds his bare body on me.

"Here we go. You remember this from last time, don't ya, Skruffy?"

He's thick. Normally I play with dogs, and Chuck is already thicker than a mastiff. And he's only getting harder. Thankfully I'm still wearing my base layer, so the mess he's leaving gets caught on that, rather than matting my fur.

Spoke too soon. His hoof slips under my shirt, lifting it and exposing my abs. Normally I'm quite proud of my stomach tone. Not so much when a horse is dribbling precum onto it. All I can do is stare, between our bodies, fixated on that horse length jutting out between us, growing harder by the second. He catches me staring, and gives a prideful whicker, slapping himself up against his stomach, leaving a smear of precum on his freshly-washed pelt. I wish I can find something clever to say. But I mumble, and I hesitate, and Chuck sees his chance. He lifts my base layer higher. I put up some resistance. Token resistance, almost - and he stares at me. Dead straight at me. It's a chilling stare - muzzle lowered, eyes dark and narrow. 'You're doing what I want,' it says, 'because after all, you want it too, don't you?' I swallow. Up come my arms and away comes my base layer. A solid horse-hoof glances down my side, then slides inwards slightly to stroke my stomach, meeting the resistance of my abdominals. Like I said, I'm damn pleased with my progress recently, and for a moment I stop worrying about Chuck and his motives. It just feels so good having him caress me, appreciating and acknowledging what a tough dog I've become. I tighten those muscles, and Chuck raises an eyebrow in approval. I even find myself uttering a little canine growl. That's it, pony. This is what a predator feels like. Then I feel the twinge in my sheath, and my growl deepens. Chuck knows what's going on, and he certainly doesn't wait around. Within a second his hoof is on my crotch, my sheath already thickening under his touch. I give a little bark, short and impatient, and pull both pants and underwear to my calves, where I kick my paws free and fling everything to the floor. He holds his hoof high, waiting for my next move. Smiling, I take his hoof and guide it to my sheath, then take my paw away. At first he holds it there, and I feel the pleasure build, my first few inches slipping from the furred pouch. Then he sort of cups me in his solid hoof, and paws me briskly. I murr softly, planting one clawed paw to the side of the mattress. His other hoof roams over me and I rise up against it. With soft horse-snorts, Chuck and I roll together. I'm still wary of the horse's plans, but I can't deny how good this feels. Chuck then decides to announce his plans as something solid and fleshy thrusts into my taint.

I pause. Look at the horse, who now has both of his forehooves on my sides. He rolls forward and I feel his hardness. Those hooves tighten. I stare open-eyed, maw tightly sealed, trying not to moan. Remember herbivore, I'm the predator, and I'm taking control now. Up comes my lower half. A better angle for him. My tail hangs slack, my rump spread just enough, and Chuck thrusts forward once more. Again I pause. It's a hard thrust. Reminding me how forceful and big the running-back is. And I'm afraid to say it worries me. I feel my predatory pride drain away. He thrusts again. I whimper.

"How are you feeling, hun?"

The question takes a moment to register. "N... nervous."

"Aw, you shouldn't be. We've done this before, haven't we? Now, if you want to switch things up, or even take a break, it's your call, stud. But let's see how we get along first, hm?"

Now I can feel him properly. Yet to flare, but still monstrously thick. He's holding himself back, but I can tell by his grunting that he wants this badly. I can never fully describe the feeling of another animal, against your taint. Feeling all of their power, all of their control, directed under your tail. Especially when they add a grunt or a growl. Chuck does indeed grunt, and my muzzle flickers into a little snickering bark.

"See? You remember this? Remember how good it felt? You've got a thing for horsecocks, don't you? Yeah, I saw that picture of you with the horse dildo. Matter of fact, I got it on my phone. That sealed the deal better than any locker-room fuckabout could. Be careful what you put on the Internet, pup."

He drops me and reaches to the other bed, picking up his jacket and rummaging through it for his phone. A few swipes and taps, then he dangles the phone in front of me. Of course I recognise myself in that picture - a selfie taken in front of the locker-room mirrors, one Sunday night when the sports center was deserted. I'm naked except for my collar - a pair of boxers lies discarded by my paw, my other clothes off-shot. My teeth are gritted and my tongue extended, as I squat and lower myself onto my favourite life-size horse toy. A bottle of lube stands to one side, and dead center is my ice-blue erection, proud and fully-hard and knotted.

"There we are. Thought that'd jog a few memories. Now just imagine how it'll feel taking the real thing. Again."

Tossing his phone onto his bed, he spits into his hoof, lowering it and coating my under-tail with his saliva. Then this time, he hitches my rear. I think about questioning how he found that picture. But it hardly matters. My fault, I suppose, for sharing it with a few friends and hoping they'd keep it to themselves. But whether Chuck is doing this for blackmail, for revenge, or just because he's horny, all my thoughts are interrupted when he finds his target.

Together we twitch. It's seconds away now. The most intimate connection which two men can share. I know what's coming next, we both do. He knows what I can take: he's seen the photographic proof. And experienced it himself. But still... Chuck is no Shetland pony. Of course I think of protesting, of suggesting a nice muzzle-job instead: but the words fail me. And with every second I hesitate, Chuck pushes just that little bit harder, a few more millimeters away from...

A howling whine which I somehow manage to subdue. I focus on my breath, slowly allowing my muzzle to creep into a grin, as I register those crucial first two inches of horse inside me. No matter whether it's Chuck, my horse toy, or anyone else, I never get past that rush, that feeling of ecstasy at that first penetration. Unlike with my toy, however, I no longer have to imagine the snorting, the whinnying, the grasp of the running-back's arms around me. It's all here and it's all real. It's not a smooth penetration: rather, he shunts himself in, an inch or a half-inch deeper every time. At first I can manage it, relishing the friction and the fullness of another animal inside me. Soon though, it starts to overwhelm me, and I begin to pant. Whether Chuck notices, or even cares, he doesn't stop thrusting. Sometimes he changes his stance, but it's only so he can plough deeper. When I finally speak, it's a hoarse whisper.

"Oh God Chuck, it's too much..."

Now I'm panting hard, stretched rigid on the bed underneath the stallion. One shaking paw rises to my stomach, reaching for the rough area where Chuck's tip now resides. Our eyes lock, and I wait for the resigned grunt and the slow withdrawal, only to howl breathlessly, rasping and dry-throated as Chuck thrusts even further into me. He might be smirking at me or taunting me but I don't care and only want him out of me and out as quickly as possible, and only when I'm clutching at the bedsheets and his pelt and anything else in reach does he begin his withdrawal. My breath is regular, rapid, and my eyes are fixed on the lustful horse. At any second the mustang will kick into forward gear, and I have no telling when. Further he slips, further still, then forward with all his strength to force a wide-eyed gasp from me. Every part of me shakes, and then with a grunt, grunt, grunt, the stallion establishes his rhythm.

He has to go slow: it's a matter of simple physics. His precum helps, but it's a slow and brutal mating. I know he wants to ride me like a wild mare: and who knows, maybe one day he will. For now though, just the sensation of him deep inside, and grating deeper on each forward lunge, that's more than enough to render me breathless and whining. Every nerve and every strand of my fur is on edge, my teeth bared and my claws twitching uselessly. My whole world has been invaded by that fearsome horse-length, and now all he has to do is sink it in, inch after amazing inch. He's hard, incredibly hard, impossibly hard, and he gives it all to me, not even pausing when he scritches my ear and checks on me.

"You alright there, baby?"

I nod, a little over-eagerly perhaps.

"You're still breathing, anyway. Guess I'll have to try harder."

And try harder he does. In he drives, sharper this time. We reach his medial ring, and as it pops inside, I shudder a little. It grates inside me, spreading me wider still, and I utter a soft bark. Chuck chuckles and ruffs up my hair. I know he likes that, so I add a second one, all wide eyed and puppy-tender. He calls me 'cute', and gets back to stuffing me. Normally I wouldn't bark like that in front of guys. But there's no real reason hiding it from Chuck.

And that time, I have to say, I moaned. Eyes screwed closed, muzzle agape, until a solid horse-hoof presses on my lips, and I stifle the moan.

"I know you're loving this, hun, but remember, other people here are trying to sleep."

"Heh, if it's one of our guys, I bet they've got ears to the wall anyway. There's probably someone there right now, jacking away."

Chuck quirks a brow. "Skruf! You kinky dog!"

Yeah I know it's low, especially by my standards. But the mood seems right, and it just seems natural to say something like that. Anyway, Chuck's not going to last much longer, although I have a strange feeling our prized stud is good for more than one round. Still, he's racing ahead. I tell him it's getting too much again. Normally I'd just ignore it and let the horse ride me to the finishing post. But not tonight. Not with a whole season of football still to come. He snorts, nodding his head in reluctant acceptance. He strokes the part not buried in me (and believe me, we still had a long way to go). His flare blossoms inside me, and I gasp. Oh, he's going to drag it along my tunnel. I tip my head back, muzzle pointed upwards in a silent howl, while Chuck makes only the tiniest effort to suppress his grunts and whickers. A knock at the door makes us both jump.

"Fuck. And I was so close to filling ya, pup."

He half-snorts and half-sighs. Then comes his hoof-grip on my sides, and with a slow steady haul, every last inch of that gorgeous horsecock is hauled from my tailhole. I grab a pillow and bite it, popping four teeth-marks into it. Yes it's damaging the hotel property, But it's either that or I howl unrestricted. He slips free and I land on the bed, wincing and hissing as my tailhole clenches around nothing. The stallion hunches over me, on forehooves and knees, not softening one bit, a couple of lazy spurts pattering onto my nose. The person knocks again.

"You wanna go get that. You can hide your erection easier than me."

After a couple of seconds, I nod and snake myself out from underneath him. I tell the person at the door I'll only be a minute, and make myself decent enough to open the door. Base layer, pants, no jockstrap, that'll do. Over at the door, I take a glance through the spyhole, and almost stumble backwards at the black-furred beast on the other side. It's the Coach.

Taking a sharp breath in and out, I crank the door open.

Coach steps in with a 'Good evening, Skruf.' I back up to the wall and mumble 'good evening' back at him. I make no apology for how much I respect that bull. Even entering a room he commands respect. And to be honest, he terrifies me. Especially when he turns and pins me to the wall. Casually he swings the door closed, and it latches shut with a solid click. Everything falls silent, except for our breaths. Shallow from me. Soft and snorting from the stallion. And from the bull... the deepest and most gorgeous of breaths, full of idling potential, a Lamborghini ready to slip into motion. Now I'm locked in a room with two hefty hoofers. The unseen stallion off in the distance. And the bull, the hulking wall of black fur and muscle, practically pinning me to the wall. And his scent... it's indescribable.

"So... how are you boys settling in?"

I have to gulp. I know exactly what's on the bull's mind. That drop in his voice, that low syrupy drawl he slips into when he's bristling with arousal. And there it is, that slender bulge in his smart suit trousers, barely discernible, unless you know what you're looking for. Surely he isn't going to... not here?

"Er... Coach?"

"Yeah?

"Can... can we help you with something? Has there been a noise complaint, or..."

The big bull narrows his stare. I hear the rumble of his breath, feel it tingle over my muzzle. He doesn't need to say a word - his posture says it all. 'Don't play dumb with me, kid.' Now is the time to protest, but every time I open my maw, the words escape. Then the bull's stare turns to a look of puzzlement. It's like he's focused on the bridge of my muzzle.

"Skruf. What's all that on your nose?"

Oh great, I forgot to clean up before opening the door. The bull leans two inches closer, takes three of those long low sniffs which bulls are famous for, and plants one massive hoof on the wall above me. His expression is cold, stony and stoic as ever.

"I knew I could smell stallion on you. But ya know what? I'm pleased you boys are getting along. I thought that once I arrived, it'd take a lot of work to get you boys warmed up. But it looks like we can get right to it."

Yipe! His hoof is in my crotch. Sheath and husky balls disappear into that hard hefty hand, all three of them jostled with a grip that's both surprisingly dexterous but also focused. Focused on getting me nice and excited. And I hate to say, but it's working. Damn sexy bulls.

"Come on, Skruf. Did you really think I matched you boys up at random? Didn't it cross your mind even once how it'd feel, locked away in here with not one but two hung hoofers?"

I glance over at the stallion, staring him down. "Did you know about this?"

Chuck shakes his head. "Nope. Honestly, this has nothing to do with me."

It's a rare moment of straight-talking from the stallion. It doesn't last long, though. And with a chilling smoothness, the stallion slips into his trademark smirk.

"Although... have I ever been one to turn down an opportunity?"

Yep. Chuck is back.

"That's the attitude, Chuck. Now get on the bed, on your back. We will join you shortly."

I have to stare in awe when Chuck follows that command without a wisecrack, or even a word in protest. He's like a tame colt, trotting to the bed and clambering on under the Coach's orders. The respect which this brute of a bull commands among all students is astounding.

"Now Skruf... touch me."

The bull gives me his full attention. I raise one paw towards the bull's concealed erection, slowly as I dare, but Coach unhands me and closes that solid forehoof around my paw, guiding me in to feel that bovine length. One paw is nowhere near enough. Not for that hefty endowment. And I know Coach still has a long way to harden. I add my second paw, re-acquainting myself with this spear of raw bovine wildness. It always shocks me how solidly the bull stands in these encounters. He doesn't rush me, instead giving me time to comprehend the situation. I resist as long as possible, before I take his waistband, and with a few pulls and manoeuvres, his trousers come away and I unleash the bull.

He's eager tonight. And it's not just his arousal which gives that away. No, tonight, I can tell by the little hip-sways, the ones that make his heavy scrotum shake and bat against his thighs. I love it. Laying my bare husky-paws on that erection, watching the electric bristle, the sharp intake of air, the roll of the shoulders and the warm pleasured smile that accompanies it all. How long have you needed this, Coach? All day? Since our last encounter?

I stand, with my back and my tail-curl to the wall. Three hundred pounds of bovine muscle stands before me. For a moment I stand there clutching him, feeling his warmth and his growth in my paws. Then he rests his hoof on my shoulder, and guides me to my knees. At once I dip my muzzle upwards, balancing his orbs on the bridge of my nose. They are covered in a mist of musk, much of which rubs onto my nose, filling my head with bovine scent. It's strong, and masculine, and I want more. My tongue laps his underside, drawing a rumbling murr from him, before I feel his hoof under my chin. He lifts my head: his jewels slide down the side of my muzzle, covering me in more musk.

"That's enough, dog. We'd better not keep Chuck waiting."

Coach reaches down and lifts me to my paws. He waits, and after a few seconds I recognise that particular hungry stare. Hastily I strip, and once I'm nude before the bull, he hooks his arms under mine, raising me, guiding me like a marionette. Across the room we go, to the foot of my bed, where Coach Harvin lifts me higher. Now I understand what's happening. Chuck is underneath me, his belly and his cock somewhere below. My hind paws skip over the bed as I bring myself into position, trying not to trip over the horse. Coach passes me to Chuck, and I lie back against him, dropping my head to one side. With hind paws either side of him, I hitch my rear. Chuck locks one arm around me, and with his other hoof he takes his arousal, guiding it back under my tail. Something cool and liquid smears over my tail. My head is too far back to get a good view, but I imagine the Coach has brought some kind of lube. I'm grateful for it, because this time, Chuck's penetration is that much easier (although I still yelp a little). Down I descend, partly guided by the stallion, partly of my own will. Suddenly Coach Harvin is above me, standing at the foot of the bed. He parts my thighs, and then I feel him. Brushing on my inner leg, leaving a trail of precum from my leg to my husky-balls. I'm stunned, lost for words. This is unbelievable. They're both going to breed me, together!

I can feel the bull jostling, bucking those solid middle-aged haunches of his, searching for any opening to spear that tapered but meaty bullcock in around Chuck's growing flaring length. Then he finds one. A slight gap in the tight seal between horse cock and husky hole. A couple of test thrusts, working in the first inch. And then Coach Harvin drives forward with all his might, uttering a long rumbling snort. My eyes grow wide and my breath freezes. My tailhole flutters, fighting to contain all that animal. And I feel full. So full. I can't move. Two huge hoofers, bull and stallion, are deep within me, stretching me open. I stare to the ceiling, my four paws suspended in mid-air, my breath returning as a rapid pant. This is the widest I've ever been stretched, and my body is having to adapt fast. At the base of my vision, I see the bull, glancing over me, running his big hoof along my side, pressing on my lower gut... gulp! He can hold them both, bull and stallion, gripping the slight bulge in my stomach. My own husky cock strains upwards, fully emerged from the sheath but yet to knot, vainly trying to reach the length of the huge hoofers currently reaming into me. And once Coach is satisfied he's not going to rip me open, the bucks begin. Bull cock grinds against that huge horse erection, each of the men wrapped and enveloped within my tight husky tail. Involuntarily, I squeeze down on them both, my stretched tailhole rippling against Coach's erection and Chuck's medial. The bull just keeps thrusting, paying me little heed, but the same can't be said for the younger and wilder stallion, who grunts and issues me an empty warning. 'Damnit husky, don't do that.' So what else can I do? I squeeze down again, drawing a second grunt from the stallion. And then a third. By now Coach's heat is rising, his steady breath now being tinged with the hint of a snort. Suddenly two massive hooved hands slam down on my shoulders. The bed is soft and the bull is strong, and he pushes us right down, me and Chuck, down into the bedding, holding me there even as I gulp for breath. I still haven't caught my breath when the bull starts to rail me. He's brutal, the big black beast, leaving me bouncing, hopelessly impaled between the two largest animals I've ever taken. Chuck nuzzles my ear, tells me how cute I am when I yelp breathlessly each time the bull ploughs me. As for the bovine himself, he's become utterly feral, throwing all of that brute strength into his mating.

Then, I swear I hear the horse moan. It's soft and quivering, but clearly a moan.

"This is what I love the most, Skruf. Catching Chuck right on the flare. Cocky little thing can never handle it."

Indeed Chuck is flaring again, lodging that swollen stallion head high and deep within my gut. The bull bucks, and the stallion underneath me gasps, long and loud. "Oh please Coach. Let me... let's fill this pup together..."

But Coach is having none of it. Although I can't be sure, partly because everything is so tight back there, I have a fair idea of what's happening and what the Coach's game-plan is. It makes me smile to learn about Chuck's weakness. I should try it next time he tries to jump me.

And no matter how much Chuck holds back, he can only stifle his snorts for so long. Louder and hotter they grow, behind my left ear, until with a final few bucks which could equally have been voluntary as involuntary, Chuck's breath catches, and he announces himself with a repressed whicker. With the amount of animal inside me, I was shocked I could feel anything more. But I felt it all - five or six clear rhythmic contractions of that thick horsecock, followed by a deep warmth right inside me. Then, satisfied he's outlasted his student, Coach Harvin drives to his climax seconds later. It looks like he's holding off that trademark lunge, that blissful moment in every hoofer's mating ritual and there it is! All three of us hold still, thrust forward by the force of the bull. Slowly he settles. The bed creaks, settling back into position, and I utter a soft bark. The fullness builds more, as does that deep liquid heat. Some idle grunting thrusts from the bull, and I arch my back, into the stallion. As always though, Coach is in no mood to wait around. Out slide all those inches of bull cock, and once he slips free I give a yip, raising my paws into that cute puppy-dog stare which he loves. Admittedly I'm a puppy-dog with a great big bone, but I know he still finds it cute.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're on my team."

He hasn't softened one bit, and immediately he begins to paw, tossing those cracked horns and that heavy black-furred snout. No pausing, no waiting around. Just straight on with his hard masturbation, as though he hadn't filled me to the brim just two minutes ago. Even the bull's own hoof is barely large enough to handle so much meat. Only now he's withdrawn do I get the full whack of the bovine's scent. Musk and bull cum hang heavy in the air, and I breathe it all in, gritting my canines, feeling my own arousal judder and drool in response. The bull snorts, and his scent grows all the more thick. When the bull's moment comes, my only warning is a gentle gulp. Most furs wouldn't pick up on it, but I know the Coach. I close one eye, smile at him, and spot the bull's first cumshot just in time to the other eye before he covers half my face with a single shot of bovine cum. Blind and motionless, I shudder on top of the stallion, completely at the men's mercy, while Coach paints me with his musk. I hear every spurt land on me, messily, soaking into my fur from stomach to chest to sightless muzzle. That's become something of a habit, blinding me with bull cum. I wonder if he does it deliberately. My eyesight may be cut off, but my other senses more than compensate. Especially the scent. Sweet and grassy, like all hoofer semen. With his payload spilled, the bull releases a growl, and I hear his hoof-steps on the carpet as he walks away. He isn't gone long though. He tells me to hold still, and I feel a towel brush over my face. At first I flinch, but then let him continue towelling off my sticky muzzle. I blink my eye open, and there he is. Coach Harvin, the bull. Massive, dominant, steely-eyed (even after he's just drenched a dog in bull cum), but damn handsome. I give a soft bark, and the bull responds with a nod.

"Right then Skruf," I hear from below. "We can't stay here all night."

Chuck is still holding me, supporting my weight while he finally begins to soften. I whimper and try and keep the stallion within me, but I'm utterly worn out. I can rest my hindpaws on the bed, which gives us just enough leverage while the mustang slips free. My howl is pitiful, but to be fair nothing I do now will be very macho. Chuck rolls me off, dumping me on my side, and climbs off the bed. At once my paw is on my sheath, and I'm pawing without abandon. Somewhere in the room, Coach is saying goodnight to us both. I swear I hear the stallion chuckle at me, say something like, "Isn't he cute when he's this horny?", but I'm beyond caring. I curl my toe-claws, thrash my tail, and erupt with a little nasal howl, listening to the rhythmic _splat-splat-splat_of my husky cum on the bedsheets. I shift my paw further down, feeling for my growing knot, and I close two fingers below it to approximate a bitch's tie. I jolt, two or three or four times, my whole body tense, the last of my husky cum landing in the little pool by my side. Then I shudder, bury my head under the pillows, and whine to myself. I can barely move, lost as I am in the grip of afterglow, with the ache in my tail showing no signs of abating. And the musk... all those raw animal scents which cling to my fur, husky and bovine and equine. I take them all in, luxuriate in them, feel them ignite my strong canine nose.

I came to America to play football. It's been my life ever since I was just a pup. And sure, I've had to play some intriguing games to keep that dream alive. But I'm still here, still training... and still enjoying plenty of bull cock on the side. I respect Coach Harvin, intimidating though he is. And I must admit it's exhausting sometimes, finishing a brutal training session, only to find yourself on the receiving end of a pedigree bull's frustration. But with his help, I know that the team and I will keep improving. We're a close team, and I don't want our journey to stop. We have play-offs to aim for, and I still hang onto the hope of being scouted for the national leagues. But that's all in the future. We just have to take things steady. One game at a time.

By Ziegenbock