First off, thank you for reading my story. I have over 500. Around 400 which will be published on various sites in a quick and whirlwind fashion. Please like, comment, or share my stories wherever you want. Anything is better than nothing. But do follow if you like my writing. There is so much more to come! Second, I do commissions and this is like 4 years of backlog. They are not edited, they have shit for blurb, no book cover, no REAL title, and the tags are shit. If you are interested in doing any of these things so that I can put it into a main file and distribute the blurb, better tags, or book covers and stuff, please reach out, or put it into the comments section. If I present better, I will have more clients in a segregated category and thus will be able to write more of these unique individualized kinks. Equally so, editor needed. Now, I know what your thinking--- WHY am I not doing this myself? Well, good dear reader, Rough guestimation, I have over 5k pages to tinker around with. I’ve not shared my backlog because of want for perfection. Would you rather my words not perfect, or not have my work at all period? Backlog of 4 years. And if I don’t push it out, I never will. I also run two businesses to keep me afloat. Unlike that one song, time, my friend, is not on my side. Thank you again for being amazing! PLEASE like, rate, or whatever. Trying to build a community instead of being an invisible thumbprint on the far reaches of the vast internet. A final note. If you know anyone, or community, or website that might be of use to me… Never, ever, ever hesitate to contact me. This job is a HARD job, it is fulltime, but I love it so much. Help me continue living this dream of learning about unique kinks and desires. And if you have a complaint on my tense shifting or my comma splices. Take a number! I know my severe weaknesses. I know I am not the best writer, I also know that I am not the greatest, but I feel my gift is UNDERSTANDING a persons wants. That, alone, is my skill set, not writing. CHECK BIO FOR LINKS. Also, newsletter everyone. Sign it, please. I had been at this party for about three hours when it dawned on me that I hadn’t heard a word anyone was saying. There must have been about two hundred people crammed into my friend’s penthouse, blue and pink lightbulbs lending everything a dreamlike glow. EDM weaved among the guests as the drinks flowed and the dancing shook the apartment. Tails wagged, ears perked up, and yelps and barks sounded through the night as friends danced and shared gossip from the previous year. I couldn’t make any of it out, of course, and I couldn’t understand how anyone could. Practice, I suppose. I’d locked down a spot beneath a painting in the center of a wall - in the thick of things geographically, but out of the way of major foot traffic. It was the perfect place to observe and let the occasion flow around me. Just across the room there was a salt lick that dazzled in the neon like a disco ball, never seeming to change shape for all those who partook. A black cat happened by, saw me, and lit up like the Christmas lights that still dominated the rafters. I managed to put my drink down on a nearby end table right before they wrapped me in a hug. My gut cushioned their impact, but I barely managed to avoid hitting the back of my head on the wall. They said something I immediately forgot, I said something back that made them laugh, and they breezed away insisting that we should catch up sometime. I’d probably never see them again, deerly beloved though they believed themselves to be (and probably even were). I loved my friend, but she was much more of an extrovert than I’d ever be. She’d gained a reputation in our city for knowing everyone and throwing the best parties. She thrived in this kind of environment. But so did my current boyfriend, and I was happy to have him along for the ride. We had that kind of relationship, Ken and I. We were just a couple of deer who did their own thing and got together when we could. I liked to hear about his adventures at conventions and parties and concerts, and he liked to chill with me between them, and that was that. Right now I was watching him crush a couple of panthers at beer pong over on the other side of the room. I took a sip of my drink. If you can avoid thinking about your ex until the third eggnog, that’s progress. But sometimes I have trouble comparing myself to myself. I’d brought him to a party a lot like this one, a year ago. I’d never been without a New Year’s kiss in my adult life. But he’d split that same night. True, I had split him by pumping torrents of cum into him until he popped from the internal pressure. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t miss him. Every so often when I took a shower, the water would remind me of the rain of semen that christened the end of our last evening together. It was a habit of mine. I was what they called a trophy hunter in my circles - always on the hunt for someone new to date, romance, and jizz into until they exploded. Ken would be my eighth. I loved them all in my way, and they loved me in theirs. Some of them liked the muscle I still had rippling under the healthy layer of fat I’d put on. I’d regale them with stories of my days as the fastest quarterback in the county, until that last injury. I still felt it in my knee now and again when I had a young buck bent over a couch, slowly filling with my cum like an air mattress. Some of them loved the stories I had accumulated from my world travels. I’d inherited a tidy sum from a distant relative and used it to expand my horizons. It had proved a pretty good icebreaker on my way to expanding these younger guys until they popped and repainted the room. “Andy!” And there he was, red cup in hand, slipping out of the crowd like a shard of melting iceberg. I couldn’t hear his voice, but I recognized the way his mouth moved when he said my name. I noticed that sort of thing. I liked the way people subtly changed when they spent time with me - the way they oriented themselves around me, looked at me, even used different in-jokes and expressions when we were alone versus when we were in a group. If I even took my boyfriends to meet my regular friends. They had to be really special for that. He was half my size, every bit the twink that you expect someone named Ken to be. My most recent beau was a white-tail with antlers that were small but shaped precisely for gripping by the hooves of someone much bigger. Stronger. Hornier. God, it had been too fucking long. I’d been thinking about this night since we started dating, and he didn’t have a clue. That was half of what made it fun. We’d only been dating for about nine months, and we’d already gotten to the point where we could exchange entire vibes and assessments in an embrace, in touches, in sounds, even in smells. I could smell three different flavors of secondhand smoke on his fur as I breathed him in, taste some lingering salt on his lips as I kissed him, hear and feel the purr of his breath as his body recalibrated to the comfort of fitting against mine. “Do you know anybody here?” I asked. “I do now,” he said. I towered over him and bent down to hear as we did that whisper-shout that was our only hope of being understood in this morass of people. “You beat them at beer pong?” “Best way to introduce yourself.” And he launched into a rambling discussion of his opponents that he’d shot the shit with over the game, all while demolishing them at pong. I smiled. I wasn’t much of a sports guy unless it was a contact sport, and it had been a while since I was in the sort of shape it takes to play one. But I loved hearing about Ken’s victories at beer pong, pool, foosball - if it could be played on a table, the kid was a natural. He won plenty of drinks off of the people he beat, too, which made him a much cheaper date. I nodded along and learned about his new friends, details I forgot almost as quickly as I commented on them. Midnight was drawing near. It seemed to come quicker every year, just as New Year’s snuck up out of increasingly nowhere. And if Ken didn’t stop running his hand up and down the antler in my pants, I was going to cum out of nowhere too. We’d figured each other out over the course of this past year, and we were both abundantly aware that it was time to find somewhere secluded and ring in the new year with a bang. There was that energy simmering in my chest, reaching down and tracing around the base of my cock from inside, that always preceded an encounter. I’d learned never to waste it. Ken was always game, of course. I had only to nod my head up towards the ceiling. He nodded his assent and squeezed my cock one last time before grabbing my hand and pulling me along. I was sure people were watching us, somewhere in the crowd of people starting to gather around flatscreens or phones as the countdown began. I definitely clocked a knowing smirk from the coat check girl. Let them watch. Let them know. Let them imagine, whisper, titter, I thought, following my boyfriend through the press of guests. Let them whisper to themselves and their plus ones when I came back downstairs covered in my own frozen cum once I’d finished with Ken. Just for a beautiful snippet of tonight, the world would belong to us alone. – There was nobody else up on the roof. There was an easy explanation, of course: it was chilly as hell. The black plain of the sea spat endless, constant wind from some horizon even colder than here. Not that it bothered either of us, wrapped up in our heavy coats that the cat manning the impromptu coat check room had handed to us with a knowing smile. But any excuse to huddle close against the wind was one well worth taking. Ken walked over to the waist-high fence that was all that separated us from oblivion, whipped his gloves out of his jacket pockets, and gripped the wrought iron as he looked out over the city. The buildings were spires of kaleidoscopic crystal, holding on to flashing lights of every color from a sunset long vanished. Other roofs teemed with partiers or hosted couples much like us, watching the skies and resolving to meet the new year and its challenges. I’d never liked heights, but it helped to have someone up here to keep me grounded. The sky turned green. Really complemented Ken’s fur. I saw it ripple in the explosion when it hit my ears the next second. “Ooh,” he said, to a good-natured roll of my eyes. “Ahh.” He was looking at me the entire time, of course, his face lit up as the corniness sank in. It was brighter than any firework. I was going to miss it. “Remember our first date?” he said. “How could I forget?” I chuckled. “We were covered in green beer by the end.” “And you still blew me.” That had been a St. Patrick’s Day to remember. I’d met Ken in the party-stricken street - just two blocks from the building we now stood on top of, actually - and a compliment on the green ribbons on his antlers had led to shots had led to a sunset hookup in an alley that still made us laugh every time we walked past the scene of the crime. There had been fireworks that night, too. Music. The dull roar of conversations from across the street, from blocks away, that one could somehow feel and hear despite being alone at the top of a skyscraper, present for the sheer thickness of it though the atmosphere. Thickness. That was a word that applied to the two of us in very different ways. I shook my head with a grin. Ken was rubbing off on me, in more ways than one. The hum of human activity resolved into a rhythm instantly recognizable as the countdown to the new year. Five… four… three… two… one… And then the fireworks really picked up. A cheer shook the city, a collective swell of warmth and community that wrapped us like a passing wind to counter the icy evening air. Among the right people in the right place at the right time, you could never be cold. Somewhere far below us, we heard people singing that “Auld Lang Syne” song. I’d never understood it. It was one of those things that I’d always told myself I’d look up one day without really caring to do so. One of those things that most people knew the lyrics to regardless and sang without knowing the meaning. Truly the Bohemian Rhapsody of the holidays. Ken, of course, loved it. He was a real holiday herbivore. I’d seen more Christmas movies in the past month than I ever had in my entire life up to that point. They were pretty insipid, most of them, but it was worth it to cuddle up to him on the couch, hot chocolate in hand, tissues close by to soothe him whenever the big city businessman du jour looked like he might be leaving his lover’s small town for good, never to discover the true meaning of Christmas. I didn’t know if Christmas had a true meaning or not. But I’d certainly take the fucking I gave him on Christmas morning. He’d insisted on painting his nose red, and he’d just about melted when I bent down and asked him if he wanted to guide my sleigh. “Rudolph, with your ass so tight…” “I wanted to thank you,” Ken said. “Thank me?” I managed to say without spluttering, jerked (heh) out of my memory from just last week. “For this year. For everything. For… for you,” he said. He slid his hand across the railing, took mine in his, did that thing where he squeezed each finger one at a time, drinking in every inch of me in turn. He was good at drinking in every inch of– Damn it. I was almost too horny to receive the heartfelt New Year’s vibes. Focus, Andy. “It’s all for you,” I said. “I’m all for you.” It sounded lame now that I’d put it out there, but it made Ken blush, his white fur going practically pink. It felt like there was something more he’d intended to say, from the way his eyes lingered on mine, but it looked like he couldn’t quite remember what. I knew this look. It was the one he slipped into when his affection had outrun his words. So of course the only logical thing to do was to bend down and kiss him. He fell into me, his lips tiny on mine as he searched for the best angle to hold himself at. He tended to get so caught up in our kisses at first that he’d fall over if he didn’t pay attention to how he was standing. I won’t pretend I’d never let that happen, but he’d never find out. The moment I felt his weight shift, I caught him in my arms and pulled him close. He loved it when I crushed him against my bulk like a stuffed animal. My little plushie, I sometimes called him. I could pick him up and smother him with kisses, and frequently did. As now. I felt him wrap his legs around me - most of the way around me, I was too big for him to go all the way - and relax into my embrace. Even fifteen years out of my football career, I was strong enough to hold him for as long as he needed to be held, carry him wherever he needed to be set down and lavished with affection or taught a lesson. Tonight wasn’t a night for lessons. We knew everything we needed to know about each other. Well, almost everything, I thought, imagining what Ken would look like swollen up with my cum. A gust of winter wind tapped aggressively on my shoulders, my back, my legs, my antlers - just about everywhere. Ken shivered in my embrace and I squeezed him tighter. He could probably have spent a comfortable night wrapped in my arms and my belly fat, but I could at least make myself a little warmer for my trouble. The heater on the roof wasn’t turned on. I think everyone downstairs had been content to stay where the party was. I shifted Ken to the crook of one arm and made a show of taking wide, determined steps over to the heater, pretending to struggle against a much stronger wind than was currently blowing. It made Ken giggle, that breathy sort of laugh that he got when he hadn’t quite clicked over from silly to horny. That always made me hard. Heat enveloped us within and without as we entered the radius of the heater. I tend to be fine in weather like this, built the way I am, but even I start shivering when the wind gets up in conditions like these. But big is a tool, and one that I was happy to use for Ken. In more ways than one. We got back to kissing when we were under the heater. Ken’s back was to it, all toasty and cozy enough to actually shed his coat for comfort. Good, I thought. It’d be a waste to lose it to the popping I planned to visit on him. Besides, his lithe body was too sexy to be hidden - his fur sleek and white like the snow melting around us, his muscles taut beneath. I shrugged off my coat as well. We’d sweat enough without the extra layer. Ken’s eyes went wide, like he was seeing me for the first time - and he did this every time - and he grinned. “Gonna fuck me up, babe?” he whispered. He didn’t know how right he was. I nodded, the slightest of smirks on my face as I shielded him from the wind’s bite. I liked to let him do the talking on occasions such as these, the better to shut him up with my mouth, my hands, my cock. The less I spoke, the more he filled in the blanks for himself while my body did the talking. I could see him running through all the possible responses in his adorable little head whenever he started talking dirty, and it never failed to glaze his eyes over and short him out. That made me hard. A lot of things do that, in general. When we came together again, it was properly; it was the resumption of making out that both of us could feel with minimal speaking would lead to sex. This was the hard, intentional kissing of the bedroom, the club bathroom, the front passenger seat, the sort that drifted down to the collarbone and slipped into the hard bite of a flat-toothed herbivore, jaw against the thick armor of fur in an exquisite bruising motion that you begged to draw blood. Ken moaned as I set upon his neck, high in his throat like a doe as he made pleading little fists in the fur on my back. That only made me press myself into him harder - shoulder in my mouth, one hand spread across his upper back, the other on his tight whitetail ass. I had to feel the package before I opened it up, kick the tires as it were, appreciate the glory of his toned and youthful body before I filled it with my cum and blew him into a fountain of my seed. But before I could do that, he had to blow me first. He was an impatient little fawn, and I’d never quite been able to train that out of him. It was part of our game, of course - him insistently going for my cock and trying to make me cum like we were racing for the privilege, me moving his hands back as I teased him with my mouth, my fingers, holding him at bay until he was whimpering enough to draw predators from miles around. I was the only one allowed to feast on him. Other people could clean up after I popped him, in whatever way they wanted to. That was half the beauty of the exercise, after all. I wasn’t just popping Ken. I wasn’t just inflating him, making his body nothing more than a swelling receptacle for my jizz. I was replacing him. I was vaporizing him, leaving nothing more than a shower of my semen for a marker that he was once there. His body, the sound of his voice, everything he was would drown in an ocean of my cum. But not yet. Some wouldn’t have bothered to give him the common courtesy of an orgasm if they were going to pop him anyway. But I owed it to him after the incredible year we’d had. The bookstore dates, the cuddling, the late night comfort sessions that didn’t even have to end in sex, so intimately did we get to know each other’s pasts and passions - it had all added up to something unforgettable that deserved better than a simple cum explosion, there and then gone quicker than our first fuck. So I picked him up. I didn’t even strain, so lightly and tightly was he built. I got my hands under his glorious ass and hooked his legs around my hips. Now there was no reaching my crotch, no moving except by my will. I was in complete control of the night and all it had to offer. He struggled only a little, or I only felt it as a little struggle. No matter how much he worked out, he was always more of the cardio type than the muscle type. He had stamina for days, but he could never resist my grip. This of course was just fine for our purposes. Ken wrapped his legs around my waist and gave himself over to our kisses, our tongues, the nips of our teeth and the purrs deep in our throats, resonating in our chests like perfectly matched thunder before a storm. His hands roamed all over my body, cradling my cheeks like a baby bird, squeezing my biceps under their layer of fat, threading his fingers through the fur on my back. He could do what he wanted with his hands, now that he’d built the endurance in his core and his legs to hook himself onto me and lose himself in our embrace. All around us the fireworks sounded, shook us with gentle, hot gusts mixed into the driving chill of the new year, intruded on the blissful darkness of our shut eyes with dull flashes of every color of light. It was a moment that we couldn’t quite shut out, and we wouldn’t even if we could. This wasn’t just any other rendezvous in which we could suck and fuck however we liked, however we always did. Our being here had a meaning, a context, that only the new year could provide, that we could only appreciate being at the top of the world, exposed and yet hidden, our only witness the sky we shared with the people beneath it. We had space, we had freedom, and it made us want to grow to the limit of that space, our love filling the air until everyone could feel it - not see Ken leaning down to paw at my crotch, not hear him whine as I traced my fingers through the thicker hair above his, but to sense a change in the atmosphere even if they couldn’t consciously nail it down. Whatever they sensed would be hotter, wetter, muskier, because I was consciously going to nail Ken down. I let him explore the body he’d devoted himself to for the last nine months, let him trace old patterns and new through my fur. He stuck out that wonderfully flexible tongue of his and fawned over my jawline, licking up toward my ear, almost to the base of my antlers. I tightened my grip on his shoulders, let him know that he was building a bridge too far. He knew I knew, of course, and strained to get up to the weak spot that he was trying for. Ken moved his hands to my shoulders and pressed down, lifting his body with surprising strength to lap at my antlers like I was a gymnastic bar and there was a salt lick just above it. He’d worked so hard. I finally let him at it. My asshole quivered as his tongue played across the space where my antler met my head, as his tongue dipped impudently into my ear. It felt like he could reach in and tickle whatever part of me he wanted to no matter where he put that muscle of his, all too flexible, all too curious. It made me want to set him down and sit on his face, but tonight wasn’t the night for that. Sometimes I felt it, sometimes I didn’t. But I did feel the electric squeeze down my spine as he licked around the spur of bone, slipping an ethereal finger into my rectum that begged to be filled by the real thing, pressed further and tickled my prostate, further still as he went to town on the top of my head, and now my cock was throbbing, slid out of its sheath and tingling in the open air, demanding to be ensconced in something tight and wet. That something would be Ken’s asshole, but not yet. I had to really punish him for going so early for my weak spot, sprinting to one of our finish lines instead of hoofing it there like a good boy, like a patient fawn. So I growled and held him out like a big doll, which instantly made him go slack as he imagined what I might do with him. I could put him over my knee and spank him, hold him in one arm and jerk him off with the other until he was overstimulated, even throw him off the building. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be so completely in another person’s power. I’d only ever been the person wielding it. Part of doing that was responsibility. I could do whatever I wanted with him, and it fell to me to treat him right. So I turned him around and crushed him against my barrel-like chest. He squeaked as I braced my arm across his body, holding him just under his rib cage. I craned my neck over his shoulder and hissed in his ear: “You’re going to cum for me, and you’re going to like it.” He gulped. It should have been obvious that he was going to like it. But spelling it out for him implied that getting there would be harder than he expected. Much harder. I traced my fingers around his hip, lazily, pathlessly, kissing his neck and his shoulder all the while. I worked at his other shoulder, the other side of his neck, chewing on the squirming venison in my arms to torture him. I paid him in kind for the way he’d played with my antlers and gotten me all pent up earlier. He could do what he wanted, but at the end of the day only one of us could hold the other down while he did it. And I could hold him up. My football days were behind me with my agility, but my strength remained. I could regulate it, too. What I poured into my arm to hold Ken up I could apply on a smaller scale with my fingers, pressing them firmly where I knew he was weak with strength that could do a pull-up with a single digit. I massaged from his hip to the small of his back, tracing shapes in his fur that added up to want, panting, pleas to just bend him over something, anything, and fuck him until the sun came up and he couldn’t see straight. We’d get there in time. For now, I rubbed two fingers around the base of his tail, moving it like I’d eventually tease his cock. It was the only thing standing between me and the fateful valley of his ass. I rested him astride my cock like it was a fence rail, let him squirm upon it as he instinctively tried to bring me to orgasm with his thighs. I rolled my hips into him, grunted with the effort. He liked the feedback of the sounds I made, not just in the way a partner loves to hear what they’re doing to you, but also because he could feel it vibrating through my body, through the protective layers of fat around my gut and my arms. Turning me on was like firing up a massage chair that could jerk him off. And jerk him off I would. I got to my knees and trapped his legs with mine, squeezing his thighs so they squeezed my cock. I throbbed between his thighs, grit my teeth against the sensation as I reached down and wet my fingers with melted snow. Then I stuffed two of them down the crack of Ken’s ass. I found his asshole and pressed my fingertips against it, teased it in quick circles as his voice leaped out in high pleas. I obliged him, crooking a single finger and easing its tip into his butt. He sighed, a long shuddering sound that trickled out of his mouth like water from a thawing stream. And like that spring melt, the sigh picked up steam, turned into a moan, flowed faster and harder as I rotated my fingertip in his ass, gripped his cheek in the flex of my palm, pressed myself deeper. The whole time I knew I was leaving his cock unattended. I didn’t need to attend to it. He’d proven himself capable of cumming from ass play alone. If I wanted, I could make him orgasm into the night air, splatter his cum across the heater, let it sizzle as I held him over the edge of the building and made him spill his seed eighty stories down to fall as frozen jizz flakes among the snow. But I wasn’t going to be that cruel on our last night together. Oh, I probed deeper with my fingers, finding his sweet spot once I’d gotten to my second knuckle, spreading him wide enough to slide in another finger and move them in two opposite rotations, tracing my touch across what must have felt like all of him at once, the interior equivalent of his attention to my antlers, opening him up and laying him bare to all of me. He was more than ready for my cock, and I was almost ready to give it to him. I wanted to give it to him. But not yet. I changed up the pace of things this time. It happened the same way every time I had him like this. Eventually he’d turn back and beg me to make him cum - with my hand, not just with my fingers in his deer asshole. I didn’t even let him speak this time. Didn’t even let him beg. You only beg for something you don’t expect to receive. Sometimes the best way to throw someone off their guard is to give them exactly what they want. I let him slide down to his knees, moved my arm down and wrapped my hand around his cock now that it was bobbing fully out of his sheath. It twitched in my grip, so strong that I almost lost control. I had to squeeze it harder, which of course was exactly what he wanted. What he needed. I barely needed to stroke him, could get the desired effect by seizing his cock and rolling my fingers back and forth like I was trying to squeeze toothpaste out of a stubborn tube. “You ready to cum for me?” I whispered. It wasn’t clever, but that was the nature of the beast. I couldn’t think of anything clever, couldn’t waste time on something memorable. All that we would recall of this moment, all we could perceive in it, was sensation, desire, need. It was a three-headed monster that gnashed us in its musky teeth. It was in the grip of that monster as it possessed me that Ken came, his balls tight against his crotch, practically slipping back up through his pelvic floor as his sack contracted. I’d choked up on his his cock, holding it near the front, and I could feel the air get more humid around my grip as he shot load after load into the night. If there’d still been snow on the ground around the heater, it would have sizzled and melted under the whitetail’s white tails. He left a gummy tribute before our smoldering shelter, to dry on the roof or be washed of with the rain, stubbornly and viscously resisting until it slid over the roof’s edge and dripped down to return to the earth. I let him slump over, gasping, his hands landing among his fallen ropes with a splash. It didn’t matter to him. He could wash them off with snow later, or let it dry, let it mat his fur, leave a trace of himself stuck to him as a badge of submission to the bigger deer that forced it from him. On other nights I would have stroked him back to life and wrung another orgasm from his cock, and another, until it stung him to touch. But I’d finally reached the limit of what I could make myself wait for. I grasped his hip in one hand and pushed between his shoulder blades to guide him down with the other. He obliged. Ken was always the suggestible type, and never more than when he’d just cum. There was something predatory that lived in me and flared up every time I saw him laying prone that way. He looked like I’d brought him down after a long chase through the park below us, exhausted and overcome and ready to be dressed and devoured. He tasted good and felt heavenly in my mouth when I did go down on him, but that was in the past. Both our bodies felt what had to come next. My fingers were always a pale imitation of my cock, which loomed thick and dripping over him from his presence, his insistence, his desperate attempts to finish before we even started. I grabbed him by the hips and rested my cock in the valley of his ass cheeks, warming myself in the familiar embrace. He wiggled a bit and I smacked his ass to keep him in place, earning a delighted gasp. He reached back to pull himself open and I held his hand down until he left it there. Whatever was done to him I would do and he would receive. It was an understanding that we only ever played at upsetting. So we moaned in perfect harmony as I prodded the loosening ring of his asshole with the tip of my favorite antler, shifted my grip forward on his hips, and eased myself inside. It was like spending one last night in a home you’d just sold. I couldn’t help but diffuse a grunt into a long sigh as I pressed my first couple of inches inside Ken, his body parting just enough to let me inside and hold me tight as he ever was. He was far from my first, but he might just be my best. So far. A few thrusts and I was hilted within him, Ken’s body in constant motion around me like many hands, endless hands, flexing with fingers great and small up and down my length, across my girth. So it went. The gentle whup whup whup of my red-furred hips against his white ass was like a jog through a snow-covered forest, a repeated slap of strength against strength, momentum against an object I myself had made immovable. I was making Ken an extension of my body - my plan for him in microcosm - filling out his asshole and probably bruising him where I gripped him as I gritted my teeth against the rising tide of my orgasm, tamped it down, coaxed it back, down, back, forth, back, forth, windblown in the winter howl, drying in the chill, all the moisture locked in the drifts of snow around us and the deer semen evaporating into a pleasant haze that drove us higher and deeper and faster to see just how thick we could make it. It wasn’t long before I felt my first climax building taller than I could press down, higher than I could summit. Ken knew it too, could always hear it in the way my breathing deepened, had learned my mannerisms quickly after I’d claimed his ass for my own. He flattened himself against the rooftop, practically fusing with the concrete, and I thought by the motion of his head that I could see him licking up his own cum before it bubbled away. Dirty little guy, I thought to myself. I’d miss the little depravities he got up to when I fucked his shame away. They certainly never failed to tip me over the edge. I balled my hands in his fur, made him yelp with the bite of it, and finally let out my pent-up energy with a single barking gasp that accompanied the first of many ropes I launched into his guts. He moaned as I came into him, shifting slightly to feel just how deep my hot juice could penetrate him. I’d never bottomed before, but I could imagine the appeal of something of your lover slipping inside you and staying there, your body drinking him deep as you drifted off to a well-fucked sleep. Ken wasn’t getting any sleep tonight, of course. I laid a rough hand on his shoulder and pulled him up, wrapped my arm around his chest, kissed him fiercely on the cheek. “Stay awake, Bambi. We’re not done yet.” He never let anyone else call him that, and I loved him for it. I really did. I was half-hard inside him after my orgasm, but I rallied once I licked around his antlers and made him quiver on my cock. I was the only one he let do that, too. I was the last one who ever would. I’d figured his body out completely over the last year, and now I could make it do what I wanted. It was an intoxicating power, which kept me going in exactly the way I needed it to. Popping someone was no light task. My cock crawled back up into Ken as it hardened. I could feel his ass flexing against me, around me. I didn’t even have to move for his body to work with mine, to recognize its duty, its destiny. Little gasps popped out of his throat with each thrust up into his guts. It was like throwing poppers into a bonfire, whipping the smoldering ball of horny in my chest into bluer flames, spreading it through my limbs completely independently of the heater we were desecrating. He was giving me the strength and the desire to see just how hard I could thrust into him, just how violently I could bounce him. The snowmelt was enough lube to start out. Our bodies provided the rest. I came again. I held Ken down, my cock pressed all the way inside, blasting my cervine ropes into his bowels deeper than before, drowning his sweet spot in my jizz, before starting up the rhythm again. I liked getting into another round of fucking while the old orgasm was dying down. I could draw the jizzing out that way, keep my cock going for just a little bit longer while I kept myself hard throughout. It was exactly the sort of physics you needed to learn to master when you were going to pop someone. It was all about finding that rhythm that let you cum again and again until the marathon fuck session became continuous, ultimate, infinite. I envied elephants. Those guys could stretch - and, I imagined, spray like one of those artificial snow cannons out of those trunks of theirs before the crucial moment. We came full circle when I started cumming for the fourth time. I think. It felt like I’d started before I finished the third. I buried my teeth in Ken’s neck again, forced a louder moan from him after he thought he’d given me all the volume he had. I was about to give him some volume, sure enough. That fourth time I started cumming didn’t stop. The ebb of that orgasm flowed into the next, and the next, and the next. The whole time I slowly got to my feet, getting the sensation of my continuous orgasm under control even as it spread tingles through my arms and legs, locked my arm in place around Ken’s skinny chest. It felt like I was trudging through gelatin, but I managed to drag my insensate hooves across the roof while I was holding Ken against me and cumming nonstop into his ass. He gave a little yelp when I stood, but lost himself again in the sensation of my cum filling him, my cock railing him, his ass spread achingly wide to accumulate my girth, like fingers bent back from a hand as far as they would go. He was jerking off while he did this, too, a pale imitation of my own torrent of semen. He didn’t need to hold on to my powerful arm to stay in place, so his free hand eventually brushed across his stomach and finally clued him in to what was going on. Ken froze. I could feel his elbow poke my stomach as he rubbed his abdomen to make sure he was really feeling what he was feeling: his belly swelling with wave after wave of liquid. As his ass endlessly guzzled my cum, his stomach expanded to accommodate it. It was easy enough to give the little twink a potbelly, and soon enough he’d have a proper gut like me. I’d often teased him about what would happen when he eventually came to look like me. He thought I was making fun of him getting older. But there was a much quicker and more fun way to make him fat and round and sloshy. It had never occurred to him that I might do it to him, not until this moment. He struggled a bit, but not in a way I didn’t recognize. This wasn’t a sincere attempt to break out of my grip. It was the familiar play-fight that always preceded me holding him down and fucking him dry. Maybe a little more pressure on my arm than he was usually capable of after four or five or however many rounds, but it was an extraordinary evening. His stomach was definitely curved, like the pregnancy I’d sometimes teased about giving him, and growing beyond the limits of any reasonably sized fawn. I shifted my step, adjusted my center of gravity, as he grew heavier in my arms, as I conjured cum from seemingly nowhere to fill him fuller and rounder in my grasp. All the while he was moaning, fumbling at his permanently hard cock until he couldn’t reach it over the expanse of his belly anymore, until my cock put his own beyond him. I was forcing him to submit to my body, my fluids, my pleasure. Soon enough his cock would start jizzing again, except it’d be my cum shooting out of it, my semen overwhelming his insides until he came my cum for me. And it still wouldn’t be enough to ease the growing pressure within. His stomach had taken just about all it could hold, and now his chest was bloating out into fatty-looking deposits, his new tits filling with my cum and forcing me to adjust my grip on his chest. I placed one hand on that too-short railing to brace myself and set him on a concrete perch where that railing ended. Now Ken was balanced on the edge of the world, filling with my jizz, his arms and legs bloating too, inflating like those skinny circus balloons. Semen rippled beneath his skin, made his fur wave like a cornfield in the wind, flowing through his veins with his blood, replacing his blood, pumped through his body by a heart converted to circulating cum. I didn’t know exactly how it worked, but that’s how I imagined it. I showered his shoulders with kisses, his back, his neck, all while warmth and movement ramped up just below where my lips kissed. I didn’t just feel him moving around me, I could feel myself moving him. Maybe it was a betrayal. Maybe he’d had plans for this year. Maybe we could have lived a whole life beyond this. But I never would have gotten to see him go out in a burst of my orgasmic excess, showering the city with our love, my cum scattering my lover to the winds. It was the most beautiful thing I could imagine doing to someone, with someone. It was a musky butterfly born from the quivering caterpillar that was Ken’s swollen, cum-addled body speared on my cock like a balloon on a pin that just wouldn’t pop it, not yet. There was nothing of the twink he had been now. He looked more like a stuffed animal than the genuine article, all bloated and overinflated with gallons of my cum. My cock was numb by this point from the lake of semen I was pumping into him. I couldn’t tell anymore where I ended and he began. My balls were churning like rocket engines, tight against me in my sack as I imagined him swelling up bigger than either of us combined, enveloping me in a big ball of Ken and smothering us both in my semen, his flesh. With an almighty grunt, I grabbed fistfuls of his fur and turned him around so I could see his face. I wanted one last look at my lover before he blew. His neck had disappeared into the expanse of his torso, as had his arms and legs, hands and hooves sticking out of him like the Thanksgiving parade balloons we’d gone to see a couple months ago. I’d almost cum right there thinking about what I was going to do to him. His head was almost swallowed up, but I could still see his face, stretched out by the jizz that swamped his insides, rippling like the film on a long-lukewarm bath. He was beautiful even now in this weird way, stretched and deformed and cumlogged the way that only lovers could be. And he was smiling, damn him, smiling, even as my jizz leaked out of the corners of his mouth and his loving gaze swam in a sea of sperm. He cracked his mouth open as if to say something before the inevitable happened. The biggest firework of the night cracked the sky directly overhead at precisely the moment Ken burst. The vibration of the firework’s explosion shivered through me from above, meeting the aftershock of Ken’s detonation in the middle. It was the first time I’d managed something like that. Purely by accident, too. I could never consciously pull off that kind of timing. Not with a young buck bucking under me. I wasn’t sentimental enough to decide that it could only have been Ken. But it’s something that he would have believed in my position, and I couldn’t just not let that cross my mind. I happened to glance over toward one of the corners of the rooftop. There, crossed one over the other as if they’d been laid there for later, were Ken’s antlers, all that remained of the sexy whitetail. I chuckled. They’d make a fine decoration for my man cave. It was warm up here now. Toasty, almost. The heater was going full blast, and the salty scent of my cum was turning acrid. I didn’t know it was possible to burn cum, but that’s what it smelled like. It was already turning brown around the heater. I thought of it bubbling, boiling, and wondered if I could get my next guy to cook with mine. Probably. If I could get someone to pop for me, I could certainly get him to do that. I hadn’t had my eye on anyone at the party this time. Part of me liked to search for my conquest for the new year before the old one was even over. The other part of me hated it, and that’s the part that had won this year. That was okay. St. Patrick’s Day magic had delivered Ken to me. I’d find another romantic season for another lover. It would all come back to another midnight on top of another skyscraper, popping into another year. It always did.