Late autumn in the forest and I revelled in the rich colours afforded by nature’s artist. When the green chlorophyll in the leaves dies and is taken back into the tree, the brilliant reds and golds burst through and bestow the most wondrous colours on one of the best types of land. Woodland, forest, copse all with their own maturity and young blood. Vast phallic pines and conifers, sprinkly female little birches and massive dominant oaks. I’d bought the old farm on the proceeds of my father’s bequest and I was comfortably rich, single and free.
I had arrived at the farm with plans to renovate some of the extensive buildings into holiday homes and I needed quality time to think and draw it up. I had my own highly successful architectural practice. Girl friends were scattered in various parts of the country allowing me to indulge in sex whenever I felt. They were always hankering after my cash, I was a big spender, but I didn’t mind, I got my cock well and truly into them and made them earn their presents. I needed to settle down and further the family name, but time was on my side being only twenty nine years old.
On my first walk in the surrounding forest, which I had access to from my ninety acres, I had spotted the herd of fallow deer. Thirty or so in a bunch, wandering carefully, always watchful across the big heath and I watched fascinated as they fed and nibbled on the hoof. I’d been alerted to them by some weird grunts and moans, which at first I couldn’t place. Then I’d stumbled down wind on the herd, luckily not scaring them and I watched the big bucks in rut, roaring and grunting and fighting, claiming their ground and attracting mates. Of course it always happened in October to November and I gloried in being able to watch this wonderful display of nature on my doorstep. Often the encounters would entail a lot of clashing and locking of their splay of antlers, then seemingly an amicable split as they compromised. But I had read that they would sometimes fight to a death.
Meanwhile the delicate little does, all presumably in heat, with those fine heads and attractively coloured rumps, with their black stripes and flickering short tails, would feed quietly. Occasionally having to dodge one of the fights, they would merely trip to one side and bend head to grass again. What did fascinate me was the way the agitated bucks waggled their genitals as they strutted and clashed. It was if they were showing off the furry sheath and sharp little dick in its own glory, the control of the waggling and wobbling of it apparently separate to all their muscular bravado elsewhere. Their big balls swayed and swung alarmingly against their inner legs and I wondered if the buck felt the pain I imagined. A buck would then mount a doe, such a massive discrepancy in build and weight always puzzled me, also when I had seen massive bulls on little heifers in the dairy herds. However the female stood quietly while the buck reared, its forelegs straight down her side and with one or two shunts, would get off and start feeding. Quick isn’t the word. The doe would shake herself and her little tail and likewise continue her forage for food.
I thought of Toria, the girl I’d been with only three nights earlier. If I’d blown off in fifteen seconds she would have hit the roof. The deer herd moved on after I saw two other couplings, which I found strangely exciting in a mild sort of way. I rubbed my dick under my jeans and wandered on back to the property. The measuring and sketches for the alterations and extensions I had in mind, were to be done over several days and I amused myself with frequent walks, lunch and evening, to the numerous good local pubs for my meals.
One evening I was watching TV in the farm house and saw a documentary about the forest and lo and behold up came several shots of the stag rut and frequent matings. I became fixated for some reason, as the camera did linger on the doe’s delightful winking fanny and the buck’s erections, which I must say, were not much to be admired for all their bulk. A few days later a TV story about a racehorse owner, one who I had spent quite some cash on interested me and this time they showed mares being brought in for covering by stud stallions. It was here that I dived for the video remote and recorded the scenes. Again there were lovingly long sequences of the whole procedure, with sincere commentary from the trainer I followed. From teaser stallions, vets testing the mares for sex by sticking their arms up their cunts, right to the final moment when the stallion would mount her, with an itinerant following of humans monitoring the valuable nags. I idly found myself comparing the stag’s fine pointed cocks to the horse’s long blunt cocks and ended up, digging my own dick out and hefting it as I watched an old Ally McBeal show. Incidentally, it’s a crap fictional US law programme, featuring an ugly stick insect of a woman who likes to constantly, with irritating affectations, disappear into its own attire. However the high point of the series, for me that is, is the appearance of a black woman, Lisa Marie Carson. A work colleague of Ally, she has the most enormous pair of jutting tits. Whether they are natural or silicone, I’m not sure but she wears them high and always displays some deliciously dark cleavage. I could wank all night to them.
This particular episode which I zapped onto, had the stick insect – Ally, supposedly trying to lure a handsome black guy away from Lisa’s character. I mean what dross is this? At least the show had a high proportion of coloureds to make it interesting. Hmm! I needed sex. I rang a few girls up and they were all out of town, so there was no point in going back to the smoke.
I rang my office the next day and settled on staying down here for another day or so as necessary. I could work with the phone, fax, internet and my laptop and they knew where I was. God knows, I needed some time off. The villages didn’t offer too much in the prospect of girls. The barmaid at the lunchtime pub that day, was OK from the waist up, but she had what might be called elephantine legs. Huge pointed tits with seemingly spectacular nipples, bright sunny disposition and nicely done up, but I just couldn’t see myself getting between those ballock crushing trunks.
I sauntered back to the farm, round many attractive tracks in the forest and suddenly came across the deer. One stag and six does. Again I saw him cover two and then they got my scent and dashed away. I went to where the pretty little females had been fucked and thought of the sex they had had. I could smell them, a musky kind of odour hung in the clearing, it was one of their usual haunts. I looked at the forest floor, but apart from lots of droppings and footprints there was no sign of a boudoir. What did I expect to find? I didn’t know.
Having almost walked in on the sex act, I wondered what she had felt like to the stag. Of course he wouldn’t think about it, but I pondered for long periods on my walk back to the farm. As it happened I had venison steaks in another pub that evening and again my mind switched to the herd. I was possibly eating what was once one of them, I could smell them at will and I was becoming expert at their surroundings and activities, having seen them for over five days. I found myself rubbing my cock surreptitiously under the table as I scanned the pub crowd. A couple of plain girls could have been interesting, purely body wise. One tall and slender, the other medium height and stacked. But they left shortly after I spotted them. One man’s wife was smiling at me, had nice legs but she was pig ugly and about fifty, The landlady of the pub was about sixty and scrawny and I gave up in desperation, wandering a touch drunkenly back to the farm. Rustling in the moonlit woods attracted my attention, but I ignored it. Any beast or bird could have been making night sounds and I relished the beautiful utter silence otherwise and the sheer remoteness of my dwelling. It was so private. One particular copse edge came right down to the garden and I walked in past the tumbledown shed.
I wanked to the fleeting video of the horses and then a late night mildly sexy film and cursed my stupidity and set to to ponder about my next fuck. The images of the deer flitted constantly through my mind and with another two Macallans inside me, my evil plan unfolded. I had prime females within reach. They couldn’t tell, they couldn’t get pregnant, they couldn’t sue and they couldn’t scream. What’s more they were in heat, at this moment. Excitedly I went to bed and early next day, after a rasher or two of bacon, I was in the old shed checking its structure and sorting good timbers from old.
I worked fanatically all day, foregoing lunch – unusual for a foodie like me. Also unusually for the manual effort I was putting in. Something was driving me on. I cleared the shed and constructed a stout pen. To test it, I belted it with a lump hammer and bashed against it with all my weight, I’m six feet five and fifteen stone (210lbs to my US fellow bestials). I levered at it with my legs and it stood up nicely. In one of the barns, I grabbed some netting and tested it. It was sound. Outside the shed I checked the access from the copse and worked out the distance and then again to where the deer usually rutted. About 500 yards. Hmm! I was strong - but? I got a good sleep, tired yet on a high.
Getting up into the deathly dark morning, at the early alarm set, with my mind whirring on the sense and stupidity of my plan, I was hooked. Suddenly I halted. What the fuck was I doing? This is crazy. How could I smuggle a living creature into my shed? Well smuggling was the easy part, but could I expect to carry it or drag it all that way and would the net work? I thought some more, the idea took over again so under torch light in the shed I arranged weights to the net. I was out of the house before dawn. As light started to appear, a wonderful crisp morning lay ahead as I found my lair and carefully positioned myself in a tree and arranged the net low enough.
Downwind, carefully thought about from the studies I had made of the herd’s approaches I waited, tense, nervous, excited and not very comfortable. They arrived as a bunch and I watched as they grazed in the secluded opening in the copse, the sun low behind them throwing into silhouette. Several pretty doe’s spread about and one solitary buck strutted and grunted. He did his usual saunter round, waggling his sheath and spraying piss in all directions, marking his territory. The does pissed frequently too. It was very erotic somehow. Quickly he mounted a doe and the usual quickie ensued. The herd seemed to tense slightly as the coupling took place and I seized my wild moment. I dropped the net and luckily it went silently down trapping a doe’s hind quarters. The animals scattered, but she fell and lay writhing and I leapt down and fought the flailing legs until I had her fully wrapped in netting.
She seemed to be breathing OK and nothing was broken and I tried to heave her up. Shit! She was heavier than I planned. Again I strained, but in the end I managed to half carry, half drag the cumbersome bundle all the way to the garden and into the shed. I noticed she pissed once, about ten yards from where I’d netted her and then she shat about halfway along the trail. A trail that was clearly marked by the dragging of the loaded net through undergrowth. Her toilet was probably in fear I guessed. It took nearly half an hour and I fretted. I was sweating buckets by the time I arrived and the doe, although breathing OK had quietened. I managed to loosen the net a bit and she kicked out and I chuckled at her gameness as I got my breath.
I started to unravel the netting, keeping her head inside the door to the pen. Again it seemed to take hours, but it was only minutes, yet I was so hyped and impatient, the time seemed to be slipping away. I took a Stanley knife to the net, knowing I had plenty in the barn and the doe finally sprang loose and I managed to shove her butt and got her penned in. The back trap timber was swung into place and I whooped silently at my triumph of stage two. She was trapped closely at her sides by the width of the pen and it worked out luckily to be just the right length so that her butt was close to the back timbers. She was kicking like fuck. Taking some time out to catch my breath and contemplate my next move I watched as the doe kicked and fretted in the narrow confines of my creation. Every time I moved she went berserk but she was captive and I took to studying my approach.
It didn’t take long, I wanted the triumph to be complete and prove my mastery. It was male rutting time and I dropped my jeans and shorts, then ignoring the biting chill on my superheated body, cast off my jumper and shirt. We were both naked and I stepped to the rear of the pen, my cock amazingly already half hard and without any hand work. I thought for fleeting seconds on why I was so aroused, the latent bestial coming out in me so urgently perhaps, but why?
Fuck it! I grabbed each of her hind legs and tethered them at the back corner posts. I removed the back trap and moved in, putting my hand on her rump and instinctively pressed down. Amazingly she stilled and I glanced at her cunt. She was juicing, sort of squirting and initially I leapt back as her hot piss splashed on me, until I realised she was on heat and my weight must have felt like a buck. I stepped in again and hefted my cock up, rubbing it on her vagina. It was a neat, glistening, little couple of folds of soft black skin with a lovely sort of velvet texture. Above was the round punctured dome of her arsehole and even that looked inviting in my heightened state. Up I came, reliable as ever, rock hard and I aimed my lubing knob straight at the doe’s dripping fanny without any further thoughts or worries.
I slid in easily and her heat and tightness were incredible as I settled and just sort of swayed on her, keeping the weight transferred on her delicate hindquarters. I felt her pulse inside and pressed in further and was ballock deep immediately. She was compliant now - joined, covered and mounted whichever way you look at it and she was a breeder pure and simple. A cock in her cunt silenced her, like most randy females and I found I could start to shunt at her silky, musky rear. I’d ignored the odd bits of caked dung round her arse and haunches. Grass and twiglets were caught in various parts of her anatomy and she had a callous on her left rump, but I fucked on. Hard now, giving her all and wanting a good quick fuck for fucks sake. Forget the slow steady build up and foreplay.
I stuffed into her, my seven inch tool reaming the animal’s sex, surely far better than those stupid bucks who did it in seconds. She would appreciate this I mused as I panted towards a tremendous climax. My balls spouted my jism and forced it into her and I released the full load, letting the doe have the benefit of a prime male’s power. Her delicate little body was racked, her head bashed against the pen as I rammed and rammed until my sac was drained. I fell over her, gasping for breath in the still chilled morning, but I was sweating and steam mixed with vapour from her snout and my mouth. My prick slid from her and I stepped back and viewed the object of my desire. Her little cunt merely closed up, but oozed a milky secretion and I revelled in the bestial sight for a while.
Feeling cold and not a little guilty and ashamed suddenly, I threw on my clothes and left her and made a huge breakfast. God! I was famished. As I ate, mulling over the mysterious and totally out of character way in which I had acted, my sex drive kicked in again, relishing the ease and very unusual nature of the liaison and I decided that I had a guest for a while. She would definitely be staying some time now. Fed and watered, my enthusiasm growing, I burrowed into the farm buildings and found bags of meal and then spotted, on my way to the shed, that a considerable amount of winter greens were growing. Neglected yes but still sprouts, cabbage and broccoli grew in abundance. I thanked the previous owner and picked armfuls as I remembered my grand father used to moan about deer raiding his allotment gardens and eating anything, but particularly the greens. On entering the shed, she must have been lying down, the doe got up and went berserk. I scattered the greens under her snout and tied a bucket of meal and a bucket of water to the pen and left her to it, getting on with some professional work.
I sensed that I was strangely subdued now, almost meditative, it was as if a load was off my mind rather than off my ballocks. Work was fitful, my mind full of my captive and the rights and wrongs of my actions and the consequences of being found out. I blustered inwardly and left my papers and strode boldly to the shed. Who would find out? She went berserk again, but I noticed the greens had virtually disappeared and some of the meal. I placed my fist on her rump and she quietened, it seemed so easy, the right time of her season. I watched her nose twitch and I remembered I hadn’t washed since shagging her. Maybe that’s what she was sniffing at. I dropped my pants and waggled my cock. Phew! I could smell it too. I tried something different and stepped to the front of the pen and tentatively stuck my knob end through the bars. The doe seemed to shy away then sniff and soon her rasping little tongue was flitting over my gradually swelling dick head.
She was licking her own pussy odours and it was gorgeous and I fisted my cock, soon hard and wanting to fuck. Again - the penetration was easy and I fucked her slowly this time, watching the way her black vaginal flaps dragged over my invading humanity. My climax came and I pumped a second load of cum into the deer’s fanny. I hadn’t undressed, merely opening my jeans and doing a country sort of thing, typical red neck woodshed fuck, I giggled to myself. I wondered how many times the bucks had done her and how my dick compared to their little tools. No contest - from what I’d seen in the copse and the TV documentary, they all had no more than five inches and slender too. Even I wouldn’t scream with one of those up me.
I pulled away, new images flitting across my ever more curious mind. This country life was getting to me.
No that would be stupid to try it Martin, I mused as I stuck my dick back in my pants. Looking at the doe who was fretting but undamaged, I reasoned that she seemed to support the big males well enough. OK she had four legs, but look at the dainty little things compared to my massive sports trained thighs. Fucking hell! Martin, you aren’t thinking straight, I chastised myself as I left for the house.