Chapter Text
“Quit fighting me, boy,” said the man with four fingers up Cass’s ass.
“I’m not!” Cass groaned. He was propped up on his elbows, face screwed up in concentration, and he had long since given up trying to get Tanner to stop calling him boy despite the fact that he was practically a man grown.
“Yes, you are,” Tanner said. The pad of his thumb prodded at Cass’s rim. “Now loosen up.”
“That’s as loose as it gets!” Cass squeezed a bit around Tanner’s fingers, which felt abominably large, to drive the point home. “You just can’t get in yet, I need more time!”
Tanner’s thumb pressed hard against him. “Boy, I’ve been a Tamer for longer than you’ve been alive. I know my way round a hole, and you can absolutely fit more. This—” He rubbed his thumb up against something that didn’t feel any different from the rest of Cass’s hole. “This is slack. This—” He pushed harder, deeper, somehow, without actually getting inside. “This bit is muscle, it’s what’s stopping me, and you’re keeping it tight. Now bloody relax it.”
“I don’t know how!”
Tanner gave one more very hard push, and then, suddenly, he pulled his fingers out. Not harshly, just quickly and neatly, with the grace of long practice, but it was still a startling sensation. “All right, all right. All right. We’ll call it a night.” He sighed. “You’re lucky I’m so bloody tired.”
Cass took a few moments to adjust to the feeling of sudden emptiness before he pulled himself up to a sitting position. “I’m sorry.”
Tanner was already shaking his head. “Nah, it’s not on you. You’re a slow stretch, it happens, and I ought to know better than to try and rush it. Just impatient in my old age.”
“You’re not that old,” Cass said out of habit. He pulled up his breeches and trousers before he grabbed a heel of bread. The stretching always made him hungry for some reason.
“Ancient, doddering, one foot in the grave,” Tanner said dismissively. Cass thought he was probably in his early forties, and in better shape than most men of his age. “Anyway, don’t worry about it. Just keep up with your morning practice. You’ll get there. And don’t eat that if you want breakfast tomorrow.”
Cass put the bread back. “Won’t there be a town tomorrow?”
“Village, and we won’t hit it until the afternoon, so you’ll want breakfast.”
“What do you think they’ll have?”
Tanner sat back against a log. His wiry frame didn’t cut a very impressive figure in the firelight, but he was stronger than he looked. Tamers had to be. “Oh, let’s see… nothing too dramatic, I’d imagine. Probably a ginner or two giving them trouble up in the hills, if they go that way. Maybe a waterdog, you never know where those are going to crop up.”
“Do you think they’ll have grain?”
Tanner glanced at the donkey, who was sniffing contemptuously at an uninspiring patch of grass. “Oh, yeah. They’re all herders up here. The question is whether they’ll have any to spare for Petunia.” Seeing Cass’s expression, he added, “She’ll be all right. She’s a tough old girl. If I were you, I’d worry more about the likes of us. We won’t die if we can’t get anything here, but we’ll certainly be a lot worse off than she is.”
Cass sighed and bundled himself into his bedroll. “You think it’s been a bad season for them?”
“Not especially. I just don’t believe in optimism. Prepare for the worst—”
“—and you’ll never be disappointed,” Cass finished with a yawn. “Night, sir.”
“Night, boy.”
It was still quiet when Cass woke up. There weren’t a lot of birds around here, so that didn’t mean much, but the morning felt very still like this, with the sun not properly up yet, and the mist soft and blue-gray like the grass. Petunia was still asleep, little drops of dew clinging to her copious whiskers. Even Tanner was still curled up in his bedroll, which didn’t happen often; normally he booted Cass awake.
Cass yawned, pushed down his breeches and trousers, and reached for his bag. He pushed past the bundle of his cloak and a lumpy pair of socks and found his wooden phallus, polished until it looked like it was made of glass. A bit of spit—Tamer oil wasn’t that hard to make, but hard enough that it wasn’t something to use every day—and he started working the trainer into himself. A year ago, he would’ve thought it unreasonably large, but now that he’d been studying under Tanner, he knew it wasn’t much. Someday he’d be able to take as much as Tanner did, but that was a long ways off, and for now, it was all he could do to get his little trainer inside, and then he had to hold it in, or his struggling hole would push it right back out again. He shifted position a little with a sigh. Petunia woke up, and immediately plodded off, no doubt to get herself properly filthy before Tanner got up.
Tanner shifted, and a few breaths later sat up and got to his feet. He didn’t pay Cass any mind; he usually didn’t in the mornings, not until he’d had his little cup of hot water with the fragrant dark powder mixed in. Cass was dead curious about that stuff, but whenever he asked about it, Tanner simply shook his head and told him it was expensive. He was making it now, putting a few fresh sticks on the coals and hanging up his tiny alchemy pot. He yawned and blinked like a cat. A few minutes later, he took the first sip of his drink and closed his eyes in quiet bliss. Then he opened them. “You’re up early.”
Cass shrugged. “Slept well.”
“Good.” Tanner tossed him the heel of bread he’d wanted to eat last night. “We’ll have some business today. Wouldn’t do to have you dragging your feet.”
Cass crunched on the bread, feeding it to himself with one hand while the other held the trainer in. “So you think a ginner today?”
“Most likely.” Tanner frowned at their last small travel biscuit for a moment before he shook his head, broke it in half, and popped one half into his mouth. “If I remember right, the herd had a couple kids last time I came through here. Should be of age to split off by now, and if any of them were male, they’ll probably still be in the area, causing trouble.” He took a large swallow of his drink. “So. Tell me about ginners.”
“About as tall as a deer,” Cass said, “but a little heavier.” He tried to remember; he’d never actually seen a ginner, just Tanner’s drawings in the dirt. These things never stuck in his head properly until he’d seen the beast, had a real picture to connect the knowledge to. “Big horns, cloven hooves.”
Tanner finished his drink and started cleaning up. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll probably know what they look like after today. Behavior?”
“Herd animals,” Cass said, stalling a little as he tried to remember what happened at what age. “One male per herd, three to five females—”
Tanner snorted as he rinsed his alchemy pot. “Try again.”
“Isn’t it three to five? Because of the gestation times?”
“You’re thinking of sankars. A ginner male usually has seven to ten females, mates with about three per breeding season.”
“Oh, right. So that’s a gestation of twelve to fourteen months…”
“Depending on?”
Cass winced. “Um…” It was something to do with mountains. “Temperature?”
“Altitude. Growth rate?”
“Sexual maturity by one year, keep growing until three. Males disperse at one year, females at two. Takes breeding males an average of three years to gather a herd—”
“Two years.”
“Two years. Males are larger, bigger horns, more aggressive…”
Tanner knelt between his legs and checked the trainer. “Breeding habits?”
“Uh, standard mounting…”
Tanner moved Cass’s hand out of the way and wiggled the trainer a bit himself, pushing it this way and that and frowning. “Time?”
The trainer was pressing firmly on his prostate, and Tanner kept pushing it into the absolute most sensitive spots, somehow. “Four to eight minutes of thrusting, less than one minute ejaculation and withdrawal. Uh, three to four pints of ejaculate.”
Tanner nodded and pushed the trainer further in, making Cass gasp. His cock was half-hard and getting harder, which would’ve been more distressing if it didn’t happen nearly every damn morning. One of the first things that Tanner had told him was that bodies had minds of their own, and not to worry too much about what his cock liked and what it didn’t, that it didn’t have any bearing on him as a person. He really did try to remember that, but he’d spent most of his life believing something very different, and it usually didn’t work. Tanner paid no mind. “Yeah, and sometimes they like to go more than once. Cock?”
“I, uh…” Cass really couldn’t remember.
Tanner smiled and pulled the trainer out. Not with any undue force, but with that easy, efficient touch that somehow got it out much faster and easier than seemed possible, leaving behind the sensation that it should have hurt, but hadn’t. He put two fingers to Cass’s hole and pressed gently, testing the resistance. “Too big for you.” He patted the hole with a grin and got to his feet. “Eight to twelve inches, minor flare, pretty smooth. You should be able to take them no trouble next year.” He handed Cass the trainer. “Go on, get ready, I’ll get Petunia.”
Cass got up, pulled up his breeches and trousers, rinsed the trainer, and finished getting everything packed up and ready to go. He finished just as Tanner came back, leading Petunia, who’d clearly spent a lot of time rolling. She gave Cass a pointed, insolent look as he swept off the worst of the dirt and got the bags in place on her back, and he scratched her withers in mute apology. Then they were off.
It was a long, slow morning. This was hilly country, rocky, and the trees clustered together in dense little groves between the hills, so once the morning fog burned off, it was hot work, with little to keep off the sun. There was still a cool breeze, vaguely salty, coming off the sea, but that was miles away—they were just getting the last dregs of it before it died a little further inland. Cass had gotten a lot tougher over the past year, but the walking still left him hot and sweaty and sore and tired, and as usual, infuriatingly, Tanner looked the same as ever, a thin, nondescript little man, shorter than Cass, who might’ve spent the morning reclining in the shade instead of on the road, but for the kicked-up dust on his shapeless pants. Cass expected a midday break, but as the sun crested noon, they kept walking, despite passing several likely places, and he sank irritably back into the slow, drifting travel-mood, not thinking about much of anything…
“There we are,” Tanner said several hours later. Cass snapped back to reality as they crested a rise. There was a village huddled up on a hillside just across a hollow from them. “Guess I don’t remember this place too well. I thought we were going to be here an hour ago.” He paused, squinting. “You’re in luck. Looks like there’s a festival on.”
There was. As they got closer, they began to hear the music, and when they made their way into what amounted to the village square, they found themselves surrounded by laughing people, most of whom seemed to be pleasantly inebriated, and many of whom were dancing. Those who weren’t dancing were eating some kind of fancy bread, shaped into little braided wreaths. While they paused, Tanner looking around for the village head, a woman with a flower in her graying hair came up to them and shoved bread clumsily into their hands. “Welcome, strangers!” she said, only slurring a little. “What brings you here?”
“Name’s Tanner,” Tanner said. “I’m a Tamer, and this is my apprentice.”
“Oh!” the woman said, looking impressed. Then she grinned. “Tanner the Tamer, huh? That’s pretty funny!”
Cass smiled inwardly, and took a quick glance at Tanner, just for the joy of seeing the expression of faintly-held hope once again dashed and long-suffering resignation that came up whenever anyone made this observation, which, inevitably, was pretty much everyone. Cass had asked why he didn’t simply change his name, and Tanner had shaken his head mournfully and grumbled something about being too old for that sort of nonsense.
“Got anything you need me to take care of?” Tanner asked.
“Hm,” the woman said. “There’s a couple of ginners in the hills that’ve been giving us trouble… You should probably talk to Lara, she’s the village head.” She turned away from them to look around the square. “Oh, there she is.” She started off, her path slightly more wobbly than it needed to be, and Tanner and Cass followed. Cass decided that, on balance, he was unlikely to have to say anything, so he started in on the bread, and found it dark, heavy, and deliciously flavorful, with plenty of spices. It sat warm and pleasant in his belly.
The woman leading them stopped at a table where four or five people were talking and laughing, large wooden mugs in hand and a plate of bread between them. A large, older woman looked up expectantly and smiled. “Who’s this?”
“Tamers,” the woman who’d led them said. “They want to know if we have work for them.”
“Right, right,” the big woman said. She pulled out a stool next to her. “I’m Lara, head of this village.”
“Tanner,” Tanner said, sitting down. “I heard something about ginners?”
“Yeah,” Lara said, nodding. She seemed to have her drink well under control. “There’s two loners up in the hills. They haven’t really hurt anybody yet, but we’ve had some close calls. If you could take care of them, we’d appreciate it.”
“Sure,” Tanner said. They started talking about price then, and Cass tuned out. He knew he ought to learn how to haggle properly, but it was really terribly boring. He watched the dance instead, vaguely aware that Tanner was trying to convince the villagers to part with at least some gold instead of making the payment purely in heavy supplies. It really was a nice afternoon, and he wished that they could stay a while. Just a few days off the road would be heavenly. There had been a little pond a ways down the road, and he wanted to sit on the bank and stick his feet in, maybe burrow his toes into the mud…
“Works for me,” Tanner said finally. He stood, and he and Lara shook hands, and then they were walking again, leaving the village and its music and chairs and delicious bread behind, only this time they were taking a little livestock path uphill instead of following the road.
When they came to a wooden stile over a drystone wall a ways out of the village, Tanner jerked a thumb at it. “Leave Petunia here. We won’t need much, and she could probably do with a rest.” Cass resisted the urge to make a rude comment about who else could do with a rest and instead tied the donkey to the stile’s post, leaving her plenty of give in the rope. She immediately pulled it as far as it could go, stuck her face into a patch of grass there, and started eating noisily, pointedly avoiding looking at them. Cass patted her enviously before following Tanner over the stile.
The local goats were rather scraggy, but bright-eyed and plentiful, and Cass had to keep fending off one that very much wanted to get into his pack. As they climbed higher, he noticed that the goats stuck much more closely together. He mentioned it to Tanner, who nodded approvingly. “Yeah, we’re getting nearer. Ginners in a herd will graze with other animals without any trouble, but the loners are aggressive, take everything as an insult. The goats probably learned the hard way.”
They made their way further into the hills, trudging up the skirts of one ridge and crossing onto another. There were clumps of pines providing occasional shade, but mostly the barely-there path zigged and zagged messily along rocks and tough grass, with a few large swaths of heather to break things up. Just as they were coming up to one of the welcome shady copses, Tanner stopped. “Here,” he said.
Cass nearly ran into him, but avoided him at the last moment. He came up beside the Tamer and looked around for a few seconds before he saw it. “Oh,” he said in surprise. The path was marked here by a rough gouge in the ground, a foot wide and perhaps twice as long, strewn with clumps of uprooted grass. “One of them’s marking.”
As soon as he finished speaking, something came plodding out of the copse ahead of them, facing off to one side and either ignorant of their presence or paying them no mind. It was deer-sized, and looked vaguely like a cross between a deer and a goat, but was unmistakably neither. Its neck was thicker, no doubt to support the impressive curling horns that twisted above its head, and there was a short, spiky crest of fur running down its back, and another along its belly. A goat’s tail flicked irritably at its bony, cowlike hips. As they watched, the ginner craned its head back, then further, and then further still, well past the point Cass had expected it to be able to. It opened its mouth and drew in air, obviously preparing for a powerful bellow, and then brought its head down in a sharp, unbelievably fast sneezing motion, letting out a little whistling huff. After a brief pause, it did it again.
“Mating call,” Tanner said, soft but not whispering; the ginner was clearly unconcerned with them. “It’s higher than we can hear, but to a ginner it’s very loud.” He took off his pack and started stripping out of his clothes. “Go on, get the kit out.”
Cass bent down to Tanner’s pack. It was tightly packed, but neatly, and after removing a few things, he gently withdrew the precious wooden box from its secure resting place between Tanner’s spare clothes. It was about twice the length of his hand lengthwise, once across, and half deep. It clicked open with three well-made latches, displaying a velvet-padded interior. The full bottom half of the box was taken up by a rectangular bottle of clear fluid, about two-thirds full, that perfectly fit its allotted space, but the upper half was packed with rows of delicate vials, interrupted in the middle by one small, square bottle. Cass withdrew the square bottle, smaller than his clenched fist, and poured a little fluid from the large bottle into it. After briefly scanning the vials, he selected one and tapped a couple of drops into the skin as well. He corked the square bottle, shook it firmly, and set it on top of the carefully-closed box so that he could root around in the pack properly for the large skin of Tamer oil.
Tanner already had it in hand. He poured a little onto his fingers and reached between his legs, slicking up his hole with the bored, practiced ease of a task done countless times. With his clean hand, he took the square bottle and began delicately rubbing the mixed fluid from it into his throat and wrists, looking for all the world like he was applying a perfume until he reached down and applied a generous amount to his perineum. When he was done, he corked it and put the long strap around his neck like a necklace. Then he stretched a little, rolling his shoulders, bending his knees, and touching an ear to each shoulder. He scraped at the grass with a foot, frowned, and shrugged. “All right, then,” he said. “Ground’s not too bad, should be all right without pads or a blanket. Stay well back. We don’t want him getting possessive.” Then he was off, making his way towards the ginner with nothing but air to protect him.
Cass knew full well that a ginner was a perfectly routine beast for even a novice Tamer to handle, but he still felt a quiver of fear at the sight. What if the scented oil didn’t work, and the ginner decided to charge instead? Tanner’s narrow body was hard and raw with lean muscle, scarred with the marks of angry beasts in addition to the usual layers of pale, overlapping Tamer’s scars on his belly—not scars from true injury, Tanner had explained, but the marks left behind when skin stretched too far too quickly—but even that body, solid and durable-looking, was only human, and the ginner’s horns and hooves could make quick work of it in moments. It was a risk run every time a Tamer approached a beast.
Tanner whistled sharply to catch the ginner’s attention, and didn’t back down when it curled its soft lip and rolled its staring goat’s eyes at him. He flicked a drop of the scented oil at the beast, and its nostrils flared. It turned its body to face him, looking faintly hesitant. Tanner slowly squatted down, keeping eye contact with it, and stayed there for a little before he turned around and got down on his hands and knees, presenting himself.
The ginner snuffled violently, first at the air, and then at the place where the drop had landed. It huffed loudly, pawed once, and shifted its weight nervously for a long few seconds, but whatever its reservations, it cast them aside rather quickly and came up behind Tanner, huffing and snorting. From his position, Cass was viewing it roughly side-on, and he could see its cock already dropping from its sheath. Eight to twelve inches was a lot of cock to a person, even if it wasn’t for a beast, and the fact that it was tapered and proportionately fairly narrow didn’t stop Cass unintentionally clenching his own hole in sympathy. The ginner’s belly fur brushed Tanner’s back, and the Tamer reached behind himself, one finger on his hole and the rest waiting to guide in the beast’s cock.
It happened quickly. One moment the beast was still snuffling and prodding, and the next it had plunged forward, sheathing itself in Tanner’s ass in one swift movement. Tanner’s mouth opened a little, and his eyes screwed up, but if he made any noise, Cass couldn’t hear it over the distance between them. The ginner shuffled back and forth over him, adjusting its position. It pawed the ground a little with one large hoof, narrowly avoiding Tanner’s hand, and then, just as suddenly, it started humping.
Four to eight minutes of thrusting was forever, actually. The ginner lowed and groaned, and its balls slapped audibly against Tanner’s, and as its cock started leaking, the sounds got wetter and sloppier. At some point, Cass noticed that Tanner was half hard, and immediately felt himself turn brilliant, flaming red. Because a man getting fucked by a beast wasn’t embarrassing, but a human cock not even at full mast was, somehow. He tried not to look, and instead made note of the ginner’s thrusting habits—pretty standard, with quick, short thrusts while the cock was deeply seated—and stared, bemused, at the way it craned its head back, huffing and snorting. How was it doing that? Its neck really should not have been that flexible.
But it was, and as the ginner kept going, its thrusts picked up. Now it was hardly withdrawing itself, like it was trying to drive Tanner forward. The Tamer pushed back a little, seating his weight lower and more firmly against the ginner’s underbelly so he wouldn’t get plowed forward and fucked into the ground. The change in position was clearly stimulating—he sighed and arched his back a little, and Cass forced down thoughts of an unstoppable brute ramming into his prostate with each muffled slap. He hadn’t even known the damn organ existed a year ago, and now he fantasized about it.
The ginner’s climax was sudden, quick, and unceremonious. It stopped its thrusting, grunted loudly, waited ten or fifteen seconds, and then pulled out, dragging ropes of thick, brilliantly white seed with its climax-flared cock, before plodding off as if nothing had happened. Tanner sagged, resting his forehead against the grass, for a few moments before getting to his feet somewhat awkwardly. Ginner come drooled down his legs. He rolled his shoulders with a faint grimace, wiped the grass and dirt from his hands, and started making his way back over to Cass.
His cock was soft again, but Cass’s certainly wasn’t, and Cass’s face was still almost painfully hot. Tanner certainly noticed—the corner of his mouth quirked in what was almost a smile—but all he said as he approached was, “Come on, then, let’s find the next one.”
Cass nodded and started to hold out Tanner’s breeches, more to get something between his insistently erect cock and Tanner’s laughing eyes than anything else, but then there was a sudden thundering of hooves, accompanied by grunting and rolling snorts, and suddenly the second ginner was rushing out of the copse, head tossing violently.
Tanner hardly had time to turn around in surprise before the ginner bowled him over effortlessly. Cass staggered backward in abrupt, instinctive terror, scrabbling in last-second desperation at the pack and the assorted scattered Tamer paraphernalia, but even with less than fifty feet between them, the ginner’s attention clearly started and ended with Tanner. It was already trying to mount him, with its knees knocking at his ribs and its cock slapping against his thighs, and Tanner was trying to go along with it, but the beast could clearly sense that it had been second to arrive, and was apparently thoroughly put out about it. It slammed the flat front of its head between Tanner’s shoulder blades, and the Tamer went from his knees to flat on his face in an instant. Then it was shuffling back and forth, its hips thrusting violently, and Tanner was trying to reach around and guide it in. And then, just as Cass was starting to wrap his head around the new situation and was beginning to think that he should probably gather everything up, the first ginner noticed that its prize was being plundered.
The creature came barrelling up the hillside too quickly for either Cass or Tanner to do much of anything; it was only moments until the first ginner’s great hairy body crashed into the second like an avalanche, knocking both of them over, but it had apparently been long enough for the second ginner to get its cock seated. Tanner gave a cry of discomfort that was swiftly cut off as he was dragged along by his ass, and Cass’s stomach did something funny. Then it was all a mass of kicking legs and rolling bodies as the ginners both struggled to right themselves. Cass thought for several seconds that Tanner had been knocked out by the initial impact, because there was absolutely no way that anyone could avoid having several bones broken in the middle of that flurry of hooves and Tanner hadn’t made another sound, but then, as the second ginner managed to get to its feet, he caught a glimpse of his mentor between thrashing, bucking bodies, and saw that he was at least conscious and moving.
The second ginner, almost before it got its feet under itself, immediately surged backward and ducked its impressively-horned head. The first ginner was only a moment behind it, but that left it open just long enough for the second ginner to score a direct hit to its foe’s shoulder with the flat of its head. Cass saw, for one brief moment, the movement ram the animal’s cock as far inside Tanner as seemed physically possible, and the accompanying moan set off something in Cass’s groin that it absolutely shouldn’t’ve. The first ginner squealed and retaliated with a snap of flat teeth that narrowly missed its target’s neck. Both animals craned their necks back, and Cass realized what they were doing an instant before it happened. The twin horned heads shot downward with the viper-like speed that Cass had seen when the first ginner had been performing its mating call, and they connected with each other with a sickening crack that left both ginners stunned and staggering.
That left him a few seconds to do something, Cass realized rather late, but he had no idea what to do.
But Tanner was far ahead of him. The Tamer, now covered with grass, dirt, and hair and bleeding from several scrapes— if that’s the worst he’s gotten from this it’s a damn miracle— twisted his body and yanked himself forward, tugging the ginner in his ass along with him. His hand, to Cass’s surprise, snaked under the first ginner’s crested belly and tugged at its half-dropped cock, barely within arm’s reach. The Tamer’s body stretched and contorted, twisting between staggering ginner legs, his neck outstretched, and then, somehow, the head of the first ginner’s cock was in his mouth.
Cass was vaguely aware that, should a Tamer’s ass or cunt fail, the mouth was available as a last resort. Some male monsters, he knew, were so well-endowed that the use of one’s mouth was almost a necessity, and oral work could be employed with female monsters when fingers wouldn’t suffice and the more usual tools weren’t available, but there was a certain—well, something associated with it. An indignity, or shame, though shame as a concept was practically unknown in the profession. Not a taboo, exactly, either; Tanner had occasionally mentioned training up Cass’s mouth in a few years’ time. But Cass got the impression that while Tamers might joke or boast with each other about what they’d taken up their ass, they wouldn’t do the same with what they’d taken in their mouths. It wasn’t something he’d expected to see Tanner do, at least not anytime soon, and not on a job that should’ve been so routine.
But there it was. Tanner’s usually-hollow cheeks were bulging around the head of the first ginner’s cock. The animals were recovering from their mutually-inflicted stun, and when the second ginner snapped at the first, Cass nearly had a heart attack expecting the fight to resume with Tanner in an even worse position. But the first ginner only huffed and tossed its head, and after a few seconds that seemed to last an eternity, they seemed to settle somewhat, only dancing slightly around each other, and a little while after that, the second ginner gave a few tentative thrusts. Before long, the beast in Tanner’s ass was fucking him properly again, apparently only marginally annoyed by the first ginner’s presence. That animal, by contrast, seemed to be having difficulty adjusting to the unfamiliar position. It huffed and stamped, and Cass flinched each time a hoof came down perilously close to Tanner’s hand. But it wasn’t fighting.
Tanner’s own position looked extremely uncomfortable. One knee was under him in the usual bracing position, but his other foot was far forward in what had to be a painful stretch, but seemed necessary to keep his ass pressed against the second ginner’s belly and its cock seated properly inside him. His back and neck, contorted off to one side, seemed stretched to their absolute limit, abdomen taut and ribs visible with the strain, and even then, the first ginner’s cock only seemed to be staying in his mouth because he had a firm grip on the shaft with the hand that wasn’t supporting his upper body. Only the head was actually in his mouth, and he was sucking and licking and slopping on it like his life depended on it, which Cass reflected was closer to the truth than not. It was messy and painful-looking, and, worst of all, Cass’s cock was, after a brief lull from the terror of seeing Tanner nearly get stomped to death by angry ginners, really fucking hard again.
It was the sound, Cass decided helplessly. He’d gotten his cock sucked once, before he’d gotten apprenticed to Tanner, and whatever Tanner was doing to the head of that ginner’s cock sounded like an almost comically exaggerated rendition of what Myrna had done to his own down behind her family’s barn, and it was the memory of that that had him leaking in his breeches. If it weren’t for the sound, it would all just be vaguely unpleasant. The quick, steady, brutal thrusts of the second ginner and the grunts and lows of the first had nothing to do with it, and Tanner’s cock, hard and bobbing between his legs, really had nothing to do with it, nor did his strained, scarred, dirty, sweaty body. And the fact that he would probably be doing all this himself within the next year had less to do with it than all the rest put together.
He focused very hard on not envisioning himself in Tanner’s position. But he didn’t want to focus on anything else, either; not the sight and sounds of an enthusiastic blowjob, or of a man he respected being enthusiastically fucked by an animal, or the heat between his legs. He didn’t want to look at what was happening in front of him, but he couldn’t very well look away in case something went… well, more wrong than it already had. So he looked, trying not to spend too long looking at Tanner’s ass being fucked or the ginner’s cock fucking it, or at Tanner’s mouth sucking or the ginner’s cock being sucked, or at Tanner’s body being used or the ginners using it, because his cock kept getting more and more excited no matter where he looked, and he wanted it to stop, but there were all those wet sucks and animal lows and human groans and the inescapable sound of fucking, and his balls were high and tight and his cock throbbed and twitched and begged to be stroked…
The ginner in Tanner’s ass came first. It wasn’t as uneventful as the first ginner’s earlier climax had been; this one lowed loudly and slammed its hindquarters forward, and it thrust slow and deep several times as it spilled itself. Three to four pints of ejaculate, Cass remembered, and thought that Tanner must be feeling pretty stuffed after two loads up the ass. Well, of course he’d be feeling stuffed anyway, what with the giant cock in his ass—or would he, considering that he was an experienced Tamer and had no doubt had much larger monsters inside him?
The ginner pulled its flared cock free with an obscene wet pop, and what seemed like a river of seed poured out in its wake. Tanner’s body sagged, but he only took a second or two before he shuffled up on his hands and knees, coming closer to the first ginner’s groin and letting his body get into a somewhat more comfortable position for sucking an animal’s cock. The second ginner, interest already lost, wandered off, but the first ginner seemed to be getting more interested, if also more restless. It snorted, and it huffed, and it tossed its horned head. Tanner was sucking a lot faster now, clearly trying to bring the ginner off as quickly as possible. He used his hand to stroke its shaft, too, his hand and wrist working in a practiced, graceful loop that almost seemed to milk the seed from the ginner’s swaying balls.
But what the ginner wanted rapidly became clear. It continued to shuffle and grunt for a few minutes before it seemed to lose patience. Then it stamped irritably at the grass—nowhere near Tanner’s fingers, thankfully—and, quite suddenly, it canted its hips and thrust itself forcefully into Tanner’s mouth. Tanner lurched, driven backward by the force of the thrust, and the ginner squealed in frustration. It stamped again, and this time Cass flinched when its hoof came down too close to Tanner’s wiry thigh and left a long, red scrape that quickly began to weep. His cock flagged somewhat at that; the injury was certainly distracting. Tanner’s cock, he couldn’t help but notice, didn’t seem the slightest bit discouraged.
Tanner tucked his thighs closer together, further from the ginner’s hooves, which apparently made his position less stable, as the ginner’s next thrust nearly knocked him over. The hand on the ground slipped, and he clapped it to the ginner’s side in what could have been either an attempt to support himself or to get the animal to back off. His other hand, the one that had been busily masturbating the ginner’s substantial shaft, dropped to the ground to get better support, apparently instinctively, and suddenly the ginner had free rein to do as it pleased with its own cock, which it immediately slammed forward.
Tanner made a muffled noise, and it was probably meant in surprise or protest, but something hot in Cass’s belly insisted that it was the moan of someone enjoying having his throat fucked. Cass’s mind rejected that out of hand, but his cock was less easily swayed. The ginner thrust again, driving even deeper, and then Tanner really was getting his throat fucked. He didn’t seem to be truly choking—he was far too seasoned a Tamer for that, Cass supposed—but he was certainly lurching and grunting a great deal, presumably in protest. The ginner pushed just a little deeper on its next big push, before resuming the pace it had kept when fucking Tanner earlier.
Yeah, four to eight minutes was forever. Cass wasn’t very good at estimating time, but he guessed that, considering it was the ginner’s second go in a short time, it was probably closer to eight. Eight interminable minutes of ginner cock fucking Tanner’s throat open while another beast’s seed continued to drip out of his ass. It went on forever, and Cass couldn’t look away, except for brief glances to ensure that the other ginner continued to wander away, grazing intermittently. It did, and the first ginner kept fucking and fucking and fucking, and Tanner kept grunting and drooling around its cock, and Cass kept right on being obnoxiously, achingly hard in his breeches. Most of Tanner’s body was in the sun, now that the second ginner had left, and the constant drain of pale seed from his ass kept catching the light, and something about that—no. It was the sound, that was all, the constant, insistent sound of a mouth being fucked, swollen lips squeezing around a hot shaft, balls slapping up against chin, and Cass tried to ignore it, but his cock was practically screaming at him with the strength of his need, and what was he supposed to do about that?
When the ginner came, it was no less copious than it had been the first time. Cass actually saw its cock flare this time, creating a visible bulge in Tanner’s throat, and his treacherous cock twitched at that, too. Then there was a tide, and the ginner tried to pull out as it was spilling, with the result that Tanner looked to nearly dislocate his jaw around the girth of that animal cock, and half of those three to four pints of ejaculate seemed to end up on Tanner’s face as he gagged. The ginner got its cock all the way out, and then it left, just as unceremoniously as it had the first time, while Tanner was still gasping around the seed bubbling out of his mouth.
Cass waited until the ginner had made its way a fair distance down the hillside before he came rushing in, Tanner’s clothes in one hand and the gathered pack in the other. “You all right, sir?”
Tanner wiped dripping seed away from his eyes, mouth, and nose. “Yeah. Not my best work.” He pulled himself to a kneeling position, looking sore and tired, and shrugged eloquently. Then he doubled over and spat up a large quantity of thick ginner seed, wiped his mouth, and got to his feet without so much as a wobble. “There’s got to be a stock pond up here somewhere.”
There was, and an hour later, Tanner, looking not at all like he’d spent the afternoon being fucked by ginners from both ends, and indeed looking none the worse for wear in the slightest, at least with his clothes on, had collected payment from an only marginally reluctant Lara, and, to Cass’s great disappointment, had declined the offer of staying in the village for the rest of the day, with the promise of room in the stables for both themselves and Petunia. He had, however, accepted another wreath of festival bread, and split it with Cass, which almost made up for how heavy Cass’s pack was now with supplies. Almost.
“So what next?” Cass asked between bites as they made their way along the dusty road.
“Well,” Tanner said, scratching his ear, “there’s another village in a couple of days along this road. Probably ginner trouble there, too. I figure we’ll check in there, and then swing west.”
“West?” Cass asked, trying not to think about the possibility of Tanner being fucked by ginners again in a couple of days.
“Yeah, we’ll try along the coast. It’s a while since I went that way, and I don’t think anyone else in the guild was planning on doing that route this year, so we’ll probably do good business.”
“I don’t know much about coastal monsters…” Cass said with reluctant apprehension.
Tanner shrugged. “You’ll learn, boy. The important thing is that we keep working with that trainer. You really ought to have taken your first monster by now—” Cass flinched. “ —but you’re a late start and a slow stretch. You’ll get there, but I want you there sooner rather than later.”
“Yes, sir,” Cass mumbled.
Tanner turned to look at him, over Petunia’s shaggy ears. His eyes narrowed, and his habitual frown deepened. “None of that. You’re my apprentice, boy. I’ve been a Tamer a long time, and I’m damn good at it. I’ll get that shy hole of yours to open nicely whether it wants to or not.”
That’s what I’m afraid of.