Doe and Mare: My Wild Hookup from Chat to Animal Fuck Frenzy

My phone had been buzzing for days. Monica’s messages on the app: hot, teasing, straight to the point. ‘Want your place tomorrow?’ Fuck yes. First meet, no bullshit, straight to bed. But morning hits, doorbell rings unannounced. I open, and holy shit—her tits strain a sheer top, skin glowing like fresh earth. Vines twist her bust, wild branches curling. Then those massive deer antlers poke from her long hair. Hooves click on my porch. Doe eyes sparkle blue, inches taller now. My pussy clenches. She’s here for Tom, her asshole husband. But damn, she’s mine today.

I play cool. ‘Tom’s gone, emergency.’ She shrugs, those perky tits heaving. Frustrated hooves tap. I grab her arm. ‘Stay. Rest. Eat.’ Kitchen smells of fresh cakes, but she eyes my plants. ‘Greens?’ Her voice husky, animal edge. I laugh, heart pounding. Phone vibrates—Tom calling. I slip to bedroom, lie smooth: ‘Monica’s sick at mine.’ He doesn’t care. Perfect.

The Approach

We crash on the rug. Her scent hits: sap, pine needles, wet moss. Ears twitch at every creak. I ache to grab those tits, feel her heat. Days of sexting flood back—’Fuck me raw,’ she’d typed. No more screens. Tension builds. I touch her hair, soft as fur. She leans in, breath hot. But Tom shows next day. His face twists in disgust. ‘Animal?’ I hiss in kitchen: ‘She’s hot like this. For you.’ He bolts. Door slams. Her brays break me. She collapses, tits bare in my arms. Soft, warm. I cover her, call doc.

‘Rest, solids, warmth. She’ll go wild soon.’ He leaves. Nights I curl beside her on floor, lonely since hubby split. Her doe eyes wake, sad. ‘Miss him?’ I stroke, hand lingering. Forest calls her. Sun licks her hips, sleek legs. I devour with eyes. She kisses my hand, lips velvet. Gone. Days of tears. Then it hits: me too. Sorcerer. No holding back.

The Explosion

Forest edge, snow crunches. My phone’s dead, tossed. New hooves steady me—mare now, flanks rippling, tail swish. She steps from trees, antlers frosted. No fear. Eyes lock. ‘Virginie?’ ‘Call me mare now.’ Lips crash, tongues wild, tasting earth and lust. Hands—hooves?—roam. Mine grip her bare arm, down to leather haunch. Firm, hot. She moans, ‘Fuck, so elegant.’ We drop in snow, bodies grind.

‘Taste me,’ I growl. Her muzzle dives, tongue laps my dripping mare slit. Rough, urgent. Snow melts under us. I buck, hooves dig. ‘Deeper, bitch.’ She climbs, tits mash mine, nipples hard as rocks. Cunts grind, slick slaps echo. ‘Your doe’s wet for this mare pussy.’ Fingers—no, hooves probe, stretch. I flip her, ram my tail aside, tongue her folds. Pine scent mixes cum. She brays, ‘Fuck me! Breed me!’ Hips slam, snow flies. Climax rips—juices flood, bodies quake. Roars mix with wind.

Calm falls. Snow settles. We nuzzle, breaths steam. Full forms hit: fur spreads, tails lash. No words. We bolt into woods, silhouettes in mist. Village whispers of doe and mare playing free. Strangers again, wild forever.