The Sound of the Stag's Call

Topaz was just a city boy, the kind who runs from the stink of concrete into the depths of greenery just to... get lost. But he wasn’t looking for silence. He was searching for something he'd felt under his skin for weeks an unbearable itch in his neck, a strange wetness between his thighs, dreams of running naked through the forest, antlers slicing through the air.

Among the rotting leaves, at the edge of the fog, he found a bell. Old, moss-covered, reeking of cum and animal sweat. When he picked it up, a jolt ran through his skin, like someone had whipped the back of his neck. Without thinking, he fastened it around his throat.

It rang.

And then it all began.

First his ears they lengthened, tightening with pleasure like nipples in cold water. His hair bristled, then stretched into russet fur down his arms. Topaz gasped, tongue lolling out, nipples hard and glistening with sweat. His fingernails blackened into tiny hooves, each one pulsing like it begged to be sucked.

Then came the tail short, twitching nervously like his puckering hole. But the worst… the best… was between his legs.

His cock began to stretch, swell, hang heavy like a stag in rut. He could feel his balls sagging, churning, swollen like molten stones. The head of his shaft flared, reshaped inhuman, aggressively beastly. Milky pre dribbled freely through the fur, dripping into the moss like a tribute to some ancient forest god.

Topaz bellowed, not in pain, but in raw ecstasy. He stepped deeper into the mud, taking a mating stance, instinct overtaking every thought. He knew someone or something was watching from the trees. Someone who would bind his wrists with deer sinew, bend him over like a wild doe, and plant deep inside him...

The bell rang again. That was the signal.

From that day on, Topaz was no longer a boy.

He was a stag-servant of woodland lust. And he never took the bell off again.