This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
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Satisfying the Stud Bull
Big Rick bellowed and beat his paws on his chest, the massive bull rippling with muscle, even with his hefty gut, as he leapt, legs bent to take the force of impact. The stud bull's fists clenched like meaty hams, so huge with his towering height also at play that one would have been forgiven for looking twice at his roughly coated brown-furred body. His black horns almost looked out of place with how small they ended up in comparison to his chunky, blocky head, nostrils flared for snatches of breath and lips moist with saliva. Tree-trunk legs thundered and he howled, swinging his head back and forth as if he was already searching for the next opponent, the next one who would dare to stand up against him when he was far more than just another wrestler to take on in a fight, genetically modified beyond the wildest dreams of anyone who had supported the original projects.
Truly, a stud wrestler was the best of the best.
His opponent lay before him, heaving and fighting for consciousness even as the support staff on hand rushed to ensure he was okay, although a concussion in wrestling was not so common as it was in boxing, the fighting sports each taking on a different nuance of injuries. Of course, there would always be the issue of air deprivation and soft tissue injuries especially during the course of a standard fight, where even a hold that clamped down on opponents hips could leave their head and neck in such a position that they, in a sense, made it difficult for even themselves to draw breath.
The stag that had been punching a little above his weight certainly fell into that category. He couldn't match Big Rick for the sheer volume of muscle layering his hide but, truly, there was not a natural soul alive on the planet that could stand up or match up to the genetically enhanced bull. Grunting and stomping, he circled the arena even as his manager, Preston, waved his paws at him, the much smaller peacock striving to get him to calm down, although they would soon come to know that such calm was going to take more effort to achieve than originally thought.
"Rick! Get over here -- you won, you lummox!"
But Big Rick was too far gone, eyes half-lidded and hazy, not even really seeing what was there before him. His head sailed back, horns gleaming in the stark lights overhead, as he ripped down the front of his wrestling vest, the short legs of the pants giving up just as easily as the massive might of his fat and ready cock sprung out for the attention of the crowd. They gasped and leaned forward, intent on the erotic display before them, camera flashes popping off in all directions as he masturbated lewdly, a huge paw with hoofed fingertips sliding up and down his veined, throbbing cock as if he was going to ejaculate right then and there.
"By gods..."
The ref gaped and tugged his collar out from his neck as if to cool himself down, a Golden Retriever who was, suddenly, very much out of his depth.
"God... Can you..." He shook his head and gestured at the peacock manager, who was as dumbstruck as the ref as the bull rampaged around the ring, seeing nothing but the red mist of lust that he had, all too abruptly, descended into. "Do something? Stop him! He's going to be out of there and tearing up the stands!"
But the peacock pressed his beak together, tail-feathers flattened down in a glorious sweep that still somehow managed to appear demurely beautiful as the nearly ten-foot-tall bull roared and spent a load of cum over the arena floor, barriers rippling and bowing out dramatically as he leaned back to show off his lust, his virility and desire drawing moans from the crowd too, as much as the ushers strove to get everyone and everything in order.
"What the hell are we going to do?"
The ref snarled, the danger of the situation catching up at him as he grabbed Preston's collar, yanking him forward as if he was forgetting the very manner of rules and decorum of the fighting rings that he himself fought to uphold each and every day of his working life. He was not solely there to keep the fighters safe, whether they were wrestlers or those engaged in other martial arts, and had an eye on everything, although Big Rick with his bulging muscles beyond the realm of reality was far from anything that he had ever before had experience in. And that fear drove him on as a thick, creamy flood of bull-seed washed across the arena.
Brushing himself off, the peacock smiled, surprisingly serene considering what was happening. He was far from, of course, but, even in his line of work, appearances truly were everything.
"Well, when things have escalated this far, you really can only bring in the best of the best..."
The ref blinked at him, ears flat to his skull, tongue hanging out as he panted from the sheer stress of the situation at hand. What Preston the peacock meant, however, still remained to be seen as Big Rick bellowed out his pleasure all over again and swung his suddenly dark, beady eyes around, searching out a victim who could, maybe, satisfy his lusts to the extent that a horny stud truly needed.
There was only one who could.