Bud's tail twitches behind him as he watches Buck sprawl across the threadbare couch, the moose's massive frame dwarfing the furniture like an adult sitting at a child's tea party. The afternoon light filters through half-drawn blinds, casting slanted shadows across Buck's chocolate-brown fur and highlighting the casual power in his relaxed muscles. Bud swallows, his small squirrel hands flexing unconsciously as his gaze drifts down to the impressive bulge nestled between Buck's thighs; his target, his obsession, his potential feast.
Buck's living room bears the hallmarks of bachelor simplicity; a television mounted to the wall, a coffee table cluttered with remote controls and empty protein shake containers, and the lingering scent of pine-scented cleaner barely masking the musk of male animal. The moose taps at his phone screen with surprising dexterity for his thick fingers, chuckling occasionally at whatever game has captured his attention.
"Hey, Buck?" Bud's voice emerges higher than intended, and he clears his throat. "Got a minute?"
The moose doesn't look up from his screen. "Sure thing, little buddy. What's on your mind?"
Bud edges closer, his practiced speech ready on his tongue. "So, I've got this practical exam coming up in my pre-med class." The lie flows smoothly; he's rehearsed it for days. "We're studying urological examinations, and I need to practice a testicular cancer screening." His heart pounds against his ribs as he adds, "I was wondering if you'd mind being my practice subject."
Buck's antlers catch the light as he finally glances up, his expression open and friendly. "Well shucks, that's all? The way you were hemming and hawing, thought you were gonna ask to borrow money." He sets his phone down on the arm of the couch. "Course I don't mind. Always happy to help a friend with their studies."
The casual acceptance sends a thrill of anticipation through Bud's body, his tail stiffening behind him. He keeps his expression neutral, professional. "Thanks, man. Really appreciate it."
Buck shifts, spreading his muscular thighs wider, the fabric of his loose basketball shorts pulling taut across his crotch. "How do you want me? Should I stand, or...?"
"Sitting is fine," Bud answers quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Just, um, pull your shorts down a bit so I can access the test area."
With zero self-consciousness, Buck hooks his thumbs into his waistband and tugs his shorts down to mid-thigh in one smooth motion. His massive endowment flops free, his impressive manhood resting atop the most magnificent pair of testicles Bud has ever seen. They hang heavy and pendulous, each the size of a large mango, their weight pulling the scrotal sack into a pronounced ovoid shape that dangles several inches below his semi-flaccid shaft.
Bud freezes, pretending clinical interest while his mouth waters. "By the woods," Buck chuckles, misinterpreting Bud's stunned silence, "Sorry if it's a bit much. Been blessed with a bit extra down there, as you can see."
"No, it's; it's perfect for the exam," Bud manages, collecting himself. "Large specimens are actually better for practice. More... surface area to examine."
Buck returns his attention to his phone, thumbs tapping at the screen as a series of bells and whistles signal progress in his game. "Have at it, then. I know you've been eyeing them for weeks."
Bud almost chokes. "I; what?"
A good-natured laugh rumbles from Buck's broad chest. "Come on, little buddy. I've seen the way you look. It's all good; most folks are curious about them. The doc at my last physical nearly dropped his stethoscope." He shrugs enormous shoulders. "I'm used to it."
Relieved that his motives remain obscured, Bud settles himself on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of Buck, bringing himself eye-level with the magnificent organs. "I'll need to touch them now," he says, voice steady despite the thundering of his pulse in his ears.
"Go for it," Buck says, already distracted by his game again.
Bud extends his hands, small against the sheer scale of Buck's endowments. His first touch is tentative, clinical; fingertips pressing gently against the left testicle, feeling its heft and warmth. The skin is surprisingly soft, stretched taut over the firm orb beneath. Bud's scientific facade momentarily slips as he marvels at the contrast between his own diminutive paws and these symbols of overwhelming virility.
He begins the proper examination technique he's studied in medical journals, cupping Buck's left testicle and gently rolling it between his fingers, feeling for irregularities. The gland shifts heavily within its sack, a dense weight of pure masculinity. Bud's fingers trace the contours, mapping the epididymis and spermatic cord with feigned professional interest.
"Temperature okay?" Bud asks, maintaining his ruse.
Buck grunts, not looking up from his screen. "Yep. Your hands are a bit cold, but not bad."
Bud switches to the right testicle, repeating the process. These organs; the very seat of Buck's maleness; yield slightly under his touch, firm yet pliant. He notes how the scrotal skin moves fluidly over the internal structures, how the weight of each gland pulls against his palm.
The moose's legs remain spread casually, his posture relaxed and trusting as the tapping of his thumbs against the phone screen creates a rhythmic backdrop to Bud's examination. Occasionally, Buck shifts slightly, adjusting his position for comfort, causing his massive testicles to swing gently in their sack.
As Bud continues his methodical exploration, he gradually increases the pressure of his touch, his small fingers pressing more firmly into the yielding flesh. He watches Buck's face for any sign of discomfort, but the moose remains engrossed in his game, oblivious to the shift in intention behind the squirrel's touch.
"The examination requires different levels of pressure," Bud explains, his voice taking on a professional tone that masks his growing excitement. "I need to check deeper tissues for any abnormalities."
"Makes sense," Buck murmurs, eyes still fixed on his screen. "Do what you gotta do."
Permission granted, Bud's fingers press harder, feeling the dense testicular tissue compress beneath his touch. The left testicle flattens slightly against his palm as he squeezes, the firm organ yielding reluctantly to his pressure. There's a thrill in this controlled manipulation; these powerful symbols of Buck's masculinity now literally in Bud's hands.
He applies similar pressure to the right testicle, watching with fascination as his fingers create dimples in the taut scrotal skin. Buck shifts slightly, a small grunt escaping him, but he dismisses it with a chuckle.
"Bit sensitive there, huh?" Bud asks, feigning concern while noting the reaction.
"Nah, just surprised me is all. You're doing fine."
Bud's thumbs press into the underside of the massive orbs, his fingers wrapping around as much of the circumference as his small hands can manage. The heat radiating from Buck's groin intensifies as Bud's manipulation continues, and he notices with satisfaction that the moose's previously relaxed member has begun to stiffen and lengthen.
The impressive shaft thickens visibly, rising from its nest of fur to point upward along Buck's stomach. The cervine tip glistens slightly with emerging moisture, evidence of the body's unconscious response to stimulation despite Buck's mental disengagement.
Buck finally notices his arousal and laughs awkwardly. "Well, this is embarrassing. Sorry about that; just automatic, you know?"
"Completely normal physiological response," Bud assures him, his scientific tone disguising his satisfaction. "Actually helps with the examination process; makes certain structures more pronounced."
This rationalization seems to satisfy Buck, who returns to his game with perhaps less focus than before, his breathing slightly deeper. His massive shaft now stands fully erect, an impressive fourteen inches that draws Bud's gaze even as his hands continue their work on the testicles below.
Bud's squeezes grow bolder, more rhythmic. He compresses the left testicle between his palms, feeling the organ flatten before rebounding when pressure releases. His fingers trace the network of veins visible beneath the scrotal skin, noting how they pulse more prominently now with Buck's increasing arousal.
The examination has transcended its pretense, becoming something more primal; a predator assessing his prey, testing its resilience before the feast. Yet Bud maintains his composed facade, his movements deliberately clinical despite the hunger building within him.
Buck's legs spread wider unconsciously, his body responding to the stimulation while his mind remains partially disconnected, caught between his game and the growing pleasure radiating from his groin. His enormous manhood throbs visibly with each heartbeat, the cervine tip now leaking a steady stream of pre-fluid that trails down his shaft.
Bud's fingers dance across the surface of Buck's scrotum, tracing patterns that are part examination, part exploration, part preparation. He can feel the slight shifting of the internal structures as he manipulates them, imagining the richness contained within these vessels of fertility.
His touch grows firmer still, squeezing and rolling the massive organs with increasing pressure. The testicles compress under his grasp, their resilient tissue yielding more noticeably now. Buck's breath catches slightly, but he doesn't protest, his game forgotten as his eyes grow unfocused, glazed with building pleasure.
The moose's shaft strains upward, fully engorged and throbbing. It's a masterpiece of masculine anatomy; thick, veined, flared at the tip in typical cervine fashion. It curves slightly against Buck's stomach, reaching nearly to his navel, a testament to his extraordinary endowment.
Bud feels something shift within one of the testicles as his thumb presses particularly firmly against its center. Not a rupture, but a subtle change in resistance, as though internal structures are beginning to yield. His scientific mind recognizes this as the threshold he's been seeking; the point where pressure becomes transformation.
Buck's unconscious groan of pleasure masks any discomfort this change might have caused. His phone slips from his fingers, landing unnoticed on the cushion beside him as his head tips back, antlers nearly scraping the wall behind him.
"Almost done," Bud murmurs, his clinical mask nearly perfect despite the race of his heart and the tremor of anticipation in his voice. "Just need to complete the deep tissue assessment."
Buck nods absently, beyond words now as his massive chest rises and falls with deepening breaths. His powerful thighs have spread to their limit, offering his magnificent endowments completely to Bud's manipulations.
The squirrel's small hands continue their work with increasing purpose, applying steady, firm pressure that dimples deep into the testicular tissue. He can feel the slight crackling sensation beneath his fingertips; the first sign of the internal transformation he seeks.
Buck's shaft pulses and flexes, a bead of clear fluid forming at its tip as his body responds to the intense manipulation. The moose's breathing grows ragged, his massive frame tensing with building pleasure that masks the subtle restructuring happening within his most precious organs.
Bud's fingers press deeper, methodical and relentless. The surface of Buck's scrotum remains intact, but within, the transformation has begun; pressure becoming change, manipulation becoming something far more permanent than either the trusting moose or his testicular tissue currently realize.
Bud applies a different kind of pressure now, deliberate and focused, his small fingers working with the precision of a safe-cracker sensing the subtle clicks of a tumbler. The massive testicles between his palms yield further, no longer just compressing but beginning to surrender their structural integrity as tiny ruptures form within the intricate tubules and vessels. A warmth spreads through Bud's paws, not from Buck's body heat, but from the satisfaction of feeling something give way beneath his touch; something precious being irreversibly altered.
A soft crackling sensation travels through the dense tissue, perceptible only to Bud's sensitive fingers; microscopic walls collapsing, delicate structures failing under his methodical assault. Buck's breath hitches, but his expression reveals only pleasure, not pain, as the overwhelming sensations from his shaft mask the more sinister changes happening below.
"Just checking for any abnormal densities," Bud explains, voice steady despite the thrill coursing through him. "Need to be thorough."
Buck nods absently, massive antlers bobbing. "By the woods, whatever you're doing feels... unusual. But good." His impressive shaft stands proudly, a monument to masculinity soon to be separated from its source.
Bud's thumbs press inward from opposite sides of Buck's left testicle, meeting resistance that suddenly gives way like a dam breaking. Inside the intact scrotal sac, the organized structures of the testicle collapse, transforming from a complex reproductive organ into something more homogeneous; a sack of rich, high-protein paste.
The change manifests externally as Buck's shaft suddenly twitches, and a thick, pearlescent fluid begins to emerge from the tip; not the clear pre-fluid of arousal, but something denser, creamier. This isn't normal ejaculate; it's the direct contents of his testicle being forced upward through his reproductive tract, bypassing the normal production process.
"Oh!" Buck gasps, his game completely forgotten now. "That's; what is that?"
"Just some fluid release," Bud answers smoothly, increasing pressure with his right hand while his left continues to compress the already damaged left testicle. "Completely normal during a thorough examination. The pressure can stimulate secretions."
A glob of the thick substance forms at Buck's tip, threatening to drip onto his fur. Bud recognizes his opportunity.
"Let me just clean that up," he offers professionally. "We don't want to make a mess." Before Buck can respond, Bud leans forward and delicately extends his tongue, collecting the viscous droplet.
The taste explodes across his palate; rich, gamey, with complex notes of salt and minerals, overlaid with a distinctive muskiness that speaks to its origins. This isn't merely reproductive fluid; it's the essence of Buck's masculinity, the concentrated product of his massive glands, now reduced to consumable form.
Buck's eyes widen at the contact but then half-close with pleasure. "That's, um, not standard medical procedure, is it?" he asks, voice thick with arousal rather than suspicion.
"It's the most sanitary option available," Bud explains, maintaining his professional demeanor while inwardly savoring the taste. "And it helps me assess any abnormalities in the secretions. Texture, viscosity, taste; all diagnostic indicators."
This pseudo-medical explanation satisfies Buck, who settles back, surrendering completely to the dual sensations of Bud's manipulating hands and occasional tongue.
Bud returns his focus to the work at hand, pressing harder into the right testicle until he feels the same yielding resistance, the same subtle popping as internal structures collapse. His fingers work methodically, applying pressure in a spiral pattern that systematically destroys the organ's architecture while maintaining its external appearance.
More of the rich substance begins flowing from Buck's tip; a steady stream now rather than occasional drops. The moose's massive chest heaves with heavy breaths, his entire focus consumed by the intense sensations radiating through his body. The discomfort of his testicles being crushed is completely masked by the overwhelming pleasure of Bud's occasional licks and the feeling of release.
Bud leans in closer, maintaining pressure with one hand while the other guides Buck's impressive shaft. He parts his lips and takes the cervine tip into his mouth, the pretense of clinical assessment giving way to more obvious consumption.
"Sweet maple sap," Buck groans, his massive thighs tensing as pleasure courses through him. "Is this part of the exam too?"
Bud pulls back just enough to murmur, "Need to collect a larger sample for thorough analysis," before returning to his task. His tongue works skillfully around the flared head, catching every emission of the thick, testicular contents now flowing freely from the crushed organs.
The taste deepens as Bud's assault on the testicles continues. The fluid becomes richer, more complex; the deeper tissues releasing their contents as they're pulverized between his relentless fingers. He can distinguish subtle changes in flavor as different parts of the internal architecture surrender their contents: the epididymis with its concentrated sperm, the seminiferous tubules with their productive cells, and the interstitial tissues rich with hormones.
Buck's hips begin to move unconsciously, small thrusts that push his shaft deeper into Bud's waiting mouth. The moose's eyes are closed now, his head thrown back against the couch, antlers scraping the wall as pleasure overwhelms him. He's completely unaware that what he perceives as an intense orgasm is actually the systematic destruction and extraction of his reproductive capacity.
Bud's fingers work with scientific precision despite his growing hunger. He varies the pressure points, ensuring that every part of the testicular tissue is thoroughly broken down. His small fingers press deep divots into the once-firm organs, feeling them become increasingly soft and pliable as their contents are reduced to fluid paste.
The flow from Buck's shaft increases, and Bud swallows rhythmically, consuming the rich essence directly from its source. There's a primal satisfaction in this consumption; taking the most masculine part of this magnificent specimen into himself, absorbing Buck's strength and virility through this most intimate act of predation.
Through his haze of pleasure, Buck mumbles, "Feeling kinda empty down there. Is that normal?"
Bud pulls back momentarily. "Absolutely normal; just the release of pressure from the examination." He returns to his oral ministrations without missing a beat, his fingers continuing their destructive massage.
The testicles, once firm and dense, now have the consistency of partially deflated water balloons, their contents largely liquified and extracted. Bud's fingers press and knead, working the remaining tissue into paste and forcing it upward through Buck's reproductive tract.
The flavor changes again; more concentrated now, with bitter notes that speak to the final remnants being extracted. Bud savors each subtle variation, his tongue cataloging the complex profile of Buck's most intimate essence.
With one final, firm squeeze, Bud feels the left testicle collapse completely; all internal structure destroyed, all contents extracted. It's now merely an empty sac of skin, the complex organ within reduced to nothing but consumed paste. He gives the same final treatment to the right, pressing firmly until he feels it surrender the last of its contents in a rush of fluid that fills his mouth with a final, intense burst of flavor.
Buck's body shudders in what he perceives as a powerful climax, his massive frame tensing as waves of pleasure wash through him. The moose's guttural groan echoes through the sparsely furnished living room as his shaft pulses one final time.
Bud swallows the last of the rich extract, then carefully releases his grip on the now-empty testicles. Remarkably, as his pressure eases, the scrotal sac maintains its shape, the elastic tissue of the testicle walls expanding back to their original form despite being completely hollowed out. From external appearance, Buck's impressive endowments look unchanged; the same size, the same shape, hanging heavily between his thighs.
Only Bud knows that they're now nothing but empty shells, their precious contents warming his stomach rather than fueling Buck's reproduction.
With clinical precision, Bud uses his tongue to clean the last traces of fluid from Buck's still-hard shaft, ensuring no evidence remains of what has truly transpired. The moose's breathing gradually steadies, his massive chest rising and falling more regularly as he descends from his peak of pleasure.
"Examination complete," Bud announces, sitting back and discreetly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Everything appears to be in order."
Buck blinks slowly, emerging from his pleasure-induced haze. His large hand moves to adjust his softening shaft, tucking it back into his shorts with casual familiarity. "Well shucks, that was... intense. Don't remember a doctor's exam ever feeling quite like that before."
"Different techniques," Bud explains smoothly, his professional demeanor firmly back in place despite the satisfaction curling through him. "The urological field is constantly evolving."
Buck shifts uncomfortably, his brow furrowing slightly. "Feel kinda strange, though. Like something's... different." His hand moves unconsciously to cup his testicles through his shorts, feeling their familiar weight and size but somehow sensing the change he can't identify.
"That sensation is normal after a thorough examination," Bud assures him, standing up to create some distance. "The tissues have been manipulated extensively. Some temporary sensitivity is to be expected."
The moose nods, accepting this explanation with his characteristic trust. He reaches for his abandoned phone, checking the screen briefly before setting it aside. "Funny thing; I feel like I just had the most intense release of my life, but I don't see any, well, evidence." He gestures vaguely at his shorts, which show no signs of the massive emission that would normally accompany such pleasure.
Bud's tail flicks casually behind him, betraying none of the triumph he feels. "The examination can stimulate those sensations without actual ejaculation. It's a pressure response in the nervous system." The scientific-sounding explanation flows easily, comforting in its authoritative tone.
"Huh," Buck muses, adjusting himself again. "Learn something new every day, I guess. So, did I pass? Everything normal down there?"
"Perfectly normal," Bud confirms, the lie smooth on his tongue still coated with the evidence of its falsity. "Excellent testicular health. No abnormalities detected."
Buck grins, pleased and oblivious. "Well, that's a relief. Glad I could help with your studies." He stands, towering over Bud, and stretches his massive frame. "Think I'll grab a protein shake. Want one?"
"No thanks," Bud replies, patting his stomach lightly. "I'm quite satisfied."
The moose nods and ambles toward the kitchen, his gait normal despite the profound change to his anatomy. His testicles, now empty husks, swing with their usual pendulous weight between his thighs, their appearance betraying nothing of their hollowed state.
Bud watches him go, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. The richness of Buck's essence still lingers on his tongue, a constant reminder of what he's taken; and what Buck doesn't yet know he's lost. The warmth in Bud's stomach isn't just from the consumed tissue but from the satisfaction of a predator who has fed without alerting his prey.
His small hands, so clinical in their destructive work, now fold neatly in his lap as he savors both the flavor and the deception. Buck will discover the truth eventually; perhaps the next time he's with a partner, or at his next genuine medical examination; but for now, the secret rests safely in Bud's full belly, absorbed into his being one swallow at a time.