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[url=https://ko-fi.com/gabrieldrake]Buy me a Ko-Fi[/url]", "description_bbcode_parsed": "Clover, a blacksmiths apprentice, finds comradery and more while training with the city guard.

Part 2 of Submitting to Baston

If you liked this story, maybe...  Buy me a Ko-Fi", "writing": "Finding a Mare in the Stable\n\nThe midday sun beat down on the North Gate, baking the cobblestones and making the air shimmer. The steady stream of morning traffic had dwindled to a trickle, a few merchants now, their carts lighter from delivering goods outside the city, their chatter more subdued. Clover, still stationed by the main archway, adjusted the stiff, ill-fitting tabard that still threatened to tear at the seams across his broad chest. His shift was nearly done, and despite the dull routine, a quiet confidence had settled over him.\n\n\"Another day, another dozen wagons of grain and timber through the gate,\" Rufus grumbled, leaning against a rough-hewn support beam. His eyes, usually sharp and inquisitive, held a flicker of boredom. \"You'd think one nefarious person would try their luck, just to spice things up.\"\n\n\"Maybe you scare them off with that ferocious scowl, Rufus,\" Warren chirped, expertly flipping a flat, smooth stone into the air and catching it between his paws. He was perched atop a low wall, his keen rabbit eyes scanning the distant road with an almost preternatural calm. \"Or perhaps they heard about the new giant guarding the gate and decided to try the West gate instead.\"\n\nClover chuckled, a warm rumble in his chest that momentarily startled a passing pigeon. \"I assure you, I've done nothing more menacing than stand here and occasionally squint at a particularly dusty cart.\" The truth was, his mind had been far from the mundane duties of gatekeeping. The image of Lieutenant Baston, his name now ringing in Clover's ears with a new, thrilling resonance, and the memory of that raw encounter in the bathhouse, had been a constant hum beneath the surface of his thoughts. He still felt a lingering warmth deep in his gut, a phantom pressure that made his diminutive member twitch occasionally, a secret reminder of the previous morning's surrender.\n\n\"See?\" Warren said, turning his gaze back to Rufus. \"He's all politeness and gentle giants. No wonder it's quiet.\" He hopped down, landing silently. \"Seriously though, Clover, how's the first full shift feeling? Any surprises besides the lack of suspicious types?\"\n\nClover stretched his shoulders, feeling the familiar ache from yesterday's training, but now it was a comfortable ache, earned and understood. \"Surprisingly... normal. I thought it would be more exciting, perhaps. But it's just a lot of waiting and watching.\" He paused, then added, a touch more seriously, \"Though those boys this morning... that still feels off.\"\n\nRufus nodded, his earlier boredom melting into a familiar grimness. \"Aye. Still chewing on that one. They just... vanished into the Thornwood. Lieutenant Club was right to be interested. He's got a nose for trouble, our Club.\" The wolf glanced at Clover, a knowing glint in his eye, though he said nothing further about why Club might have taken a particular interest in Clover.\n\n\"Well, if trouble comes, at least we know the North Gate's in good hands,\" Warren said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. \"Speaking of which, shift change soon, right? My stomach's rumbling for midday mess.\"\n\nA grizzled old badger, Ensign Grimmel, ambled towards them, checking the angle of the sun as if to confirm the time was truly noon. \"Alright, you lot! Shift's ending. Your relief will be here in a few minutes. Anything noteworthy?\"\n\n\"Quiet as a tomb, Ensign,\" Rufus reported, snapping to attention. \"Just the usual farmers and merchants. Oh, and a contingent of mercenaries with some young recruits this morning, heading towards the Thornwood. Lieutenant Club was informed.\"\n\nGrimmel grunted. \"Club, eh? He'll handle it. Good. Everyone to the mess, then get ready for the afternoon drills. And Clover,\" the Ensign fixed him with a stare, \"Lieutenant said to remind you to see him directly after your meal. Something about 'special training.\"\n\nClover felt a fresh wave of heat creep up his neck, but he met Grimmel's gaze without flinching. \"Yes, Ensign. I remember.\"\n\nAs the badger walked away, Rufus nudged Clover. \"See? I told you. Always making an impression.\" His wolfish grin was back in full force.\n\n\"Indeed,\" Warren echoed, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. \"Hope you're ready for whatever 'special training' the Lieutenant has in mind for you. Club's known for his... unique methods of instruction.\"\n\nClover just smiled, a slight, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. He was ready; at least his little horse cock certainly was. The uneventful shift had done nothing to calm the eager anticipation bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He walked alongside his friends towards the mess hall, feeling more a part of this strange new path. The dull routine of the guard post, the easy companionship of Rufus and Warren, and the unspoken, thrilling promise of Clubs “special training” – it was all weaving together into something far more… exciting than he could have ever imagined.\n\nThe clatter of tin plates and the boisterous chatter of the mess hall enveloped Clover, Rufus, and Warren as they found an empty table. Clover piled his tray high with stew and a generous portion of bread, his appetite surprisingly robust despite the lingering churn of anticipation in his gut.\n\n\"So,\" Rufus began, tearing into a hunk of dark bread, \"sounds like the Lieutenant's 'special training' might be on hold for a bit.\"\n\nWarren, meticulously peeling a hard-boiled egg, nodded. \"Heard some of the older sergeants talking near the kitchens. Apparently, Captain Valerius wasn't in a receptive mood for whatever Club was pitching. Something about 'unsubstantiated claims' and 'wasting valuable resources'.\"\n\nClover felt a pang of disappointment, quickly followed by a surge of sympathy for the bulldog. He'd only known Club a short while, but the Lieutenant's gruff exterior clearly masked a deep-seated dedication to his duties, something the noble Captain, from the sounds of it, rarely appreciated.\n\n\"Captain Valerius,\" Rufus snorted, his muzzle wrinkled in disdain. \"More concerned with the shine on his mane than the state of the city's defenses. Club and him seem to argue more often than stags lock horns in rutting season. Heard Club stormed out, muttering about 'needing some air'.\"\n\n\"Which usually means he's halfway to the bottom of a tankard at the Rusty Mug by now,\" Warren added, popping the egg into his mouth. \"Or maybe the Leaky Flagon. He has a few preferred establishments for 'getting air'.\"\n\nClover poked at his stew. His free afternoon, which had hummed with the electric possibility of another encounter with Club , now stretched before him, empty and a little deflating. The secret thrill of their bathhouse rendezvous still warmed him, but the prospect of further \"training\" seemed to have evaporated with Club’s temper.\n\n\"So, what's the plan then, Clover?\" Rufus asked, noticing the Clydesdale's subdued mood. \"No more official duties for you today, right?\"\n\nClover shook his head. \"No. Just the late afternoon training drills, but everyone's rostered for that.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Rufus said, wiping his mouth with the back of his paw, \"no sense in moping around the barracks. How about we head down to the Wayside Inn? It's just outside the Gate. The ale's cheap – even if it tastes like it's been waved over a barrel of actual good stuff – and it's where most of the off-duty lads go to unwind. Good place to hear the city's gossip, meet a few more of the veterans. What do you say?\"\n\nWarren's ears perked up. \"The Wayside? Haven't been there in ages. They sometimes have a minstrel who's surprisingly not terrible. And you're right, Rufus, it's a good spot to… network.\" He gave Clover a sly look. \"Might even run into someone interesting.\"\n\nThe thought of more socializing, especially after his recent, very private socializing, made Clover hesitate for a moment. But the prospect of stewing in the barracks, dwelling on missed opportunities with Baston, was even less appealing. Plus, spending more time with Rufus and Warren, his first real friends in the guard, felt right.\n\n\"Alright,\" Clover agreed, a small smile returning to his face. \"The Wayside sounds good. Lead the way.\"\n\nThe walk through the North Gate was filled with the usual greetings, but once they passed through its arches, the atmosphere shifted. The Wayside Inn itself was a rambling, two-story timber building, its sign – a faded painting of a welcoming hearth – creaking gently in the breeze. The sound of boisterous laughter and the clinking of mugs spilled from its open doorway.\n\nAs the trio approached, the inn's door swung open and two figures emerged, immediately drawing their attention. They were, to put it mildly, an unusual pair.\n\nThe first was a dragon. Not one of the colossal, mountain-dwelling terrors of legend, but still an impressive creature, easily half a hand taller than Clover. His scales were the color of burnished bronze, gleaming in the sunlight, and a plume of pale smoke drifted from his nostrils as he surveyed the road. His claws were thick and black, and his emerald eyes, slitted like a cat's, held a determined glint. He moved with a heavy, deliberate grace that spoke of immense power barely contained.\n\nAt his side, looking almost comically small in comparison, was a raccoon. He was young, barely more than a kit, with the lanky awkwardness of a teenager. His fur was a mix of grey and black, his ringed tail twitching nervously as he clutched a worn leather satchel to his chest. He kept glancing up at the dragon, then quickly back at the ground, a mixture of awe and anxiety on his pointed face.\n\nThe dragon rumbled something in a low, throaty voice that Clover couldn't quite catch, and the raccoon nodded quickly, his striped tail giving a particularly agitated flick. Without a further word, the pair turned and began walking away from the inn, heading down the road leading deeper into the thin woods bordering the Thornwood.\n\n\"Well, now,\" Rufus breathed, his earlier boredom completely gone, replaced by a wolfish curiosity. \"You don't see that every day.\"\n\nWarren was practically vibrating with excitement, his nose twitching. \"A racoon and a… bronze dragon!? What in Velor are they doing at the Wayside?\"\n\nClover stared after the departing duo, his earlier order from Lieutenant Club echoing in his mind: Watch for unusual persons. This, he thought, definitely qualified. The image of the pale, scared boys being led into the Thornwood also flashed in his mind. The forest seemed to be a nexus of strange occurrences today. \n\nThe worn oak door of the Wayside Inn creaked open, admitting the trio into a warm, smoky haze. The din of conversation, punctuated by hearty laughter and the occasional crashing of a dropped mug, washed over them. The air was thick with the scent of stale ale, roasting meat, and the faint, underlying musk of bodies.\n\nClover, still a bit awestruck by the sight of the dragon with the raccoon, was lost in thought when his large hooves bumped against something solid, sending him stumbling. He instinctively braced himself, expecting to hit the floor, but instead found himself catching his balance against a surprisingly firm, albeit slightly wobbly, mass.\n\n\"Whoa there, partner!\" a gruff voice slurred, followed by a theatrical, if not entirely steady, flourish of a paw.\n\nClover blinked, focusing on the source of the voice. There, looking remarkably unsteady on his feet, was none other than Lieutenant Club. His brow was furrowed, his scarred muzzle smudged with what looked like a splash of ale, and his usually sharp amber eyes were a touch unfocused. Yet, even in his inebriated state, there was an undeniable intensity to his demeanor.\n\n\"Clover!\" Club attempted a salute, which turned into a clumsy wave. \"Fancy meeting you… here. And Rufus, Warren, good chaps.\" He swayed precariously. \"Listen, about that training session… I’m terribly s-sorry. Captain Valerius… well, the good Captain and I… had a bit of a disagreement. Utmost importance, you see. Needs my immediate… attention.\"\n\nClover, regaining his composure, offered a hesitant nod. \"Lieutenant Baston,\" he greeted, the name feeling like a warm, shared secret on his tongue. \"No harm done. We were just heading over for a drink ourselves.\"\n\nClub snorted, a sound that was more of a wheeze. \"A drink? Bah! Not now, lad. I’ve got… evidence!\" He puffed out his chest, nearly toppling over. \"Little… brats. Mercenaries. But not just mercs. Slavers! Trafficking our own bloody citizens! The Captain, bless his fluffy ego, thinks it's all a wild goose chase. But I know! And I’ve got proof… soon. Need to find the right ears, that's all.\" \n\nHe leaned in conspiratorially, his breath a potent mix of ale and something vaguely metallic. \"This whole dragon and raccoon thing… a coincidence? No. Connected, perhaps. Keep your eyes peeled, Clover. You too, Rufus, Warren. Unusual persons. That's the key. I'll delay our session. Just… just a little. Need to call in some favors.\" With a final, wobbly nod, Club straightened himself with a Herculean effort and, with a determined set to his jaw, plowed his way through the throng towards the inn’s back exit, presumably in search of those essential \"right ears.\"\n\nThe trio watched him go, a mixture of amusement and concern on their faces.\n\n\"Well, that was… eventful,\" Rufus commented, shaking his head. \"Club’s really got a bee in his bonnet about those mercenaries.\"\n\n\"And a very large amount of ale in his belly, it seems,\" Warren added, adjusting his satchel. \"But he might be onto something, you know. Those boys looked far too scared to be 'recruits'.\"\n\nClover found himself surprisingly invested in the unfolding drama. The idea of slavers operating within the city, masked as legitimate mercenaries, sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the cool evening air. \"If we see anything… anything at all… maybe we should mention it to Rufus's father? Or someone who might listen?\"\n\nRufus shrugged, his wolfish grin returning. \"My old man likes to keep his nose clean these days, prefer reading instead of getting his paws dirty. But there are other ways to sniff out trouble. And for now,\" he gestured towards a table in a dimly lit corner, \"we've got a different kind of 'unusual business' to attend to. My treat. I owe you guys for putting up with my… personal exploits.\"\n\nThey settled at the table, the low murmur of the inn providing a comfortable backdrop. Rufus, after ordering three mugs of their watered-down ale, leaned back, a peculiar glint in his eye.\n\n\"So,\" he began, his voice dropping a notch, \"since we're all being honest about our secret lives…\" He took a long sip of his ale, then looked at Clover and Warren, his expression surprisingly nonchalant. \"Last week, I spent a rather… illuminating evening with a gentleman. A male whore, down in the Crimson Alley. Quite the experience, really.\"\n\nClover blinked, a little taken aback, but curious. He knew Rufus was adventurous, but this was something else entirely for the typically reserved wolf. Warren, meanwhile, simply nodded, his tail giving a small, almost sympathetic waggle.\n\n\"Crimson Alley?\" Warren prompted softly, a wrinkle appearing on his nose. \"That's literally a cesspool, Rufus. Not many venture there unless they're truly desperate... for a good scrubbing afterwards, perhaps?\"\n\n\"Desperate for… release maybe!\" Rufus corrected, a faint flush rising on his muzzle, though his eyes sparkled mischievously. He wasn't bothered by Warren's playful jab. \"And the crowd… oh, it was quite the spectacle! The gentleman in question, quite the performer, I must say. He offered a rather… athletic display of his talents, a sort of spontaneous street-side ballet for anyone who cared to look. And I… well, I found myself quite captivated by his artistry.\" \n\nHe took a dramatic pause, then added with a flourish, \"Took part, you could say. Had the best seat in the house, front row, no less!\" He shrugged, as if discussing his latest meal. \"It was… invigorating! And besides, lots of the lads from the guard pop down there for a bit of 'discretionary entertainment.' Hardly a secret among those who know the city's hidden little delights.\"\n\nClover felt a strange mix of admiration and bewildered fascination. Rufus, the stoic wolf, engaging in such a bold, public display? He couldn't quite reconcile it. But then, Baston had done something even more shocking, and Clover had to admit, he rather liked it.\n\nRufus then took another, longer drink of his ale, his gaze drifting towards an unseen point beyond the tavern walls. His casual bravado wavered, replaced by a flicker of something… less amused.\n\n\"But the part,\" he continued, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, \"the part that nearly knocked me off my paws… happened right after. We were still there, in the alley, basking in the afterglow, when the sewer grate… it just… exploded! Not with water, mind you, but with… well, it was like the entire underground plumbing system decided to have a grand, sticky climax! A veritable geyser of… stuff. An 'unholy flood,' they're calling it on the streets, but I swear it looked like the biggest, stickiest, most baffling… er, bodily fluid you ever saw. Like the city itself had eaten too much rich food and just… urp! Right there, flung into the air, splashing everywhere!\" \n\nHe shuddered dramatically, his fur bristling, as if reliving the damp, bewildering moment. \"I was absolutely drenched! And let me tell you, explaining that to the quartermaster when you need new breeches is a whole other kind of public spectacle.\" He rubbed his face, a look of profound, albeit slightly comical, bewilderment on his features. \"One minute you're enjoying the sights, the next you're dodging a… a creamy cascade from the underworld!\"\n\nClover and Warren exchanged wide-eyed glances, trying to suppress the giggles that bubbled up at the image of a bewildered, cum-soaked Rufus. The thought of sewer systems ejaculating was absurd, yet the genuine bewilderment and slight embarrassment on Rufus's face made it alarmingly real. It spoke of a city that held more than just guards and merchants, a place where the mundane could suddenly turn bizarre, and where even a seasoned guardsman could be caught, quite literally, with his breeches down, by an inexplicable deluge. \n\nWarren finally gave in and dissolved into peals of laughter, tears forming in the corners of his bright eyes. \"Oh, Rufus! You weren't kidding! An explosion of cum!\" He wiped his eyes, still shaking with mirth. \"I heard whispers that the alley was… well, cleaner than usual lately. But I never imagined why!\" He leaned back, his tail twitching with residual amusement. \"That's almost as good as imagining you trying to explain that to the lieutenant, Rufus. I bet you’d be hopping mad, trying to look innocent while smelling faintly of, shall we say, 'sewer overflow'!\"\n\nRufus, caught in the tide of Warren's mirth, eventually cracked a sheepish grin. \"Honestly, Warren, the walk back to the barracks was far more mortifying than anything that happened in the alley itself. Trying to look like a dignified wolf on patrol when you're damp, slightly smelly, and have the distinct sensation of having been slimed by the city's very plumbing… that's an embarrassment no amount of 'discretionary entertainment' can prepare you for.\" He sighed dramatically. \"You two must have your own tales of woe. I’m practically an open book compared to whatever you’re hiding.\"\n\nWarren, having finally regained some semblance of composure, gestured with a paw. \"Oh, I have my moments. There was this one time, not too long ago, I was quite engrossed in… exploring my own personal sensations, shall we say. Being a bit… hands-on with myself, you know, behind the privacy of my own bedroom door. And my younger brother, Franky, he’s always been suspiciously quiet when he sneaks around. Well, he bursts in without a knock, right as I’m at the… climax of my exploration. And he just stood there, mouth agape, staring. I swear, for a solid minute, neither of us moved. Then he just whispered, 'Wow, you do that with your face?'\"\n\nClover let out a surprised snort of laughter. That was genuinely funny, and it made his own secret feel a little less like a burden.\n\nHe fiddled with the edge of his tankard, his hooves shifting beneath the table. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a familiar, unwelcome warmth. \"Well,\" he began, his voice a low rumble, softer than usual. \"Mine's not quite as… exciting as yours, Rufus. Or as startling as yours, Warren.\" He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of his friends’ expectant gazes. \"It’s just… my… It's… small. Compared to everyone else, I mean.\"\n\nHe risked a glance at them. Rufus’s usually jovial expression was solemn and attentive. Warren’s ears had perked up, his bright eyes curious and understanding.\n\n\"My older brother, Barley,\" Clover continued, his voice barely above a whisper, \"as tall and strong as he is, always had a knack for teasing. When I was younger, and my… well, my little dickwas even more undeveloped, he used to call me a ‘mare’ when our parents weren’t around. Said I was all bulk and no… equipment to match.\" He managed a weak, rueful chuckle. \"Even now… it’s just so… little. Compared to, I don’t know, a wolf's, or a bulldog's, or even a raccoon's, I imagine.\" He finally looked up, his large, honest eyes filled with a vulnerable hope. \"It's always felt like a bit of a… mistake. Like I was built wrong.\"\n\nRufus reached across the table and placed a large paw on Clover's forearm, a gesture of surprising gentleness. \"Hey, now,\" he said firmly, his voice kind. \"Don't you even start with that kind of talk, Clover. Size isn't everything. You're strong, you’re kind, and you’ve got a good heart. That counts for more than anything down there.\"\n\nWarren nodded vigorously, his nose twitching. \"He’s absolutely right, Clover. Think about it – you’re a Clydesdale! You’re built for pulling, for power, for steady strength. That’s a different kind of… endowment. And honestly,\" he leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a mere whisper, \"sometimes the most intense sensations come from the places you least expect, or are most… focused. Besides,\" he winked, \"Club seemed to think your equipment was quite… adequate, didn't he?\"\n\nClover felt a wave of warmth spread through him, a different kind of heat than the earlier blush. His friends' words, their simple acceptance, were more comforting than he could have ever imagined. He might not have a massive member, or an epic sewer-related mishap, but he had them. And for the first time, that felt like more than enough.\n\nThe afternoon drills, led by Ensign Moreau, proved to be exactly as Clover had predicted: mundane. He moved through the familiar lunges, parries, and shield thrusts with a growing sense of proficiency. His movements, while still lacking the fluid grace of some of the fox and rabbit recruits, were not as clumsy. He was strong, steady, and increasingly capable. \n\nBy the time the Ensign signaled the end of the session, Clover was tired, certainly, but it was a comfortable fatigue. More of a satisfaction in muscles worked and skills being honed and a far cry from the complete exhaustion of his first day. Rufus moved efficiently, his blows precise, while Warren, with his scout’s agility, darted and weaved, a blur of motion.\n\nAfterward they headed to the mess hall for the evening meal. The air was thick with the scent of stew and the weary cheer of guardsmen winding down.They had just finished their bowls of stew, lingering over mugs of weak tea, when a familiar, gruff voice cut through the mess hall chatter.\n\n\"Alright, you three! A word. Now.\"\n\nIt was Lieutenant Club. He stood framed in the doorway, back from his \"airing out,\" his uniform surprisingly neat and his eyes still held a more familiar sharpness, a hint of steel that few dared to cross. The last remnants of ale-induced haziness seemed to have burned off, replaced by a focused, determined energy.\n\nClover’s heart gave a little leap. This was it. The long-awaited \"unusual business.\" He exchanged glances with Rufus and Warren, a sudden spark of excitement replacing their post-dinner languor.\n\nThey followed Club to his small, cluttered office, which smelled faintly of old parchment and dog. Maps covered one wall, and a stack of various reports teetered precariously on his desk. He waited until the door was shut firmly behind them before turning, his gaze sweeping over each of them.\n\n\"Good news, lads,\" Club began, a predatory gleam in his eye that sent a shiver, not of fear, but of anticipation, down Clover's spine. \"I pulled some strings. Went over the Captain's fluffy head straight to Lord Kael's personal clerk. Turns out, Lord Kael isn't keen on the idea of slavers using his city as a hunting ground, especially when they're snatching local children.\"\n\nHe paced the small space, his heavy paws thudding softly on the wooden floor. \"So, I've got permission. A dawn patrol. Into the Thornwood. We're going to root out those ruffians. And you three, along with a handful of volunteers,\" he pointed a stubby finger at them, \"are coming with me.\"\n\nClover felt a surge of adrenaline. This was far more interesting than gate duty. And the thought of being personally chosen by Baston added a delicious edge to the excitement.\n\n\"It'll be dangerous,\" the bulldog continued, his voice grim. \"These aren't common bandits. They're organized. And they're clearly not afraid to operate close to the city. But if we can track them down, if we can rescue those boys… it'll be worth it. It'll give me the leverage I need to get Captain Valerius to take something seriously.\"\n\nHe stopped pacing, his gaze settling on Clover, and the predatory glint in his eyes softened, becoming something more intimate, more personal. His secret.\n\n\"And speaking of being wound up,\" Club said, his voice dropping slightly, \"I'm too keyed up for sleep. I had a feeling this would work out. So, Clover…\" He paused, and Clover’s breath hitched, his little horse cock giving a nervous, excited twitch. \"Your special training session is long overdue. Meet me in the stables. Immediately.\"\n\nThen, almost as an afterthought, Club glanced at Rufus and Warren, a flicker of genuine appreciation in his gaze. \"You know what? I've seen you three sticking together like burrs on a badger. And frankly, with what's coming, you two could use the extra… conditioning as well. I'm inviting you both to join us. I know you both appreciate a good workout.\" He winked at them, a knowing, slightly mischievous glint in his eyes that was entirely devoid of any sexual connotation towards Rufus and Warren, but Clover knew was aimed directly at him, a silent confirmation of the true nature of his \"special training.\"\n\nRufus's tail gave a tentative wag, and Warren's ears perked up, a wide grin spreading across his face. \"A workout? In the stables, Lieutenant?\" Warren asked, his voice laced with feigned innocence. \"We'd be honored!\"\n\nClub simply grunted, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. \"Good. Now stop gabbing. Chop chop! We leave at dawn, so we can’t waste time clucking like hens\" With that, he turned and strode out of the mess hall, leaving the three friends sitting there, a flurry of anticipation and unspoken questions hanging in the air.\n\nClover, his heart thrumming with a mixture of excitement and nervous thrill, knew exactly what kind of \"workout\" Baston had in mind. And the fact that Rufus and Warren would be there, oblivious to the deeper layers of interaction, only made it more exhilarating. The secret, the true nature of his \"training,\" remained a deliciously private pact between him and Club. And that, he realized, made it all the more potent.\n\nThe three friends lingered in the hall for a few moments after Baston’s departure, a comfortable silence settling between them. They understood, without needing to say it, that the Lieutenant appreciated discretion. Giving Club a head start to the stables felt like a silent acknowledgment of that.\n\n\"Well,\" Rufus said, breaking the quiet, \"that was… unexpected. And rather direct.\" He looked at Clover, a gentle curiosity in his wolfish eyes. \"You alright with us tagging along, Clover? For this… 'workout'? We wouldn't want to intrude on your special training. Or taint our friendship so quickly\"\n\nWarren nodded, his expression equally sincere. \"Yeah, big guy. We're happy to just… wait our turn, if this is something more private for you and the Lieutenant. We both… value our friendship with you more than anything.\"\n\nClover felt a warmth spread through his chest, touched by their consideration. He met their gazes, a genuine smile on his face. \"No, no, it's… it's fine. Really.\" He hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead, a thrilling honesty bubbling up. \"In fact, I'm… I'm glad you're coming. It feels… right.\" A part of him, the part that still remembered the sting of Barley’s teasing, felt a thrill at the idea of his friends witnessing this, of sharing this strangely exhilarating experience. And a deeper, newly awakened part of him, the part that had eagerly submitted to Baston in the bathhouse, was just plain eager. The thought of them all together, under the bulldog’s command… it sent a jolt of anticipation through him.\n\nRufus and Warren exchanged a quick, knowing glance, and then their faces broke into wide, reassuring grins.\n\n\"Good,\" Rufus said, clapping Clover on the shoulder. \"Because honestly, after that tale of sewer-geysers, a good, old-fashioned stable workout sounds positively delightful.\"\n\n\"And much less… messy,\" Warren chimed in, his tail wagging with enthusiasm. \"Let's not keep the Lieutenant waiting, then!\"\n\nThey made their way through the quieting barracks and out into the cool night air. The stables, a long, low building at the edge of the barracks complex, were dimly lit by a few flickering lanterns. The earthy scent of hay, horses, and worn leather hung heavy in the air.\n\nAs they approached, they could hear the soft nickering of horses and the occasional stamp of a hoof. It struck Clover as slightly odd to be surrounded by so many feral horses. Even on his family’s farm, most of the heavy labor was done by bipedal, anthro horses like himself and his brother. Feral horses, though beautiful, were rarer, mostly kept for riding by those wealthy enough to afford such a luxury.\n\nThe main stable doors were slightly ajar, and as they peered inside, they saw Lieutenant Baston waving them in from the doorway of a smaller room off to the side. He'd evidently been busy; the stable aisle was conspicuously empty of the usual groomsmen who tended to the animals. Club clearly valued his privacy, and theirs.\n\n\"In here, lads!\" Baston’s voice, though still gruff, held a note of something akin to pleased anticipation.\n\nThey stepped into what was clearly a tack room. Bridles, saddles, and various pieces of riding equipment hung neatly on the walls. In the center of the room, however, dominating the space, was a sturdy wooden pommel horse, its leather worn smooth and dark with age and use. It was the kind used for practicing mounting, or for fitting saddles and adjusting girths.\n\nLieutenant Baston had already started to undress. His guardsman’s tunic lay neatly folded on a nearby bench, and he was in the process of unbuckling the belt of his heavy leather trousers. He looked up as they entered, a faint, almost predatory smile touching his lips.\n\n\"Took you long enough,\" he grunted, though there was no real accusation in his tone. \"Right then. No time to waste. Strip down. All of you. Let's see what we're working with.\" His gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over them, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Clover, a silent, knowing look that made the Clydesdale’s skin tingle and his small horse cock give an eager, reflexive twitch within his trousers.\n\nAs they stripped down, it became quickly apparent that everyone had a different approach to their nudity. Warren and Rufus, used to the casual atmosphere of the bathhouse, got comfortable almost immediately. Rufus strips down quickly exposing his muscular wolf frame and his sheath was already rather plump with anticipation. Warren isn't far behind, the rabbit stripped down to show his leaner, sinewy build and his long, thinner humanoid cock is also half-hard between his legs. Club only strips down to his loincloth, but the 3 already know he has a rather huge cock on his smaller frame. The bulldog didn't seem to mind either; he barely even glanced at their equipment, already familiar with it from earlier encounters.\n\nClover, on the other hand, was a mix of apprehension and excitement, blushing slightly as he realized just how exposed he was. Still, he couldn't hide his hard cock, tenting outward in anticipation. He is less anxious with nudity now, but still shy given the unknown nature of what is about to happen next. He strips down more slowly and when he takes off his loincloth to reveal his own arousal; his cock juts out to its full 4 inches (10 cm) not as thicker than Warren but not as wide as what starts poking out of Rufus’ sheath.\n\n\"You know,\" Rufus said, running a paw appreciatively down Clover's flank, \"your build is impressive too, Clover. Keeping up with those anvils and such must take some doing!\" He gave the “smaller” horse a quick, affectionate pat on the arm.\n\n\"Indeed,\" Warren agreed, his own rabbit cock standing straight up now, slick with anticipation. \"And with that strength of yours, I can see why the Lieutenant chose you. You'd make quite the warhorse,\" he teased, nudging Clover's shoulder.\n\nClub, taking in the scene, chuckled darkly. \"Warhorse, huh? Might just be,\" he rumbled, his hands running over his equipment. \"Now, you ready to be mounted, stallion?\" He glanced at them all, his eyes glinting in the low light.\n\nShifting his gaze to Clover, the Clydesdale felt a jolt of arousal and fear mix together in his gut. This was it. What had started as a chance to observe guard life had turned into something… more. Something intimate and frightening and exhilarating all at once. He swallowed hard and nodded, submitting to his new role and taking a step toward the pommel horse.\n\nWarren and Rufus exchanged a glance, then Warren moved to stand by Club while Rufus eagerly crowded behind Clover. With a practiced ease, Club took charge, his hands running gently over Clover's flanks, feeling the play of muscle beneath taut skin. He nodded approvingly, deepening his voice to a rumbling purr.\n\n\"You're just as impressive up close, Clover. Now then…\" His hands came to rest on the horse's haunches, easing him to the pommel horse. The Clydesdale mounted it easily, feeling the weight of his chest settle onto the thick leather pad as he is guided face-down over the wooden frame.\n\nRufus moved in front of him, gently pulling the horse's mane to one side, his cock already leaking streaks of precum on the horse's cheek. Warren, meanwhile, stood close at his side while his hands guided a leather strap over Clover's girthy torso, cinching him in place with his arms locked to his sides. \n\nThe bulldog began tapping on his rump, a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure down Clover's spine. His muscles tensed and relaxed, responding to the strange, foreign motion. He could feel his friends' hot bodies pressing against him, their growing arousal evident as their scents drifted over him. His own cock twitched and throbbed, precum dribbling down onto the wood feet of the pommel horse.\n\nWarren began to massage his miniature horse cock, rubbing it gently and teasing it with his furred paw. Rufus continued to press his now hard canine cock against his face, the hot scent of musk and precum invaded the horses nostrils. And all the while, Club's voice rumbled low in his ear from behind him. \"That's it, Clover. Show us what you were made for.\"\n\nSoon enough, the tension became unbearable. Clover's hips began to buck and jerk on their own accord, and he realized, with a sense of wonder, that he was going to cum. He'd never done this before, not like this, but the sensation of being tied down was overwhelming. With a shuddering moan, he came, his thick seed splattering amongst the straw on the floor and marking it with his scent.\n\nWhen he finally came down from the high, his heart racing, he was still at their mercy. He was still tied to the pommel horse. \"I didn't mean to cum so quickly,\" Clover stammered, embarrassed.\n\nClub responded, out of his eyesight, \"Best to get the first one out quickly, little pony. Know you'll be more relaxed.\" But with a more demanding tone, directed at Rufus, \"Now let him get a taste of that wolf cock.\" And to Warren, \"And let him get a feel of that bunny cock under his tail.\" He felt Club lift his docked tail and apply a slick substance to his tailhole.\n\nClover bit his lip, his cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and nervousness. He needed to take some deep, calming breaths as he waited for Warren and Rufus to position themselves. Rufus's cock, now very slippery with precum, appeared in his line of sight. Up close, he could see the red tapered cock was lined with veins and easily double the length of his own.\n\n“Seen you eyeing up my cock enough to know you want this,” Rufus whispered in his ears. Without his hands to guide him, Clover relied upon Rufus to point it towards his open mouth and he eagerly began sucking it in. He was ready. So fucking ready. “That’s it, eager horsey.” Clover savored the somewhat metallic flavor akin to what he tasted on Clubs cock early this morning. It must be a trait of the canines.\n\nHe could also feel Warren’s bunny cock teasing under his tail searching for the best angle of attack. Although unpracticed at having his backdoor filled, Clover instinctively seems to know how to shift his hips to make it easier for his friend to enter him. Warren pulled back a bit, then with a single powerful thrust, sank deep inside him.\n\nIt felt… incredible. And bigger than Clover had ever expected, filling him up in a way that was both frightening and exhilarating. His own climax from before hadn't prepared him for this sensation, but it just made him want more. Warren's cock, long and slick, eased inside him, gliding against his prostate as he sank in. And suddenly he was taking both of them at once.\n\nThe three of them moved together now, their bodies in perfect sync. Warren's lean hips pumping against Clover's rump, and Rufus's strong wolf cock thrusting deeper. Each groan and cry from his friends echoed in the tack room, their scents filling the air. It was an intimate and erotic dance that seemed to go on forever. They were connected in a way he'd never been with anyone before, their sweat and lust mixing together.\n\nHe savored the taste of Rufus’s cock which seemed to have a never ending supply of precum that would jet out in spurts. Eventually, Warren came, spurting hot cum under his tail. Clover felt the throb of the bunny’s cock and the grunts of his friend more than the heat of the cum. But he felt it spurt out hotly on his tailhole as Warren pulled out while in the midst of cumming. He painted the Clydesdales ass and thighs in warm cream.\n\nThe sensation left Clover gasping for breath and his cock throbbed hard feeling the semen dripping from his balls. Club's rough hands ran up his backside, smearing some of the mess across his back and shoulders, leaving a magic mark of their bond.\n\nClover saw Club's massive, familiar cock enter his view and the gruff guardsman guided it alongside Rufus's own. The horse did his best to try and suck both canine's dripping cocks as they vied for dominance over his mouth. Until Club commanded Rufus, \"Now that his pussy's been broken in, why don't you take over back there.\" Although a little disappointed, Clover was eager to get a taste of that bulldog's cock, and had an easier time with just one large piece of dogmeat in his mouth. \n\nHe grunted with effort, however, as he felt Rufus enter him from behind. The tapered canine tip quickly expanded near the base, much thicker than the rabbit's cock had been. Clover revelled in the sensation of having his tailhole stretched wider. \n\nWarren caressed the bound Clydesdales back as he whispered in Clover's ears, \"You took your first cock very well.\" And he couldn't help but feel pleased with his new position as he was mounted by each of his new friends.\n\nAs Rufus began pounding his prostate mercilessly, Clubs cock fully entered his mouth and opened his throat. It was as hard as a lead pipe but the taste was tangy and rich. Clover lapped up the bulldog's pre-seed eagerly, taking as much as Club could give him. He tried to glance over to Warren as he felt the big rabbit's wet turgid cock pressing against his shoulder blade as he continued to stroke the horses back. He wanted to say thank you to Warren for being his first, but his throat was already occupied but he managed a gurgling moan.\n\nHe could hear the smile and warmth in Warren's voice, \"Just helping you fit in, Clover. You've proven to be a good sport.\" He leaned forward, pressing his lips briefly to Clover's cheek before he moved out of his line of sight. He felt the rabbits gentle touch teasing his dripping, pony cock.\n\nRufus too, withdrew from his tender hole, only to return with more force. His heavy balls slapped against Clover's tail, heralding another massive load. This time, however, Clover was ready. He met Rufus's thrust for thrust, matching him stroke for stroke as much as the tight leather strap would allow, until he felt warm seed coating his insides. Rufus growled low in his throat, slapping Clover's ass cheeks hard.\n\nFeeling Rufus behind him, his rock hard cock pummeling his prostate, Clover couldn't help but let out a moan after stifled moan. But then he heard Club's command, his voice deep and commanding. \"Rufus, you'll have to knot that little pony. Or he won't be loose enough for my big cock.\"\n\nInstinctively, Clover clenched his muscles, eager to feel Rufus's cock stretch him even more. But all he heard was the growl that rumbled from the bulldog's throat, \"Do it, wolf. You'll need to mark our property.\"\n\nRufus redoubled his efforts, his cock already leaking precum as he positioned himself for one final push. With a single, powerful thrust, his knot pierced Clover's tight ring of muscle, holding him immobile. There was a moment of pain, but it quickly gave way to ecstasy as Rufus started to move again in short bursts riding through his climax. The sensation of being owned, of belonging to someone else, was incredible. It was something Clover never thought he'd experience, but it made him feel complete in a way he'd never imagined. And he was spurred on by the throbbing knot massaging his prostate to his second orgasm of the night.\n\nIt was several long moments of choking on the bulldog’s cock before Rufus’s climax waned and his knot shrank down. He pulled out, grunting loudly. \"Now you're ours,\" he growls, slapping Clover's ass one last time before stepping back. He heard the scrape of wood on the floor as someone pulled a stole behind Clover’s dripping rear end.\n\nIn an instant, Club is behind Clover. \"It's time for you to learn about true submission,\" he rumbles, his tapered head of his massive cock pressing against Clover's stretched entrance. With a sudden, powerful thrust, half bulldog's full length enters the horse's body.\n\nClover gasps, feeling Club's impossibly thick shaft stretch him further than ever before. But it's not painful, not anymore. Each powerful stroke sends waves of pleasure coursing through him, and he grunts with each powerful stroke. Warren and Rufus had been gentler, but Clover was relishing in the strength and passion behind each of the bulldog's invasions of his inner core.\n\n\"That's it, little pony,\" Club groans, his growl deepening as his cock plunges deeper and deeper with each thrust. \"Take it all.\"\n\nThey move together effortlessly, their bodies becoming one as sweat and cum mingle on Clover's skin. He yearned to be able to push back to counter each piercing of his tailhole, but he arched his back and shifted his hips as the pommel horse groaned beneath him. Time seemed to melt away and although Clover knew a stream of grunts and words escaped his lips, he couldn’t recall any of them. \n\nIt was a while before Club’s knot forced its way inside the writhing Clydesdale. As they are locked in place, his hot seed shoots deep inside Clover's belly. He strokes the horse's back tenderly, murmuring words of praise that Clover can't quite make out. He is too engrossed in his third cum of the night. This one seemed even more powerful than the other two. \n\nThe flickering lantern light cast long shadows across the tack room as Clover, still bent over the pommel horse, felt Club's knot finally begin to subside. His legs trembled with exhaustion, but a profound sense of satisfaction coursed through his veins. Every muscle aches pleasantly, every part of him felt used in the most delicious way possible.\n\nAs Club gently withdrew, a warm rush of fluid followed, adding to the impressive pool already forming beneath them. The bulldog let out a satisfied grunt, his rough paw stroking Clover's sweaty flank with surprising tenderness.\n\n\"There we are, pony boy,\" Club rumbled, his voice hoarse from exertion. \"Now you know what you're truly made for.\"\n\nOnly then did Clover realize the stable had fallen quiet. Rufus and Warren had slipped away at some point during the marathon session, likely heading back to the barracks to catch a few precious hours of sleep before the dawn patrol. A twinge of disappointment mingled with his exhaustion—he'd hoped to thank them for their... participation. But there would be time for that.\n\nClub began to undo the leather straps binding Clover to the pommel horse, his movements unhurried and precise. \"Easy does it,\" he murmured as Clover's limbs, stiff from being held in position for so long, finally relaxed. \"You took that beautifully, Clover. Knew you had it in you.\"\n\nClover slowly straightened, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar ache between his legs. His movements were clumsy, his legs wobbling like a newborn foal's. When he finally managed to stand upright, he couldn't help but look down at the evidence of their activities—a substantial pool of mingled seed staining the floor, white and viscous in the dim light.\n\nA strange surge of pride filled him. That was better than any badge or medal. Proof that he had embraced his true nature, that he had submitted fully to what Club had seen in him from the beginning. He was a mare, a vessel, a receiver of pleasure. And somehow, that revelation felt more right, more honest, than any identity he'd tried to forge before.\n\n\"I... I need to clean up,\" he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.\n\nClub chuckled, already pulling on his trousers. \"Leave it. The stable boys will think the feral stallions got a bit frisky with each other.\" He winked, his scarred muzzle twisting into a grin. \"Better than the truth, eh?\"\n\nClover nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he began to gather his own clothes. Every movement reminded him of what had just transpired, of the way his body had been claimed and filled, used thoroughly by the three males. It should have been humiliating, perhaps, but instead, it felt like an initiation, a welcome.\n\n\"About tomorrow's patrol,\" Club said, interrupting Clover's thoughts. \"You'll be staying behind.\"\n\nClover looked up, surprise and a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. He'd been looking forward to joining the mission, to proving himself in the field. \"But sir, I—\"\n\nClub held up a paw, silencing him. \"Not a punishment, pony boy. A reprieve. After what you've just embraced—your true nature—you need rest. And I need you at your best for what comes after.\" His eyes, amber in the lantern light, held a knowing gleam. \"We'll have plenty of opportunities for you to serve me and the city. This is just the beginning.\"\n\nThere was something in the bulldog's tone, a promise of more evenings like this, of further explorations of his newly discovered role. And Clover, despite his exhaustion, felt a flutter of excitement at the prospect.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" he replied, a touch of eagerness in his voice.\n\n\"Good lad.\" Club reached up—way up—to pat Clover's cheek, a gesture both paternal and possessive. \"Clean yourself up, get some rest. Tomorrow, you can help Quartermaster Kreg with inventory. He's been complaining about needing stronger arms to move those heavy weapon crates.\"\n\nClover nodded, oddly grateful for the mundane assignment. It would give him time to process, to adjust to this new understanding of himself. And perhaps, to contemplate what it would mean to be both a guard and a mare, to serve in multiple ways.\n\nAs they finally left the stables, the cool night air a shock against his overheated skin, Clover cast one last glance at the building that had seen his transformation. The stars overhead seemed brighter somehow, as if acknowledging the change in him.\n\nHe followed Club back to the barracks, his gait slightly uneven, his tail hanging limply, still damp from their activities. The barracks were quiet, most guards either asleep or preparing for the dawn patrol. He made his way to his bunk, grateful to find it empty of both Rufus and Warren, likely busy with their own preparations.\n\nAs he settled in for the night, his body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure, Clover found himself already looking forward to their return, to hearing tales of their adventure. And perhaps, to further exploring this new dynamic between them all.\n\nFor now, though, sleep beckoned. And as he drifted off, the memory of Club's massive cock stretching him, filling him, claiming him, played through his mind like a sweet lullaby, confirming what he now knew to be true: he had found his place at last. As a mare, as a guardian, as a vessel for pleasure. And it felt right. So very, very right.\n\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "Finding a Mare in the Stable

The midday sun beat down on the North Gate, baking the cobblestones and making the air shimmer. The steady stream of morning traffic had dwindled to a trickle, a few merchants now, their carts lighter from delivering goods outside the city, their chatter more subdued. Clover, still stationed by the main archway, adjusted the stiff, ill-fitting tabard that still threatened to tear at the seams across his broad chest. His shift was nearly done, and despite the dull routine, a quiet confidence had settled over him.

"Another day, another dozen wagons of grain and timber through the gate," Rufus grumbled, leaning against a rough-hewn support beam. His eyes, usually sharp and inquisitive, held a flicker of boredom. "You'd think one nefarious person would try their luck, just to spice things up."

"Maybe you scare them off with that ferocious scowl, Rufus," Warren chirped, expertly flipping a flat, smooth stone into the air and catching it between his paws. He was perched atop a low wall, his keen rabbit eyes scanning the distant road with an almost preternatural calm. "Or perhaps they heard about the new giant guarding the gate and decided to try the West gate instead."

Clover chuckled, a warm rumble in his chest that momentarily startled a passing pigeon. "I assure you, I've done nothing more menacing than stand here and occasionally squint at a particularly dusty cart." The truth was, his mind had been far from the mundane duties of gatekeeping. The image of Lieutenant Baston, his name now ringing in Clover's ears with a new, thrilling resonance, and the memory of that raw encounter in the bathhouse, had been a constant hum beneath the surface of his thoughts. He still felt a lingering warmth deep in his gut, a phantom pressure that made his diminutive member twitch occasionally, a secret reminder of the previous morning's surrender.

"See?" Warren said, turning his gaze back to Rufus. "He's all politeness and gentle giants. No wonder it's quiet." He hopped down, landing silently. "Seriously though, Clover, how's the first full shift feeling? Any surprises besides the lack of suspicious types?"

Clover stretched his shoulders, feeling the familiar ache from yesterday's training, but now it was a comfortable ache, earned and understood. "Surprisingly... normal. I thought it would be more exciting, perhaps. But it's just a lot of waiting and watching." He paused, then added, a touch more seriously, "Though those boys this morning... that still feels off."

Rufus nodded, his earlier boredom melting into a familiar grimness. "Aye. Still chewing on that one. They just... vanished into the Thornwood. Lieutenant Club was right to be interested. He's got a nose for trouble, our Club." The wolf glanced at Clover, a knowing glint in his eye, though he said nothing further about why Club might have taken a particular interest in Clover.

"Well, if trouble comes, at least we know the North Gate's in good hands," Warren said, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Speaking of which, shift change soon, right? My stomach's rumbling for midday mess."

A grizzled old badger, Ensign Grimmel, ambled towards them, checking the angle of the sun as if to confirm the time was truly noon. "Alright, you lot! Shift's ending. Your relief will be here in a few minutes. Anything noteworthy?"

"Quiet as a tomb, Ensign," Rufus reported, snapping to attention. "Just the usual farmers and merchants. Oh, and a contingent of mercenaries with some young recruits this morning, heading towards the Thornwood. Lieutenant Club was informed."

Grimmel grunted. "Club, eh? He'll handle it. Good. Everyone to the mess, then get ready for the afternoon drills. And Clover," the Ensign fixed him with a stare, "Lieutenant said to remind you to see him directly after your meal. Something about 'special training."

Clover felt a fresh wave of heat creep up his neck, but he met Grimmel's gaze without flinching. "Yes, Ensign. I remember."

As the badger walked away, Rufus nudged Clover. "See? I told you. Always making an impression." His wolfish grin was back in full force.

"Indeed," Warren echoed, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Hope you're ready for whatever 'special training' the Lieutenant has in mind for you. Club's known for his... unique methods of instruction."

Clover just smiled, a slight, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips. He was ready; at least his little horse cock certainly was. The uneventful shift had done nothing to calm the eager anticipation bubbling beneath his calm exterior. He walked alongside his friends towards the mess hall, feeling more a part of this strange new path. The dull routine of the guard post, the easy companionship of Rufus and Warren, and the unspoken, thrilling promise of Clubs “special training” – it was all weaving together into something far more… exciting than he could have ever imagined.

The clatter of tin plates and the boisterous chatter of the mess hall enveloped Clover, Rufus, and Warren as they found an empty table. Clover piled his tray high with stew and a generous portion of bread, his appetite surprisingly robust despite the lingering churn of anticipation in his gut.

"So," Rufus began, tearing into a hunk of dark bread, "sounds like the Lieutenant's 'special training' might be on hold for a bit."

Warren, meticulously peeling a hard-boiled egg, nodded. "Heard some of the older sergeants talking near the kitchens. Apparently, Captain Valerius wasn't in a receptive mood for whatever Club was pitching. Something about 'unsubstantiated claims' and 'wasting valuable resources'."

Clover felt a pang of disappointment, quickly followed by a surge of sympathy for the bulldog. He'd only known Club a short while, but the Lieutenant's gruff exterior clearly masked a deep-seated dedication to his duties, something the noble Captain, from the sounds of it, rarely appreciated.

"Captain Valerius," Rufus snorted, his muzzle wrinkled in disdain. "More concerned with the shine on his mane than the state of the city's defenses. Club and him seem to argue more often than stags lock horns  in rutting season. Heard Club stormed out, muttering about 'needing some air'."

"Which usually means he's halfway to the bottom of a tankard at the Rusty Mug by now," Warren added, popping the egg into his mouth. "Or maybe the Leaky Flagon. He has a few preferred establishments for 'getting air'."

Clover poked at his stew. His free afternoon, which had hummed with the electric possibility of another encounter with Club , now stretched before him, empty and a little deflating. The secret thrill of their bathhouse rendezvous still warmed him, but the prospect of further "training" seemed to have evaporated with Club’s temper.

"So, what's the plan then, Clover?" Rufus asked, noticing the Clydesdale's subdued mood. "No more official duties for you today, right?"

Clover shook his head. "No. Just the late afternoon training drills, but everyone's rostered for that."

"Well," Rufus said, wiping his mouth with the back of his paw, "no sense in moping around the barracks. How about we head down to the Wayside Inn? It's just outside the Gate. The ale's cheap – even if it tastes like it's been waved over a barrel of actual good stuff – and it's where most of the off-duty lads go to unwind. Good place to hear the city's gossip, meet a few more of the veterans. What do you say?"

Warren's ears perked up. "The Wayside? Haven't been there in ages. They sometimes have a minstrel who's surprisingly not terrible. And you're right, Rufus, it's a good spot to… network." He gave Clover a sly look. "Might even run into someone interesting."

The thought of more socializing, especially after his recent, very private socializing, made Clover hesitate for a moment. But the prospect of stewing in the barracks, dwelling on missed opportunities with Baston, was even less appealing. Plus, spending more time with Rufus and Warren, his first real friends in the guard, felt right.

"Alright," Clover agreed, a small smile returning to his face. "The Wayside sounds good. Lead the way."

The walk through the North Gate was filled with the usual greetings, but once they passed through its arches, the atmosphere shifted. The Wayside Inn itself was a rambling, two-story timber building, its sign – a faded painting of a welcoming hearth – creaking gently in the breeze. The sound of boisterous laughter and the clinking of mugs spilled from its open doorway.

As the trio approached, the inn's door swung open and two figures emerged, immediately drawing their attention. They were, to put it mildly, an unusual pair.

The first was a dragon. Not one of the colossal, mountain-dwelling terrors of legend, but still an impressive creature, easily half a hand taller than Clover. His scales were the color of burnished bronze, gleaming in the sunlight, and a plume of pale smoke drifted from his nostrils as he surveyed the road. His claws were thick and black, and his emerald eyes, slitted like a cat's, held a determined glint. He moved with a heavy, deliberate grace that spoke of immense power barely contained.

At his side, looking almost comically small in comparison, was a raccoon. He was young, barely more than a kit, with the lanky awkwardness of a teenager. His fur was a mix of grey and black, his ringed tail twitching nervously as he clutched a worn leather satchel to his chest. He kept glancing up at the dragon, then quickly back at the ground, a mixture of awe and anxiety on his pointed face.

The dragon rumbled something in a low, throaty voice that Clover couldn't quite catch, and the raccoon nodded quickly, his striped tail giving a particularly agitated flick. Without a further word, the pair turned and began walking away from the inn, heading down the road leading deeper into the thin woods bordering the Thornwood.

"Well, now," Rufus breathed, his earlier boredom completely gone, replaced by a wolfish curiosity. "You don't see that every day."

Warren was practically vibrating with excitement, his nose twitching. "A racoon and a… bronze dragon!? What in Velor are they doing at the Wayside?"

Clover stared after the departing duo, his earlier order from Lieutenant Club echoing in his mind: Watch for unusual persons. This, he thought, definitely qualified. The image of the pale, scared boys being led into the Thornwood also flashed in his mind. The forest seemed to be a nexus of strange occurrences today.

The worn oak door of the Wayside Inn creaked open, admitting the trio into a warm, smoky haze. The din of conversation, punctuated by hearty laughter and the occasional crashing of a dropped mug, washed over them. The air was thick with the scent of stale ale, roasting meat, and the faint, underlying musk of bodies.

Clover, still a bit awestruck by the sight of the dragon with the raccoon, was lost in thought when his large hooves bumped against something solid, sending him stumbling. He instinctively braced himself, expecting to hit the floor, but instead found himself catching his balance against a surprisingly firm, albeit slightly wobbly, mass.

"Whoa there, partner!" a gruff voice slurred, followed by a theatrical, if not entirely steady, flourish of a paw.

Clover blinked, focusing on the source of the voice. There, looking remarkably unsteady on his feet, was none other than Lieutenant Club. His brow was furrowed, his scarred muzzle smudged with what looked like a splash of ale, and his usually sharp amber eyes were a touch unfocused. Yet, even in his inebriated state, there was an undeniable intensity to his demeanor.

"Clover!" Club attempted a salute, which turned into a clumsy wave. "Fancy meeting you… here. And Rufus, Warren, good chaps." He swayed precariously. "Listen, about that training session… I’m terribly s-sorry. Captain Valerius… well, the good Captain and I… had a bit of a disagreement. Utmost importance, you see. Needs my immediate… attention."

Clover, regaining his composure, offered a hesitant nod. "Lieutenant Baston," he greeted, the name feeling like a warm, shared secret on his tongue. "No harm done. We were just heading over for a drink ourselves."

Club snorted, a sound that was more of a wheeze. "A drink? Bah! Not now, lad. I’ve got… evidence!" He puffed out his chest, nearly toppling over. "Little… brats. Mercenaries. But not just mercs. Slavers! Trafficking our own bloody citizens! The Captain, bless his fluffy ego, thinks it's all a wild goose chase. But I know! And I’ve got proof… soon. Need to find the right ears, that's all."

He leaned in conspiratorially, his breath a potent mix of ale and something vaguely metallic. "This whole dragon and raccoon thing… a coincidence? No. Connected, perhaps. Keep your eyes peeled, Clover. You too, Rufus, Warren. Unusual persons. That's the key. I'll delay our session. Just… just a little. Need to call in some favors." With a final, wobbly nod, Club  straightened himself with a Herculean effort and, with a determined set to his jaw, plowed his way through the throng towards the inn’s back exit, presumably in search of those essential "right ears."

The trio watched him go, a mixture of amusement and concern on their faces.

"Well, that was… eventful," Rufus commented, shaking his head. "Club’s really got a bee in his bonnet about those mercenaries."

"And a very large amount of ale in his belly, it seems," Warren added, adjusting his satchel. "But he might be onto something, you know. Those boys looked far too scared to be 'recruits'."

Clover found himself surprisingly invested in the unfolding drama. The idea of slavers operating within the city, masked as legitimate mercenaries, sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the cool evening air. "If we see anything… anything at all… maybe we should mention it to Rufus's father? Or someone who might listen?"

Rufus shrugged, his wolfish grin returning. "My old man likes to keep his nose clean these days, prefer reading instead of getting his paws dirty. But there are other ways to sniff out trouble. And for now," he gestured towards a table in a dimly lit corner, "we've got a different kind of 'unusual business' to attend to. My treat. I owe you guys for putting up with my… personal exploits."

They settled at the table, the low murmur of the inn providing a comfortable backdrop. Rufus, after ordering three mugs of their watered-down ale, leaned back, a peculiar glint in his eye.

"So," he began, his voice dropping a notch, "since we're all being honest about our secret lives…" He took a long sip of his ale, then looked at Clover and Warren, his expression surprisingly nonchalant. "Last week, I spent a rather… illuminating evening with a gentleman. A male whore, down in the Crimson Alley. Quite the experience, really."

Clover blinked, a little taken aback, but curious. He knew Rufus was adventurous, but this was something else entirely for the typically reserved wolf. Warren, meanwhile, simply nodded, his tail giving a small, almost sympathetic waggle.

"Crimson Alley?" Warren prompted softly, a wrinkle appearing on his nose. "That's literally a cesspool, Rufus. Not many venture there unless they're truly desperate... for a good scrubbing afterwards, perhaps?"

"Desperate for… release maybe!" Rufus corrected, a faint flush rising on his muzzle, though his eyes sparkled mischievously. He wasn't bothered by Warren's playful jab. "And the crowd… oh, it was quite the spectacle! The gentleman in question, quite the performer, I must say. He offered a rather… athletic display of his talents, a sort of spontaneous street-side ballet for anyone who cared to look. And I… well, I found myself quite captivated by his artistry."

He took a dramatic pause, then added with a flourish, "Took part, you could say. Had the best seat in the house, front row, no less!" He shrugged, as if discussing his latest meal. "It was… invigorating! And besides, lots of the lads from the guard pop down there for a bit of 'discretionary entertainment.' Hardly a secret among those who know the city's hidden little delights."

Clover felt a strange mix of admiration and bewildered fascination. Rufus, the stoic wolf, engaging in such a bold, public display? He couldn't quite reconcile it. But then, Baston had done something even more shocking, and Clover had to admit, he rather liked it.

Rufus then took another, longer drink of his ale, his gaze drifting towards an unseen point beyond the tavern walls. His casual bravado wavered, replaced by a flicker of something… less amused.

"But the part," he continued, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, "the part that nearly knocked me off my paws… happened right after. We were still there, in the alley, basking in the afterglow, when the sewer grate… it just… exploded! Not with water, mind you, but with… well, it was like the entire underground plumbing system decided to have a grand, sticky climax! A veritable geyser of… stuff. An 'unholy flood,' they're calling it on the streets, but I swear it looked like the biggest, stickiest, most baffling… er, bodily fluid you ever saw. Like the city itself had eaten too much rich food and just… urp! Right there, flung into the air, splashing everywhere!"

He shuddered dramatically, his fur bristling, as if reliving the damp, bewildering moment. "I was absolutely drenched! And let me tell you, explaining that to the quartermaster when you need new breeches is a whole other kind of public spectacle." He rubbed his face, a look of profound, albeit slightly comical, bewilderment on his features. "One minute you're enjoying the sights, the next you're dodging a… a creamy cascade from the underworld!"

Clover and Warren exchanged wide-eyed glances, trying to suppress the giggles that bubbled up at the image of a bewildered, cum-soaked Rufus. The thought of sewer systems ejaculating was absurd, yet the genuine bewilderment and slight embarrassment on Rufus's face made it alarmingly real. It spoke of a city that held more than just guards and merchants, a place where the mundane could suddenly turn bizarre, and where even a seasoned guardsman could be caught, quite literally, with his breeches down, by an inexplicable deluge.

Warren finally gave in and dissolved into peals of laughter, tears forming in the corners of his bright eyes. "Oh, Rufus! You weren't kidding! An explosion of cum!" He wiped his eyes, still shaking with mirth. "I heard whispers that the alley was… well, cleaner than usual lately. But I never imagined why!" He leaned back, his tail twitching with residual amusement. "That's almost as good as imagining you trying to explain that to the lieutenant, Rufus. I bet you’d be hopping mad, trying to look innocent while smelling faintly of, shall we say, 'sewer overflow'!"

Rufus, caught in the tide of Warren's mirth, eventually cracked a sheepish grin. "Honestly, Warren, the walk back to the barracks was far more mortifying than anything that happened in the alley itself. Trying to look like a dignified wolf on patrol when you're damp, slightly smelly, and have the distinct sensation of having been slimed by the city's very plumbing… that's an embarrassment no amount of 'discretionary entertainment' can prepare you for." He sighed dramatically. "You two must have your own tales of woe. I’m practically an open book compared to whatever you’re hiding."

Warren, having finally regained some semblance of composure, gestured with a paw. "Oh, I have my moments. There was this one time, not too long ago, I was quite engrossed in… exploring my own personal sensations, shall we say. Being a bit… hands-on with myself, you know, behind the privacy of my own bedroom door. And my younger brother, Franky, he’s always been suspiciously quiet when he sneaks around. Well, he bursts in without a knock, right as I’m at the… climax of my exploration. And he just stood there, mouth agape, staring. I swear, for a solid minute, neither of us moved. Then he just whispered, 'Wow, you do that with your face?'"

Clover let out a surprised snort of laughter. That was genuinely funny, and it made his own secret feel a little less like a burden.

He fiddled with the edge of his tankard, his hooves shifting beneath the table. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a familiar, unwelcome warmth. "Well," he began, his voice a low rumble, softer than usual. "Mine's not quite as… exciting as yours, Rufus. Or as startling as yours, Warren." He cleared his throat, feeling the weight of his friends’ expectant gazes. "It’s just… my… It's… small. Compared to everyone else, I mean."

He risked a glance at them. Rufus’s usually jovial expression was solemn and attentive. Warren’s ears had perked up, his bright eyes curious and understanding.

"My older brother, Barley," Clover continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "as tall and strong as he is, always had a knack for teasing. When I was younger, and my… well, my little dickwas even more undeveloped, he used to call me a ‘mare’ when our parents weren’t around. Said I was all bulk and no… equipment to match." He managed a weak, rueful chuckle. "Even now… it’s just so… little. Compared to, I don’t know, a wolf's, or a bulldog's, or even a raccoon's, I imagine." He finally looked up, his large, honest eyes filled with a vulnerable hope. "It's always felt like a bit of a… mistake. Like I was built wrong."

Rufus reached across the table and placed a large paw on Clover's forearm, a gesture of surprising gentleness. "Hey, now," he said firmly, his voice kind. "Don't you even start with that kind of talk, Clover. Size isn't everything. You're strong, you’re kind, and you’ve got a good heart. That counts for more than anything down there."

Warren nodded vigorously, his nose twitching. "He’s absolutely right, Clover. Think about it – you’re a Clydesdale! You’re built for pulling, for power, for steady strength. That’s a different kind of… endowment. And honestly," he leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a mere whisper, "sometimes the most intense sensations come from the places you least expect, or are most… focused. Besides," he winked, "Club seemed to think your equipment was quite… adequate, didn't he?"

Clover felt a wave of warmth spread through him, a different kind of heat than the earlier blush. His friends' words, their simple acceptance, were more comforting than he could have ever imagined. He might not have a massive member, or an epic sewer-related mishap, but he had them. And for the first time, that felt like more than enough.

The afternoon drills, led by Ensign Moreau, proved to be exactly as Clover had predicted: mundane. He moved through the familiar lunges, parries, and shield thrusts with a growing sense of proficiency. His movements, while still lacking the fluid grace of some of the fox and rabbit recruits, were not as clumsy. He was strong, steady, and increasingly capable.

By the time the Ensign signaled the end of the session, Clover was tired, certainly, but it was a comfortable fatigue. More of a satisfaction in muscles worked and skills being honed and a far cry from the complete exhaustion of his first day. Rufus moved efficiently, his blows precise, while Warren, with his scout’s agility, darted and weaved, a blur of motion.

Afterward they headed to the mess hall for the evening meal. The air was thick with the scent of stew and the weary cheer of guardsmen winding down.They had just finished their bowls of stew, lingering over mugs of weak tea, when a familiar, gruff voice cut through the mess hall chatter.

"Alright, you three! A word. Now."

It was Lieutenant Club. He stood framed in the doorway, back from his "airing out," his uniform surprisingly neat and his eyes still held a more familiar sharpness, a hint of steel that few dared to cross. The last remnants of ale-induced haziness seemed to have burned off, replaced by a focused, determined energy.

Clover’s heart gave a little leap. This was it. The long-awaited "unusual business." He exchanged glances with Rufus and Warren, a sudden spark of excitement replacing their post-dinner languor.

They followed Club to his small, cluttered office, which smelled faintly of old parchment and dog. Maps covered one wall, and a stack of various reports teetered precariously on his desk. He waited until the door was shut firmly behind them before turning, his gaze sweeping over each of them.

"Good news, lads," Club began, a predatory gleam in his eye that sent a shiver, not of fear, but of anticipation, down Clover's spine. "I pulled some strings. Went over the Captain's fluffy head straight to Lord Kael's personal clerk. Turns out, Lord Kael isn't keen on the idea of slavers using his city as a hunting ground, especially when they're snatching local children."

He paced the small space, his heavy paws thudding softly on the wooden floor. "So, I've got permission. A dawn patrol. Into the Thornwood. We're going to root out those ruffians. And you three, along with a handful of volunteers," he pointed a stubby finger at them, "are coming with me."

Clover felt a surge of adrenaline. This was far more interesting than gate duty. And the thought of being personally chosen by Baston added a delicious edge to the excitement.

"It'll be dangerous," the bulldog  continued, his voice grim. "These aren't common bandits. They're organized. And they're clearly not afraid to operate close to the city. But if we can track them down, if we can rescue those boys… it'll be worth it. It'll give me the leverage I need to get Captain Valerius to take something seriously."

He stopped pacing, his gaze settling on Clover, and the predatory glint in his eyes softened, becoming something more intimate, more personal. His secret.

"And speaking of being wound up," Club said, his voice dropping slightly, "I'm too keyed up for sleep. I had a feeling this would work out. So, Clover…" He paused, and Clover’s breath hitched, his little horse cock giving a nervous, excited twitch. "Your special training session is long overdue. Meet me in the stables. Immediately."

Then, almost as an afterthought, Club glanced at Rufus and Warren, a flicker of genuine appreciation in his gaze. "You know what? I've seen you three sticking together like burrs on a badger. And frankly, with what's coming, you two could use the extra… conditioning as well. I'm inviting you both to join us. I know you both appreciate a good workout." He winked at them, a knowing, slightly mischievous glint in his eyes that was entirely devoid of any sexual connotation towards Rufus and Warren, but Clover knew was aimed directly at him, a silent confirmation of the true nature of his "special training."

Rufus's tail gave a tentative wag, and Warren's ears perked up, a wide grin spreading across his face. "A workout? In the stables, Lieutenant?" Warren asked, his voice laced with feigned innocence. "We'd be honored!"

Club simply grunted, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Good. Now stop gabbing. Chop chop! We leave at dawn, so we can’t waste time clucking like hens" With that, he turned and strode out of the mess hall, leaving the three friends sitting there, a flurry of anticipation and unspoken questions hanging in the air.

Clover, his heart thrumming with a mixture of excitement and nervous thrill, knew exactly what kind of "workout" Baston had in mind. And the fact that Rufus and Warren would be there, oblivious to the deeper layers of interaction, only made it more exhilarating. The secret, the true nature of his "training," remained a deliciously private pact between him and Club. And that, he realized, made it all the more potent.

The three friends lingered in the hall for a few moments after Baston’s departure, a comfortable silence settling between them. They understood, without needing to say it, that the Lieutenant appreciated discretion. Giving Club a head start to the stables felt like a silent acknowledgment of that.

"Well," Rufus said, breaking the quiet, "that was… unexpected. And rather direct." He looked at Clover, a gentle curiosity in his wolfish eyes. "You alright with us tagging along, Clover? For this… 'workout'? We wouldn't want to intrude on your special training. Or taint our friendship so quickly"

Warren nodded, his expression equally sincere. "Yeah, big guy. We're happy to just… wait our turn, if this is something more private for you and the Lieutenant. We both… value our friendship with you more than anything."

Clover felt a warmth spread through his chest, touched by their consideration. He met their gazes, a genuine smile on his face. "No, no, it's… it's fine. Really." He hesitated for a moment, then plunged ahead, a thrilling honesty bubbling up. "In fact, I'm… I'm glad you're coming. It feels… right." A part of him, the part that still remembered the sting of Barley’s teasing, felt a thrill at the idea of his friends witnessing this, of sharing this strangely exhilarating experience. And a deeper, newly awakened part of him, the part that had eagerly submitted to Baston in the bathhouse, was just plain eager. The thought of them all together, under the bulldog’s command… it sent a jolt of anticipation through him.

Rufus and Warren exchanged a quick, knowing glance, and then their faces broke into wide, reassuring grins.

"Good," Rufus said, clapping Clover on the shoulder. "Because honestly, after that tale of sewer-geysers, a good, old-fashioned stable workout sounds positively delightful."

"And much less… messy," Warren chimed in, his tail wagging with enthusiasm. "Let's not keep the Lieutenant waiting, then!"

They made their way through the quieting barracks and out into the cool night air. The stables, a long, low building at the edge of the barracks complex, were dimly lit by a few flickering lanterns. The earthy scent of hay, horses, and worn leather hung heavy in the air.

As they approached, they could hear the soft nickering of horses and the occasional stamp of a hoof. It struck Clover as slightly odd to be surrounded by so many feral horses. Even on his family’s farm, most of the heavy labor was done by bipedal, anthro horses like himself and his brother. Feral horses, though beautiful, were rarer, mostly kept for riding by those wealthy enough to afford such a luxury.

The main stable doors were slightly ajar, and as they peered inside, they saw Lieutenant Baston waving them in from the doorway of a smaller room off to the side. He'd evidently been busy; the stable aisle was conspicuously empty of the usual groomsmen who tended to the animals. Club clearly valued his privacy, and theirs.

"In here, lads!" Baston’s voice, though still gruff, held a note of something akin to pleased anticipation.

They stepped into what was clearly a tack room. Bridles, saddles, and various pieces of riding equipment hung neatly on the walls. In the center of the room, however, dominating the space, was a sturdy wooden pommel horse, its leather worn smooth and dark with age and use. It was the kind used for practicing mounting, or for fitting saddles and adjusting girths.

Lieutenant Baston had already started to undress. His guardsman’s tunic lay neatly folded on a nearby bench, and he was in the process of unbuckling the belt of his heavy leather trousers. He looked up as they entered, a faint, almost predatory smile touching his lips.

"Took you long enough," he grunted, though there was no real accusation in his tone. "Right then. No time to waste. Strip down. All of you. Let's see what we're working with." His gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over them, lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Clover, a silent, knowing look that made the Clydesdale’s skin tingle and his small horse cock give an eager, reflexive twitch within his trousers.

As they stripped down, it became quickly apparent that everyone had a different approach to their nudity. Warren and Rufus, used to the casual atmosphere of the bathhouse, got comfortable almost immediately. Rufus strips down quickly exposing his muscular wolf frame and his sheath was already rather plump with anticipation. Warren isn't far behind, the rabbit stripped down to show his leaner, sinewy build and his long, thinner humanoid cock is also half-hard between his legs. Club only strips down to his loincloth, but the 3 already know he has a rather huge cock on his smaller frame. The bulldog didn't seem to mind either; he barely even glanced at their equipment, already familiar with it from earlier encounters.

Clover, on the other hand, was a mix of apprehension and excitement, blushing slightly as he realized just how exposed he was. Still, he couldn't hide his hard cock, tenting outward in anticipation. He is less anxious with nudity now, but still shy given the unknown nature of what is about to happen next. He strips down more slowly and when he takes off his loincloth to reveal his own arousal; his cock juts out to its full 4 inches (10 cm) not as thicker than Warren but not as wide as what starts poking out of Rufus’ sheath.

"You know," Rufus said, running a paw appreciatively down Clover's flank, "your build is impressive too, Clover. Keeping up with those anvils and such must take some doing!" He gave the “smaller” horse a quick, affectionate pat on the arm.

"Indeed," Warren agreed, his own rabbit cock standing straight up now, slick with anticipation. "And with that strength of yours, I can see why the Lieutenant chose you. You'd make quite the warhorse," he teased, nudging Clover's shoulder.

Club, taking in the scene, chuckled darkly. "Warhorse, huh? Might just be," he rumbled, his hands running over his equipment. "Now, you ready to be mounted, stallion?" He glanced at them all, his eyes glinting in the low light.

Shifting his gaze to Clover, the Clydesdale felt a jolt of arousal and fear mix together in his gut. This was it. What had started as a chance to observe guard life had turned into something… more. Something intimate and frightening and exhilarating all at once. He swallowed hard and nodded, submitting to his new role and taking a step toward the pommel horse.

Warren and Rufus exchanged a glance, then Warren moved to stand by Club while Rufus eagerly crowded behind Clover. With a practiced ease, Club took charge, his hands running gently over Clover's flanks, feeling the play of muscle beneath taut skin. He nodded approvingly, deepening his voice to a rumbling purr.

"You're just as impressive up close, Clover. Now then…" His hands came to rest on the horse's haunches, easing him to the pommel horse. The Clydesdale mounted it easily, feeling the weight of his chest settle onto the thick leather pad as he is guided face-down over the wooden frame.

Rufus moved in front of him, gently pulling the horse's mane to one side, his cock already leaking streaks of precum on the horse's cheek. Warren, meanwhile, stood close at his side while his hands guided a leather strap over Clover's girthy torso, cinching him in place with his arms locked to his sides.

The bulldog began tapping on his rump, a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure down Clover's spine. His muscles tensed and relaxed, responding to the strange, foreign motion. He could feel his friends' hot bodies pressing against him, their growing arousal evident as their scents drifted over him. His own cock twitched and throbbed, precum dribbling down onto the wood feet of the pommel horse.

Warren began to massage his miniature horse cock, rubbing it gently and teasing it with his furred paw. Rufus continued to press his now hard canine cock against his face, the hot scent of musk and precum invaded the horses nostrils. And all the while, Club's voice rumbled low in his ear from behind him. "That's it, Clover. Show us what you were made for."

Soon enough, the tension became unbearable. Clover's hips began to buck and jerk on their own accord, and he realized, with a sense of wonder, that he was going to cum. He'd never done this before, not like this, but the sensation of being tied down was overwhelming. With a shuddering moan, he came, his thick seed splattering amongst the straw on the floor and marking it with his scent.

When he finally came down from the high, his heart racing, he was still at their mercy. He was still tied to the pommel horse. "I didn't mean to cum so quickly," Clover stammered, embarrassed.

Club responded, out of his eyesight, "Best to get the first one out quickly, little pony. Know you'll be more relaxed." But with a more demanding tone, directed at Rufus, "Now let him get a taste of that wolf cock." And to Warren, "And let him get a feel of that bunny cock under his tail." He felt Club lift his docked tail and apply a slick substance to his tailhole.

Clover bit his lip, his cheeks flushed with a mix of arousal and nervousness. He needed to take some deep, calming breaths as he waited for Warren and Rufus to position themselves. Rufus's cock, now very slippery with precum, appeared in his line of sight. Up close, he could see the red tapered cock was lined with veins and easily double the length of his own.

“Seen you eyeing up my cock enough to know you want this,” Rufus whispered in his ears. Without his hands to guide him, Clover relied upon Rufus to point it towards his open mouth and he eagerly began sucking it in. He was ready. So fucking ready. “That’s it, eager horsey.”  Clover savored the somewhat metallic flavor akin to what he tasted on Clubs cock early this morning. It must be a trait of the canines.

He could also feel Warren’s bunny cock teasing under his tail searching for the best angle of attack. Although unpracticed at having his backdoor filled, Clover instinctively seems to know how to shift his hips to make it easier for his friend to enter him. Warren pulled back a bit, then with a single powerful thrust, sank deep inside him.

It felt… incredible. And bigger than Clover had ever expected, filling him up in a way that was both frightening and exhilarating. His own climax from before hadn't prepared him for this sensation, but it just made him want more. Warren's cock, long and slick, eased inside him, gliding against his prostate as he sank in. And suddenly he was taking both of them at once.

The three of them moved together now, their bodies in perfect sync. Warren's lean hips pumping against Clover's rump, and Rufus's strong wolf cock thrusting deeper. Each groan and cry from his friends echoed in the tack room, their scents filling the air. It was an intimate and erotic dance that seemed to go on forever. They were connected in a way he'd never been with anyone before, their sweat and lust mixing together.

He savored the taste of Rufus’s cock which seemed to have a never ending supply of precum that would jet out in spurts. Eventually, Warren came, spurting hot cum under his tail. Clover felt the throb of the bunny’s cock and the grunts of his friend more than the heat of the cum. But he felt it spurt out hotly on his tailhole as Warren pulled out while in the midst of cumming. He painted the Clydesdales ass and thighs in warm cream.

The sensation left Clover gasping for breath and his cock throbbed hard feeling the semen dripping from his balls. Club's rough hands ran up his backside, smearing some of the mess across his back and shoulders, leaving a magic mark of their bond.

Clover saw Club's massive, familiar cock enter his view and the gruff guardsman guided it alongside Rufus's own. The horse did his best to try and suck both canine's dripping cocks as they vied for dominance over his mouth. Until Club commanded Rufus, "Now that his pussy's been broken in, why don't you take over back there." Although a little disappointed, Clover was eager to get a taste of that bulldog's cock, and had an easier time with just one large piece of dogmeat in his mouth.

He grunted with effort, however, as he felt Rufus enter him from behind. The tapered canine tip quickly expanded near the base, much thicker than the rabbit's cock had been. Clover revelled in the sensation of having his tailhole stretched wider.

Warren caressed the bound Clydesdales back as he whispered in Clover's ears, "You took your first cock very well." And he couldn't help but feel pleased with his new position as he was mounted by each of his new friends.

As Rufus began pounding his prostate mercilessly, Clubs cock fully entered his mouth and opened his throat. It was as hard as a lead pipe but the taste was tangy and rich. Clover lapped up the bulldog's pre-seed eagerly, taking as much as Club could give him. He tried to glance over to Warren as he felt the big rabbit's wet turgid  cock pressing against his shoulder blade as he continued to stroke the horses back. He wanted to say thank you to Warren for being his first, but his throat was already occupied but he managed a gurgling moan.

He could hear the smile and warmth in Warren's voice, "Just helping you fit in, Clover. You've proven to be a good sport." He leaned forward, pressing his lips briefly to Clover's cheek before he moved out of his line of sight. He felt the rabbits gentle touch teasing his dripping, pony cock.

Rufus too, withdrew from his tender hole, only to return with more force. His heavy balls slapped against Clover's tail, heralding another massive load. This time, however, Clover was ready. He met Rufus's thrust for thrust, matching him stroke for stroke as much as the tight leather strap would allow, until he felt warm seed coating his insides. Rufus growled low in his throat, slapping Clover's ass cheeks hard.

Feeling Rufus behind him, his rock hard cock pummeling his prostate, Clover couldn't help but let out a moan after stifled moan. But then he heard Club's command, his voice deep and commanding. "Rufus, you'll have to knot that little pony. Or he won't be loose enough for my big cock."

Instinctively, Clover clenched his muscles, eager to feel Rufus's cock stretch him even more. But all he heard was the growl that rumbled from the bulldog's throat, "Do it, wolf. You'll need to mark our property."

Rufus redoubled his efforts, his cock already leaking precum as he positioned himself for one final push. With a single, powerful thrust, his knot pierced Clover's tight ring of muscle, holding him immobile. There was a moment of pain, but it quickly gave way to ecstasy as Rufus started to move again in short bursts riding through his climax. The sensation of being owned, of belonging to someone else, was incredible. It was something Clover never thought he'd experience, but it made him feel complete in a way he'd never imagined. And he was spurred on by the throbbing knot massaging his prostate to his second orgasm of the night.

It was several long moments of choking on the bulldog’s cock before Rufus’s climax waned and his knot shrank down. He pulled out, grunting loudly. "Now you're ours," he growls, slapping Clover's ass one last time before stepping back. He heard the scrape of wood on the floor as someone pulled a stole behind Clover’s dripping rear end.

In an instant, Club is behind Clover. "It's time for you to learn about true submission," he rumbles, his tapered head of his massive cock pressing against Clover's stretched entrance. With a sudden, powerful thrust, half bulldog's full length enters the horse's body.

Clover gasps, feeling Club's impossibly thick shaft stretch him further than ever before. But it's not painful, not anymore. Each powerful stroke sends waves of pleasure coursing through him, and he grunts with each powerful stroke. Warren and Rufus had been gentler, but Clover was relishing in the strength and passion behind each of the bulldog's invasions of his inner core.

"That's it, little pony," Club groans, his growl deepening as his cock plunges deeper and deeper with each thrust. "Take it all."

They move together effortlessly, their bodies becoming one as sweat and cum mingle on Clover's skin. He yearned to be able to push back to counter each piercing of his tailhole, but he arched his back and shifted his hips as the pommel horse groaned beneath him. Time seemed to melt away and although Clover knew a stream of grunts and words escaped his lips, he couldn’t recall any of them.

It was a while before Club’s knot forced its way inside the writhing Clydesdale. As they are locked in place,  his hot seed shoots deep inside Clover's belly. He strokes the horse's back tenderly, murmuring words of praise that Clover can't quite make out. He is too engrossed in his third cum of the night. This one seemed even more powerful than the other two.

The flickering lantern light cast long shadows across the tack room as Clover, still bent over the pommel horse, felt Club's knot finally begin to subside. His legs trembled with exhaustion, but a profound sense of satisfaction coursed through his veins. Every muscle aches pleasantly, every part of him felt used in the most delicious way possible.

As Club gently withdrew, a warm rush of fluid followed, adding to the impressive pool already forming beneath them. The bulldog let out a satisfied grunt, his rough paw stroking Clover's sweaty flank with surprising tenderness.

"There we are, pony boy," Club rumbled, his voice hoarse from exertion. "Now you know what you're truly made for."

Only then did Clover realize the stable had fallen quiet. Rufus and Warren had slipped away at some point during the marathon session, likely heading back to the barracks to catch a few precious hours of sleep before the dawn patrol. A twinge of disappointment mingled with his exhaustion—he'd hoped to thank them for their... participation. But there would be time for that.

Club began to undo the leather straps binding Clover to the pommel horse, his movements unhurried and precise. "Easy does it," he murmured as Clover's limbs, stiff from being held in position for so long, finally relaxed. "You took that beautifully, Clover. Knew you had it in you."

Clover slowly straightened, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar ache between his legs. His movements were clumsy, his legs wobbling like a newborn foal's. When he finally managed to stand upright, he couldn't help but look down at the evidence of their activities—a substantial pool of mingled seed staining the floor, white and viscous in the dim light.

A strange surge of pride filled him. That was better than any badge or medal. Proof that he had embraced his true nature, that he had submitted fully to what Club had seen in him from the beginning. He was a mare, a vessel, a receiver of pleasure. And somehow, that revelation felt more right, more honest, than any identity he'd tried to forge before.

"I... I need to clean up," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Club chuckled, already pulling on his trousers. "Leave it. The stable boys will think the feral stallions got a bit frisky with each other." He winked, his scarred muzzle twisting into a grin. "Better than the truth, eh?"

Clover nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he began to gather his own clothes. Every movement reminded him of what had just transpired, of the way his body had been claimed and filled, used thoroughly by the three males. It should have been humiliating, perhaps, but instead, it felt like an initiation, a welcome.

"About tomorrow's patrol," Club said, interrupting Clover's thoughts. "You'll be staying behind."

Clover looked up, surprise and a flicker of disappointment crossing his features. He'd been looking forward to joining the mission, to proving himself in the field. "But sir, I—"

Club held up a paw, silencing him. "Not a punishment, pony boy. A reprieve. After what you've just embraced—your true nature—you need rest. And I need you at your best for what comes after." His eyes, amber in the lantern light, held a knowing gleam. "We'll have plenty of opportunities for you to serve me and the city. This is just the beginning."

There was something in the bulldog's tone, a promise of more evenings like this, of further explorations of his newly discovered role. And Clover, despite his exhaustion, felt a flutter of excitement at the prospect.

"Yes, sir," he replied, a touch of eagerness in his voice.

"Good lad." Club reached up—way up—to pat Clover's cheek, a gesture both paternal and possessive. "Clean yourself up, get some rest. Tomorrow, you can help Quartermaster Kreg with inventory. He's been complaining about needing stronger arms to move those heavy weapon crates."

Clover nodded, oddly grateful for the mundane assignment. It would give him time to process, to adjust to this new understanding of himself. And perhaps, to contemplate what it would mean to be both a guard and a mare, to serve in multiple ways.

As they finally left the stables, the cool night air a shock against his overheated skin, Clover cast one last glance at the building that had seen his transformation. The stars overhead seemed brighter somehow, as if acknowledging the change in him.

He followed Club back to the barracks, his gait slightly uneven, his tail hanging limply, still damp from their activities. The barracks were quiet, most guards either asleep or preparing for the dawn patrol. He made his way to his bunk, grateful to find it empty of both Rufus and Warren, likely busy with their own preparations.

As he settled in for the night, his body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure, Clover found himself already looking forward to their return, to hearing tales of their adventure. And perhaps, to further exploring this new dynamic between them all.

For now, though, sleep beckoned. And as he drifted off, the memory of Club's massive cock stretching him, filling him, claiming him, played through his mind like a sweet lullaby, confirming what he now knew to be true: he had found his place at last. As a mare, as a guardian, as a vessel for pleasure. And it felt right. So very, very right.

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