Gross

Blindfolded, and strung, by the armpits, neck, and groin with a tight weave, his hooves could only just barely touch the floor by the toes so his testament of manhood doesn’t rip.

It didn’t hurt, as long as he didn’t move too much, only rather uncomfortable for the time being, like slipping your hands into gloves that were just one size smaller.

Though, he was dangling.

Kody tried his best not to in any case, the way he was strung meant that even the subtlest of movements would apply an uneasy pressure in either area.

He could hardly keep hold onto a position for too long before it forced a tiny careless step or two out of him, leading to him frantically tapping the floor as he struggled to settle again, a series of crisp clacks like a ballerina en pointe.

Graceful, with how little yet rhythmically he moved:

Each step dragging out a pathetic whimper when his restraints put a little too much pressure between his thighs.

Each step rattling the hook that connected the restraints, guided by a puppeteering track, steering him left and right.

As much as he had endured up to this point, even if it could have only been for a little while, having to track each step, with such a delicacy strung by a thread, it felt like time only moved when he did.

And overtime, the pressure slowly welled its way up the deer, through his fervently beating chest, to his face as he felt red hot everywhere, squeezing out tears that get absorbed by the blindfold, adding on pressure there too, which was arguably worse.

Because as elaborate as the contraption was, it all relied on the simplicity of the blindfold, so that he couldn’t keep up with the sudden movements.

Sight was the brake of reflex. And in turn, without it, reflex had no inhibitor.

He shudders when he hears the door handle turn, but that leads to a clumsily big stumble with his left foot. In tandem, the momentum drags the rest of his body towards it.

He moans, this time, he could feel his most sensitive member stretch and harden further as he quickly bucks upwards, feeling a bead of wetness drip.

The woodsman quickly rushes to his aid, stabilizing him. As much as the deer didn’t want him to get close and however much he wanted to cower away, he couldn’t bear to put any more pressure on.

He could only whimper, allowing the woodsman to stroke his member, intensity quantifying as are his continued alluring noise of pleasure, but just when he feels close, the woodsman lets go. He gagged as the faux-release staggered, only being able to let out tears.

The woodsman held him by the chin, caressing the wet spots with a dry, calloused hand.

It was either make or break, with how broken the deer’s mind was at this point.

When the woodsman pulled away, the deer gasped, choking on some snot that fell back through his sinuses.

It felt just right, just a bit more. It was progress. The sick fuck should be about done.

Right on cue, the sudden scratching sound of a record playing makes him jump. He could never get used to this.

An old-timey jaunty tune plays, though smothered by crackles.

All of a sudden, the woodsman held the deer’s right hand by the wrist and gave it a tiny peck, thus giving the deer another jolt.

“Willie Fitzgibbons, who used to sell ribbons and stood up all day on his feet,”

All his weight shifted to either his toes or both of his wrists that were now held by the woodsman.

“Grew very sp—-y on Maveline Mooney, who’d ravurr be dancing than e—~”

He let his head gently perch upon the woodsman’s shoulder, through the stranglehold.

“Eath eebning she’d tag him to vum dance hall drag-im, and when the band started to playyyyyy~”

Guided by the hook, glided like on skates, pressed like fresh dough.

“-she’d up like a silly and grab ti-ed Willie, steer him on the floor, and she’d say:”

“Waltz -e around again Willie, around, around, around~”

The music was dreamy, peaches and creamy. Round and round, o, don’t let my feet touch the ground. 🎶🎵🩰🫂

Feels like a ship on an ocean of joy,

J u s t w a n n a s c r e a m a n d s h o u t, ‘OH, SHIP AHOY!’

“Waltz -e around again Willie,

around,

around,

around~”

~

—

…

And when the waltz was done, the deer dry-heaved and panted, his entire respiratory system burning into sharp spikes, his entire body sweating like a pig under this closed heat, wrung out to dry in this slaughterhouse.

His dick remained throbbing.

Satisfied, the woodsman gave him a sharp tug. Strung by the balls, Kody’s dick stood up. The sudden upshift of pressure allowed him to cave.

“Nnnnnnnnffggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~”

He clenched hard. The relief came in such powerful waves, that he could not help but moan such a beautiful chorus as he sputtered out bursts of milky goodness below.

And when all was done and out, he could feel the ground again. But having exerted so much, his legs trembled and gave in.

He collapsed into the warmest embrace, sobbing hysterically. Only able to let out shattered illegible bursts, mumbles and shrieks as a large hand gently caresses the back of his head, the other on his back undoing everything.

“Good boy.” The woodsman cooed.

Kody couldn’t care for the compliments. He could only focus on this onrush of warmth.

Because the pain will come around again.

Around.

Around.