“You’ve been summoned.”
You gasp, your ears pricking up as your father delivers the news. You swallow.
“To the Matriarch’s tent—off you go,” your mother says. Her voice is firm.
You bow your head in deference but say nothing of the knot that’s just appeared in your stomach. It happens every time our clan meets a new one. They trade us like peace offerings to the new clan’s leadership. We’re to spend a year with them, joining their harem, demonstrating our loyalty, and learning their ways. You knew that we’d just reached an accord with the neighboring elk tribe, but you had hoped that you were too old to be chosen.
You’ve heard the rumors about what will happen. The choicest young bucks—those who have lost their spots but who have not yet grown their first antlers—are all brought into the matriarch’s tent, where she inspects each of them to decide which ones will represent us. It is a humiliating experience, deliberately intended to rob the bucks of their dignity. Some would say it’s cruel. Others, those who have endured the full ritual, say it’s an act of kindness, a way to prepare them for what’s to come. Nobody in your family has ever had to represent the clan. Nobody can tell you about what happens afterwards.
Hence the knot in your stomach.
You let out a breath and walk to the matriarch’s tent. There are already several others there waiting outside. You join them and wait nervously. Several of your friends are here, but though you exchange glances, nobody feels like talking.
“The Matriarch will see you now,” a doe says, stepping out and holding open the tent-flap. “All of you, go inside.”
You file in and make a ring around the Matriarch, who stands in the middle of the tent watching you as you file in. You can already feel her eyes burning into you, summarily judging you.
The tent-flap closes, but the Matriarch says nothing. She begins to walk in a slow circle, watching everyone at once, it seems. She makes a pass around the tent. Then another. Then a third.
“Strip,” she says.
There are disbelieving gasps and utterances all around, followed by awkward, pregnant silence. Everybody glances furtively around. Nobody wants to be the first to disrobe.
She looks around once more, and then her eyes fall on you. She says nothing, but you feel sweat beginning to bead on your temples she slowly stares you down with the indefatigable patience of someone who knows she will have her way eventually.
Though you’ve proven yourself as a capable hunter and smart student, those qualifications do not grant you a hundredth of her confidence. You try to maintain eye contact, but you quickly feel your resolve dissolving beneath that unyielding gaze. Your breath quickens and gets shallow. You feel your fingers curl into fists, relax, and curl once more. Still she waits. You swallow hard, your eyes darting to your friends only to find them staring at you, as well. All eyes are on you.
You can’t take it anymore. Shuddering, you quickly pull your vest off over your head, glancing at the Matriarch to see her reaction. Her expression remains unchanged. You wince, hoping that your display of compliance would have granted you some reprieve from that stare. You fidget and bite your lip. Do you really have to do this?
Still she continues to watch you. Her breathing is easy. She blinks when she needs to. This is effortless for her. You cannot win.
You contemplate some out-of-the-box ideas: you could turn and leave, but you would be returned and would shame your family. You could plead your case—that you don’t want to be naked in front of anybody—least of all her and your peers—but that would probably just incur her wrath. You contemplate just standing there, trying to make it look as easy for you to defy her as it is for her to stare you down.
Who are you kidding? There’s only one way out of this.
Your face burning and your fingers trembling, you grasp your waistband, take a breath, and lower your shorts to your ankles. You hesitate. If you stand up, everyone will see you. Right now, your privates are covered. But down here, you look ridiculous. Your legs wobble under the gaze of all your peers and the Matriarch, but you gulp and stand, your hands instinctively balling into fists as you step out of your shorts.
The Matriarch says nothing, but her expression has at least changed from expectancy to satisfaction. She beckons for you to step into the middle of the tent.
At least it can’t get any worse than this, you think as you hesitantly step forward. There are titters from around the tent, but a scowl from the Matriarch quickly silences them. She returns her attention to you and begins taking a slow walk around you. She says nothing, but you can feel her eyes burning into you once again.
She stops at your side, reaches forward, and grasps your balls in her hand. You gasp and flinch, instinctively pulling your testes out of her grasp. But she remains there, her hand just below them. You know what this is: it’s another battle of wills where she has but to hold her hand still and you have to suck your balls up as long as you can. The odds are stacked in her favor once more: your fight is a hundred times harder than hers. You tremble and grit your teeth, but the battle was lost before you even started. Your scrotum relaxes and falls into her grasp again. The feel of her on your sensitive flesh makes you flinch again, but your muscles have weakened, and it’s mere seconds before her hand once again cups your genitals.
She gives you a look that seems to say, “Are you done?” Your face burns in humiliation, and you swallow and try to pretend she’s not there. But then she strokes your sheath, and you gasp again, rising up on the tips of your hooves.
In spite of your surprise and embarrassment, you feel your cervine prick poke out of your sheath. You gape at her while your calves begin to burn from keeping you on your tiptoes. She waits patiently. At last, your legs give out, and you return to the ground.
She strokes your sheath again, and just as before, your reaction is the same, but you can’t sustain it as long. In no time at all, your legs are too fatigued to pull away, and she begins to rhythmically stroke your sheath in earnest, exposing your member to the air and to everyone around you. You blush and look away, but you cannot deny the growing urge you feel in your loins.
Not here. Not in front of everybody!
But her stroking does not stop, nor does it speed up. She continues stroking you at the same pace, slowly, inexorably driving you closer to climax. It’s then that you realize that this, too, is a test of willpower. You feel it in your gut: you will climax. A smart buck would realize the hopelessness of the situation and get it over with. But a hunter would refuse to go down without a fight. You realize that you don’t know what the answer is. As both a scholar and a hunter, you can see both sides of the argument.
For the first time in your life, you wish you were like your friends: one or the other. You find yourself glancing at them. The hunters are staring at you. The scholars are looking away. A glance at the Matriarch reveals a placid but resolute expression. What she wants of you you cannot decipher from her inscrutable face. An anguished gasp escapes your lips, but she remains unmoved. Her hand still continues to stroke you.
You opt for the hunter’s path. Anyone can give in and concede defeat. You will set yourself apart by lasting as long as you can before the inevitable happens. Still she strokes you. You find yourself panting with anticipation, yet her pace is just enough to edge you forward without pushing you over. A whimper escapes your lips, and for the first time since you stepped forward, the Matriarch looks you in the eye.
“What do you want?” she asks, her voice so soft that only you can hear it. “Do you wish to climax?”
Another trap. Of course you want to climax! But if you say so, will that please her? Or will it anger her? Your mother’s words from long ago come to mind, and you sigh and bite your lip.
“Of course I want to climax, Matriarch,” you say.
“Then ask me to get you off,” she replies, her hard features softening ever so subtly.
You swallow and fight the urge hard to take a step back. “N–no, Matriarch,” you stammer through panting breaths, “I–I cannot ask that of you.”
“Why not?” she asks, her stroking continuing at the same agonizing pace.
“You are the Matriarch! I would not ask such a thing of you, to ask you to get me off like some whore!”
The Matriarch’s features softened even more.
“And what if, as the Matriarch, I desire for you to climax?” she asks.
You swallow, your mind clouded with lust. “W–well, that’s d–different, Matriarch,” you stammer. “I”—you blush fiercely and swallow hard—”I will do as you wish.”
“Then climax,” the Matriarch says.
Her hand speeds up, and you feel yourself tip over the edge. With a gasp, you fire into the air, shooting a stream across the tent between two of your classmates. Your face flushes with afterglow, but your embarrassment at having orgasmed in front of everybody quickly tempers your enjoyment. You stand awkwardly as the Matriarch holds your spent prick. If it was humiliating before, it’s even worse now that you’ve gotten off.
“Bend over,” she says.
You gasp as her hand pulls firmly downward, taking your retreating malehood with it. You bend over, and she signals to her attendant. The tent-flaps open, and you smell a male enter. His hooves are heavy on the earthen floor. Though you can’t see him, you can tell from the expressions of your peers that he’s intimidating. You shudder in spite of yourself. You hear whispering behind you and instinctively turn to look, but the Matriarch’s hand on your head quickly instructs you to face forward.
Your eyes bulge as you suddenly feel something grasp your buttock as something simultaneously presses against your tail hole. You clamp your tail down instinctively, but something in the back of your mind immediately tells you this will be yet another battle of wills. You set your jaw, squeeze your eyes closed, bite your lip, and force your tail to move out of the way.
To your relief, the thing pressed against your anus retreats. You slowly let out a breath, trembling.
“The rest of you may go,” the Matriarch says. You feel her hand on your shoulder. “And you, rise and face your master.”
Your pupils constrict. Master?!
You take a few shallow breaths and get to your feet. You turn slowly and gasp. The elk in front of you has a large, angular face and a thick coat that continues down his uncovered chest. You gasp again as you realize that he’s not wearing any clothes!
“I am Bulkun,” he says in a thick accent.
You swallow nervously and tell him your name. His eyes narrow. “Among my people, you will be called, ‘Vales. Say it: VALL-uhz.”
You glance at the Matriarch and repeat the word back. Bulkun nods in satisfaction.
“Thank you for your gift,” Bulkun says to the Matriarch. “We will go now.”
You gasp. “G–go? Now?!”
The Matriarch fixes you with her stare. You feel your chest heaving with borderline panic. What about your family? What about your friends? More immediately, what about your clothes?
“If it please thee, we prepared a feast,” the Matriarch says to Bulkun.
The elk considers the offer and then nods in satisfaction. “Yes,” he says. “We shall feast, and then we shall go tomorrow. Vales shall join me at the feast.”
The Matriarch bows. “Very good,” she says. “Until then, let’s let him prepare himself to accompany you.”
Bulkun frowns. “He needs no preparation. He shall accompany me as he is.”
He reaches for you. Your eyes dart to the Matriarch, but she has already grasped the elk’s hand.
“If you wish him to remain unclothed during the feast, we can certainly arrange that,” she says to your horror, “But in exchange, you must give him time to prepare himself mentally.”
Bulkun’s eyes narrow as he glances from the Matriarch to you and back. His nostrils flare with irritation, but at last he nods.
“Very well,” he says tersely. “Prepare yourself, Vales. After that, no more preparation.”
The Matriarch nods and glares at you, instructing you to nod, as well.
Bulkun leaves, and you turn to the Matriarch.
“N–no, Matriarch!” you protest. “My–my family! My friends!”
“You will see them again before the feast,” the Matriarch says firmly, “And then it will be time for you to put them in the past. You know the law: you have been selected by the chieftain of the Reldehorn tribe himself to accompany him, to serve as his concubine for the next year.”
“But I don’t want to be his concubine! I thought the bucks always served female leaders?”
“Bucks serve whomever the leader is. Until now, they have always been female. The Reldehorn tribe is very powerful and will be a good trading-partner to us,” the Matriarch says. “We cannot help that they are one of the few patriarchal societies. It has certainly made the ritual…a little unusual.”
Despite your worry, you can’t help but wonder what she means. Your curiosity is painted all over your face.
“There would ordinarily be more of a selection process if we had met another matriarchal society. You would not have been the only one to be tested. The rest would also likely be tested. But Bulkun chose you the moment he saw you. Performing the ritual was really more of a formality than anything, a chance for him to change his mind. But he is certain that you are the one he wants. In a sense, it is foolhardy to leap at the first thing you see. On the other hand, it is also the greatest honor; you must have made an incredible impression for him to select you so readily.”
You open your mouth to speak several times before finally managing, “But I didn’t even see him! How can I have made an impression on someone I wasn’t trying to impress?”
The Matriarch snorts and shakes her head. “An idle question not worthy of addressing now,” she replies firmly. “Go, see your family and friends while you can. Prepare yourself, young buck; as the chieftain of the Reldehorn tribe said, you will receive no further opportunity.”
But before you can step away, she walks over to you and puts her hands on both your shoulders. “Remember the two cardinal rules of being a concubine,” she says with fire in her eyes, “One, always make us proud. Do as your master commands; offer no complaints—unless he threatens our clan. Then you must assassinate him. Two, learn as much as you can from him while in his service. Our clan thrives on learning from other tribes; bring us back something useful.”
You bite your lip instinctively. “But what if he wants to”—you swallow—”you know…” You gesture to your backside.
The Matriarch raises an eyebrow. “He will. Tonight, probably after the feast. Remember the first cardinal rule. That is why I bought you time to prepare yourself. Rest assured, young buck, it’s not if but when. And when the time comes, will you be mentally prepared to do as your Matriarch commands you, or won’t you?”
“But he’s not my—”
“Treat him with the same reverence you treat me, young buck,” the Matriarch says. “You would not stoop to ask me to get you off. He will be your Matriarch until you return. Show him that same respect. And do not balk about it like you did when I instructed you to strip today. Make no mistake: I will not tolerate our clansmen showing disrespect to an ally. If you represent us poorly, I will go in your stead, and you will no longer be a part of this clan. Do I make myself clear?”
You gulp and nod slowly. “Yes, Matriarch. Quite clear.”
The Matriarch nods. “Good. Then go see your family and friends while you can. Then put them in the past. Rest assured, they will be in your future, too, but it’s best not to dwell on it.”
You take a slow breath and step over to your clothes.
“Those will be a thing of your past, as well,” the Matriarch warns. “Relish the feeling while you can.”
Just what you needed: another kick while you’re down. You get your clothes on in a daze. The whole thing feels so surreal, like a bad dream.
You stagger out of the tent and make your way home. Your parents look up, and your expression tells them everything. They both rise and embrace you.
“It’ll be all right,” your father says. “Just do as she says and remember that it’s only a year.”
“I’m proud of you, Son,” your mom says, a tear in the corner of her eye. “At last, someone in our family gets to represent our clan.”
“I’m scared,” you manage, your voice a hoarse whisper. “He’s really big.”
“Son, you’ve hunted bears with a bow and spear,” your mom says, chuckling. “What could possibly have you scared about—wait, did you say, ‘he’?”
You swallow and nod. Your parents exchange worried glances and sigh.
“Well, then do as he says and remember that it’s only a year,” your dad says, doing his best to sound optimistic.
“He wants me to be nude at the feast tonight,” you murmur numbly.
Both of your parents gasp and recoil slightly. There’s a long silence as they both try to think of something to say.
“Would—would you like us not to come?” your mom asks finally. “If it would spare you the humiliation…”
You shake your head. “The family of the new concubine is always there as guests of honor,” you reply. “The Matriarch would see it as a slight against Bulkun.”
Your parents exchange glances again, and your mother sighs.
“You’re right,” she says. “But, look, whatever happens, we will always be proud of you, all right?”
“Go out there and strut your stuff, Son,” your dad says. “If you own it, it doesn’t have to be embarrassing.”
“But he and I will be the only ones naked!” you protest.
“Enough,” your mom says firmly.
“You have a number of choices,” she says. “You can run away, something your father and I will not be proud of. You can refuse to go nude. Some in the clan might well agree with you, but you know the Matriarch will excommunicate you if you do. You can complain about it and get bent out of shape, but when you do go up there, you’ll be no better off than you are now. Or, you can accept that it is what it is, figure out how to cope, to put on a smile, or at least a pleasant face, and you can represent us well and make a good impression on your new master.”
You hang your head. You know all of this, of course. You can’t run from it, can’t fight it, shouldn’t rail against it, so you might as well just accept it.
“Thanks, Mom,” you say.
“Anytime, Kiddo,” your mom says, putting her hand on your chin. “I know you’ll do the right thing and make us all proud.”
You and your parents embrace for a long time.
“Are you gonna do it?” Janus, your hunter-friend asks.
You nod silently.
“Do us proud,” he says.
You shake hands and then embrace. He’s a buck of few words. Linus, on the other hand…
“I think I’ve discovered a loophole by which you could get out of doing this on the completely hypothetical chance that you were considering not being the first to consummate with another male,” he says.
You shake your head. “No, I’ve decided to go through with it,” you say.
“But you do realize that the risks associated with…erm…being on the receiving end of an elk include—”
‘That’s quite all right, Linus,” you say. “For once, I’d rather not think about it.”
Linus falls silent, and for a moment, you halfheartedly worry that you hurt his feelings.
“You’re a braver buck than I am,” he says at last, throwing his arms around you. “Be safe,” he says. “We’ll be here when you get back.”
You hug him back somberly. As you pull back, you see that his eyes are glistening. You’re glad you didn’t tell him the part about you being naked.
The sun touches the horizon, and your stomach turns. The feast will begin any second, and you’re holding onto your clothes as long as you can. You see the Matriarch, close your eyes, exhale sharply, and take your clothes off. As you hand them to Janus, he reddens slightly. You’d laugh at seeing the unflappable buck actually blush…if only you were in the mood. You steel your nerves as the Matriarch approaches.
“Come on, Vales,” she says, already using your new name.
You swallow and do as told, doing your best to ignore the onlookers who cock their antler-riddled heads at the sight of one of their own without any clothes on.
You approach the feast table, and you do a double-take. That asshole is wearing clothes! Your eyes bulge, and you quickly look at the Matriarch, but her forward progress remains resolute. You let out an irritated breath, followed by a soothing one as you do your best to just roll with the punches.
“Ah, Vales,” Bulkun says, rising. “I worried you had gone the way of the coward.”
“We take our obligations seriously,” the Matriarch replies. “And we take pride in fulfilling our duty, no matter how humiliating it may be.”
At least she hit the nail on the head with that one.
“Very good,” Bulkun replies, bringing his fist to his chest. “We, too, take our obligations seriously. This will be a great union between our tribes!”
“It all starts tonight,” the Matriarch replies, actually smiling for once.
She extends her hand, gesturing for you to take a seat next to Bulkun, but as you approach and nervously start to sit, he shakes his head.
“No, such a fine model of the male form must be shown off!” he says in protest. “Do not hide beneath the table! Here.” He effortlessly clears the space in front of him with his arm and points to it. “Kneel!” he orders.
Your jaw drops, and you freeze, your voice caught in your throat.
N-no, for the love of—don’t make me do that!
Cardinal rule #1: Always do us proud.
Would our clan really be proud to see me up there kneeling?
They would if it demonstrated our fealty to our new clan.
But none of us like nudity!
But we’re all willing to put aside our distaste for it to welcome our guests.
You can’t argue that. You suddenly snap out of it and realize that all eyes are once again on you. Your parents are almost as stumped as you are. Standing behind you, it’s clear they don’t want to push you into this or be seen doing so, but on the other hand, their loyalty to the clan and its rituals is unquestioned. The Matriarch is staring at you with her usual stare, and Bulkun is still pointing to the spot on the table.
You shut it all out, close your eyes, take a deep breath, let it out, and step up onto the table. As soon as you’re up there, you get into a kneeling position, keeping your legs squeezed tightly together to try to preserve as much of your modesty as you can.
“No, no,” the leader of the Reldehorn tribe says, putting his hands on your knees, “Spread your legs. You have a fine package; it is my will that everybody sees what a fine concubine I have chosen.”
Your face feels like it’s on fire.
I’ve made it this far…just…just a little more. It’ll be okay.
You relax your legs and allow Bulkun to spread them. You feel the evening air caress your crotch, and your malehood pokes out of its sheath.
“Yes! Stay just like that,” Bulkun says, his voice pleased.
You let your hands fall to your sides and resist the urge to squirm under the gaze of your whole tribe. Far from the snickers of young bucks in the Matriarch’s tent, the expressions on the adults’ faces register a combination of disgust, curiosity, shock, and to your relief, a bit of admiration.
“Fellow clansmen,” the Matriarch begins, rising a wooden goblet filled with the best wine the clan has to offer. “We are here to celebrate the union of our clan and the Reldehorn tribe. Their chieftain, Bulkun, feasts with us tonight and has chosen this young buck as his concubine for the next year.” She raises her goblet to toast him. He toasts back with a deep bow.
“Our hearts go out to this young buck and to his family,” she continues, raising her goblet to you and your family. You would toast back, but your goblet is far out of reach. You nod instead as your parents toast behind you.
“We give this buck to you willingly, chieftain of the Reldehorn, as a token of our good will and as an offering of peace. We pray that you will treat him well, protect him from harm, and let your conduct toward him reflect your attitude towards our clan.”
You can’t help but feel like the last part was said tongue-in-cheek. What, is everybody supposed to think that Bulkun would have everybody up here, stripped naked and showing off if he could? But your thoughts are interrupted as you feel Bulkun stand behind you and put a hand on your shoulder.
“Honored Matriarch and dear Weisshirsch clan, I thank you for your kind welcome. While my ways may seem strange to you, I assure you that my feeling towards this beautiful male you have provided is one of utmost respect and admiration, and yes, it reflects my attitude towards you: you are a beautiful race, one that should be put on display! Look at his physique”—he brings his hands to your stomach—”His muscles ripple beneath that snow-white belly. His thighs are beautifully defined, and though you cannot see it, his ass curves perfectly like a beautiful globe.”
You jump as he slaps your ass and cups it in his muscular hand.
“His anus is tight, puckered, and virginal. A great prize to my people.”
Your eyes bulge and then squeeze closed as his finger probes your “virginal anus.” But before anyone can protest, he continues.
“And most beautifully, his sheath terminates perfectly at a beautiful pair of large, virile testes.”
Here he spreads your legs even wider and reaches under your balls to thrust them forward, exhibiting them like a rare fruit. Your face burns, and you squeeze your eyes closed all the while.
“But this,” he says, putting his hands on your face and cupping it…surprisingly tenderly for such a big guy, “This makes me sad. You poor male,” he says to you, reaching around to hug you. “You who are so ashamed of your beauty.” He shakes his head. “We have much to learn from each other,” he says, addressing the audience. “I hope that I can teach you all to love yourselves.”
With that, he lifts his goblet, toasts, drinks, and sits down. Your clan is silent. You are breathless. Your parents…well, you can’t see them. The Matriarch is, for lack of a better word, stunned.
You nervously clear your throat, attracting everybody’s attention. Great. Now all eyes are on you again.
“Th–thank you, Bulkun, er, Master,” you say, doing your best to talk over your shoulder while maintaining the position he put you in. “We, um, appreciate anything the great Reldehorn tribe can teach us.”
The elk looks at you, clearly pleased with your response.
“Come,” he says, nodding, “Come down here, and let me begin teaching right here, on the first day of our glorious union.”
For the first time, you’re not afraid of him. Something about him seems so…you dunno, tender, as if he’s a sweet guy trapped in a gruff elk’s body. You do as told, carefully climbing off the table and standing beside him.
“The first lesson,” he says, “Is to submit to your master.”
You gasp, your eyes snapping open as he grabs you by the shoulder and bends you over the table. His tenderness is gone in an instant, and you realize what is about to happen.
Cardinal rule #1, cardinal rule #1, cardinal rule #1, you chant to yourself, closing your eyes and doing your best not to cry. You feel his hand grasp your ass, feel his thumb press up under your tail. You instinctively clamp down but grit your teeth and force yourself to surrender. You can’t even begin to imagine what your parents must think now with a close-up view of what’s about to happen.
You feel him move in behind you, wince and whimper as he pokes at you and misses, and then cry out as he drives himself balls-deep into you. Your breath catches, and you feel something hot erupt in your chest. He pulls out, and your tail instinctively clamps down to hide your shame as you feel the elk’s hot semen trickling out of your ass and running down your inner thigh.
“You fools!” he bugles triumphantly, “You puny things don’t fight back even when we fuck you in the ass! Ha!”
Instantly, the entire celebration is overrun with elk in leather armor. The hunters are quickly subdued, and the scholars quickly yield. The Matriarch alone stands defiantly.
“You have betrayed our trust, Bulkun,” she scowls. “Return our buck; you deserve no concubines!”
“You are outnumbered and far overpowered,” Bulkun replies, grabbing you by the scruff of the neck and hauling you up. “You are in no position to make demands.” He nods to one of his men, who backhands the Matriarch, sending her sprawling.
“I like this buck’s ass,” he says, jamming his thumb into you once again. “If you all behave, you may have him back when I tell you you can have him back!”
With that, he conks you on the head, and you black out.