The Round Pen (Illustration and Short Story)

Sunday, February 23, 2020 - 10:32 AM

Okay, it's past the 1 year mark, I can post this! I submitted this art and story for the very first issue of FetZine! It's a super fun publication for fetishy furry art. This story ended up super softcore, but the level of core-ness varies in the issues! I've really loved making art for this project, and here's one of the early dealies!

"Fuck, it's cold outside." Storm's skin twitched against his bidding, as if it were flies nipping at him rather than the biting chill of winter. He shuddered, the leather harness he wore providing no barrier at all to the ice-tainted gusts.

"This was your idea. Now get your ass in gear." Chase didn't like winter any more than Storm. However, he was properly dressed, cold being decidedly deadly to African Pygmy hedgehogs. The blue roan Arabian stallion side-eyed his well-clad mate a moment, the small hedgehog cocooned in layers of insulating clothing to the point he almost looked more like a chinchilla than a hedgehog--only to be interrupted by the snap of the lunge whip just behind him. Storm jerked forward and settled into a trot, quickly finding his rhythm, and surrendered to the well-worn habit of his mate working him in the endless circles of their round pen. His hooves slid more than normal on the hard-frozen ground, the brown, dead grass whispering a complaining crunch under them. Next year they should bring in sand, before the turf became too chewed up, frozen mud always made for the worst footing--he pushed the thought aside. Tossing his head, pale mane whisking along the crest of his neck, Storm nickered to his mate. He needed some help to get out of his head.

Chase obliged, clicking his tongue and waving the lunge whip behind his stallion, the same way they did with the non-sapient horses they worked in this ring. Snorting with pleasure, Storm arched his neck and broke into a quick two-beat canter. Two beats, because he had two legs, his arms were secured behind him per he and Chase's tastes. He snorted again, did a flying lead change to counter-canter then back, only for the sting and pop of the lunge whip on his rump to shoot him forward. "Sorry, Storm, but if you're gonna mess around, you're just gonna run," Chase called, and to prove his point, he goosed Storm again to keep his pace from slacking.

Storm thundered around the round pen now, kept running nearly flat-out by the quick ministrations of a deviously grinning, clearly whip-happy hedgehog. Storm's wide nostrils flared as his hoary coat began to darken with sweat. "There we go. I think we found a way to keep you warm." The hedgehog gloried in the sight of his beautiful, athletic mate, tall and proud, dancing around the ring at his behest, the great fog plumes of his breath swirling blue in the grey morning air.

Finally, Chase allowed Storm to ease back to a trot, and began to play with the stallion in earnest, keeping him guessing, asking quick reversals and breaking him into canter or back to trot with just his body and waves of the whip. A flick here, a pop there, occasionally a touch, but Storm was warm and responsive now, and a light tap was more than enough.

An hour later, Chase's breath was coming in heavy pants, and frost decorated the scarf over his muzzle. The fifteenth or so time he tripped on the frozen ground he decided to call it, jealous that Storm showed no signs of flagging--though he was holding his tail as high and proudly as any of his breed, "flagging" it. Chase stilled and put both paws in the air to stop Storm and invite him to the center of the round pen with him, the same sign for stop they used with their quadrupedal charges. Storm ambled to his mate and gently nuzzled his face, their two clouds of breath uniting. Chase reached up and caressed Storm's long, delicately dished face, tracing the velvet-soft, finely furred skin around his muzzle. With a little kiss to the end of Storm's nose, Chase headed to the gate, the stallion trailing him, nosing at the multitude of scarves wrapping the hedgehog's spines, and lipping off his hat. "Quit that, you doof!" Chase laughed, "Or no hot mash for you!"

Storm's eyes told him the stallion had an entirely different method of warming up in mind, and Chase's face grew hot, even as he smiled seductively and put a paw under Storm's long jaw, reaching with the other to nab the rope halter he'd hung by the corral door. The stallion promptly bolted to the other side of the round pen, to stand at the back fence, butt to Chase.

"Sto-rm," Chase groused, oh joy, his mate was feeling playful. Chase stomped across the round pen, only for Storm to shoot off to the right and gaze off at nothing outside the fence again. Chase huffed with annoyance and tried a third time, only to be denied again. On the fourth attempt, he grabbed at Storm's head, hoping the stallion would just let him hook his paws around his muzzle and be caught. No such luck, and the next time Chase tried, Storm just ran past with his head held too high for the hedgehog to reach. Chase's scarves began to unwrap and trip him as his spines rose with his temper. He fell, slamming his jaw on the hard ground. Breathing hard, Chase lay there a moment, exhausted. Until he felt a pair of lips nibbling at his tail. Startled, Chase huffed and popped, balling up instinctually from any threat. At which point Storm couldn't hold back his laughter any more.

Chase unballed, still laying on the ground, and turned his head to glare at the stallion who was exhaling gales of mirth. "J-just! Too! Funny!" Storm gasped out before surrendering to his laughter again.

"Well, at least I finally got you out of breath," Chase groused from the grass, the scratchy stalks poking his mouth. He resettled his muzzle to sulk, which set of Storm in a fresh round of laughter. Chase gave up on words, and just grumbled.

The cold ground was rapidly stealing the rest of the grumpy hedgehog's remaining warmth, and his teeth started to chatter. He began to curl up against the cold. Storm's soft muzzle, cool from the cold, nudged him gently, "Hey, none of that. Let's get you inside."

"Cold..." he muttered, legs drawn up and arms tucked to his chest.

"If you get my arms, I'll carry you in…" the stallion cajoled.

Sharp eyes pierced him, "Promise?"

Storm bumped Chase with his muzzle again, "Promise."

Chase sat up and wrestled off his mittens, then fumbled at the three icy buckles holding Storm's forearms together in the arm binder with cold digits. Once those were released, he only had to loose Storm's upper arms, and he could finally go warm up. He fumbled with the buckles, the pads of his digits burning, and finally, finally, freed Storm's arm. The stallion wrapped his shaking hedgehog in a hug, the leather straps and silvery buckles of the arm binder dangling from one arm with a cheerful jingle. Chase sniffed wetly into his mate's chest, ready to burrow into the warmth, however damp it was. Even if his nose wouldn't stop running, and Storm's sweaty chest was kind of gross, Chase still melted a bit at his stallion's warm scent, and rubbed his muzzle against the well-muscled warmth.

Storm chuckled again, "Stop...your whiskers tickle." He held the hedgehog a little tighter, and carefully nuzzled Chase's relaxed spines, lipping at the smooth surfaces. Chase sighed against him.

"I was gonna take you in, rub you down, maybe rub you down, you know. Ya didn't have to be a brat."

Storm smiled, "I wanted to play."

"Brat."

"Mm-hmm. Your brat."

"'S too cold out here. My brat promised he'd carry me in."

"Your brat lives to obey your wishes."

"Bullshit."

Storm smirked, and hefted the hedgehog onto his back, grabbing the abandoned halter and lunge whip as he let them out of the round pen and headed up to the house to warm up.