Chapter 10: Peter Griffin – The Bleeding Buck
Peter Griffin had always been a man of simple pleasures: beer, TV, and occasionally punching a chicken for no reason. But on this particular Tuesday—after Lois had kicked him out of the house for "accidentally" turning the living room into a slip-n-slide with motor oil and clam chowder—he wandered into the woods behind Quahog with a six-pack of Pawtucket Patriot Ale and a vague sense that something epic was about to happen.
He didn't expect the glowing red portal.
It looked like someone had ripped a hole in reality with a rusty chainsaw. Peter stared at it, belched, and shrugged.
"Eh, what's the worst that could happen?"
He stepped through.
The other side was a vast, misty forest under two blood-red moons. The air smelled like pine, musk, and raw fertility. Trees towered like skyscrapers, and every branch dripped with glowing sap that looked suspiciously like precum.
And there they were: the does.
Not cartoon deer. Anthro does—tall, curvaceous, furred in shades of chestnut and gold, with long legs, heavy swaying breasts capped with dark teats already leaking milk, and thick, fluffy tails raised high. Their eyes glowed amber with heat. Between powerful hind thighs, swollen vulvas pulsed visibly, dripping thick strings of clear nectar onto the forest floor. Antlered stags watched from the shadows, but none moved. This was the Bleeding Buck's territory now.
Peter blinked. His pants were suddenly way too tight.
"Holy crap… this is like that one porno I saw at the Drunken Clam, but with more fur and less plot."
The lead doe—bigger than the rest, antlers like a crown, fur shimmering like liquid copper—stepped forward. Her voice was low, throaty, dripping sex.
"Human… you smell of beer and bad decisions. But your cock… it calls to us. The forest hungers. Breed us. Bleed for us."
Peter grinned that big, stupid Peter grin.
"Giggity? Wait—no, that's Quagmire. Uh… let's do this!"
He dropped trou. His cock sprang free—not porn-star huge, but thick, veiny, beer-gut supported, and already leaking. The does circled him, tails lashing, musk thickening the air until Peter's head swam.
The copper doe lunged first. She shoved him onto his back in the soft moss, straddled his hips, and sank down in one brutal drop. Her pussy was molten—hot, slick, ridged inside like velvet knuckles. She took him to the hilt with a guttural moan, her heavy tits slapping against his chest, milk squirting in thin arcs across his shirt.
Peter groaned. "Oh yeah… ride that fat Griffin dick, baby!"
She did. Hard. Fast. Hooves digging into the earth on either side of his head. Her tail whipped his thighs. Every downward slam punched the air out of his lungs. Wet schlick-schlick-schlick sounds mixed with her bleating moans. Peter grabbed her ass—two big handfuls of firm fur—and thrust up to meet her.
She came first—back arching, antlers scraping the sky, pussy clamping like a fist. Hot nectar gushed around his shaft, soaking his balls. Peter didn't last much longer. He roared—"Cutaway gag incoming!"—and unloaded. Thick, heavy ropes blasted straight into her womb. So much it overflowed immediately, white cream bubbling out and running down his thighs in rivers.
She lifted off—his cock popping free with a wet suction—and another doe took her place instantly. Smaller, dappled fur, tighter cunt. She rode him reverse, fluffy tail brushing his face while she ground her clit against his pelvis. Peter reached around, rubbed her swollen nub in clumsy circles until she screamed and squirted again.
The third doe—sleek black fur, pierced teats—bent over in front of him while he was still inside the second. Peter leaned forward, buried his face between her cheeks, and ate her out like it was an eating contest at the fair. Tongue plunging deep, sucking her dripping folds, nose pressed against her puckered tailhole. She bucked back against his mouth, moaning.
He came again—still buried in doe #2—flooding her until her lower belly swelled slightly. Doe #3 turned, dropped to all fours, and presented her ass.
"Take me here, human. Rut me like a stag."
Peter didn't hesitate. He spat on his cock—still slick with mixed juices—and pressed against her tight pucker. She pushed back. The head popped in. She bleated—high, needy. He sank deeper, inch by thick inch, until his gut pressed against her furry ass.
He fucked her ass raw. Long, brutal strokes. Her hole gripped him like a vice. He slapped her cheeks—hard enough to leave red handprints through the fur. She came from the anal alone—pussy clenching on nothing, squirting onto the moss. Peter roared again and painted her insides white—load after load until cum poured out around his shaft in thick globs.
The does kept coming. A line formed. Some rode his face while others rode his cock. One pair sandwiched him— one grinding her dripping cunt on his shaft, the other sitting on his face, forcing him to tongue her clit while her milk dripped into his mouth. He drank greedily—sweet, warm, addictive.
He lost count of orgasms. His balls ached. His cock was raw, purple, glistening. But he didn't stop. The forest demanded more.
The alpha doe returned—now swollen with his seed, belly rounded. She pushed the others aside, mounted him again, and rode him slow this time. Deep. Possessive.
"You belong to the Bleeding Buck now," she growled. "Every time you cum in this world, the forest drinks it. And you will never run dry."
Peter laughed—hoarse, exhausted, euphoric.
"That's… that's the best news I've heard all week!"
He thrust up one final time—deep, grinding—and came harder than ever. His vision whited out. Cum jetted in endless pulses, flooding her until her belly distended like she was carrying triplets. Excess poured out in a steady stream, soaking them both.
When it ended, the does licked him clean—tongues rough and warm across his cock, balls, chest, face. They nuzzled him, purred against his skin.
The portal flickered back open.
Peter staggered to his feet—pants around his ankles, covered head to toe in fur, cum, milk, and moss.
He looked back at the alpha doe.
"So… same time next week?"
She smirked, tail swishing.
"Bring more beer, human."
Peter stepped through the portal.
Back in Quahog, he emerged in his living room—still naked, still dripping.
Lois stared. Brian stared. Stewie stared.
Peter grinned.
"Lois… you're never gonna believe what just happened to me."
Lois crossed her arms.
"Peter, if this is another one of your stories—"
Peter belched.
"Cutaway gag: me as a deer with a giant erection running through the woods yelling 'Giggity!'"
The family groaned.
But Peter just smiled—bigger than ever.
Because somewhere in another world, the Bleeding Buck was waiting.
And he had a six-pack with their name on it.