Tapping Maple
aka Maple stumbles into a H0rs3 animation
by OttersInTrousers

Wherein Tom takes real good care of Maple after she gets back from visiting family.
Featuring Maple, transfem horse; Tom, transmasc domestic cat; and Grace, cisfem brown bear.

Set days after the events of First of May, and about a month before Unexpected Rainshowers.

-----

Maple stumbles into her apartment hours after sunset, exhausted by the last few days visiting her parents. They're her parents, she loves them, but neither of them loves her for herself. They have opinions about Rivinia—the city, the college, the people, the customs, the First of May that they made her miss, all of it—and even after two years of her happily living here they still think they can browbeat her into switching to a more prestigious university closer to home, where they can better control her. 

And of course, the biggest issue of all, when she first tried to come out to them, tell them who she really is, they didn't believe her, dismissed her offhand and moved on like her truth wasn't even a possibility to them.

Her old clothes are boxy and unflattering, and the shirts have been driving her crazy the way they rub and scratch at her sensitive nipples. She didn't dare bring a sports bra to help protect from the itchiness, either—too scared her parents might find it in her bag, or notice its silhouette through the shirts. At least she's home, now, in this tiny studio apartment that is hers. She's planning to lock the door behind her, leave the lights off, and collapse right into bed to cry herself to sleep. Instead she finds the lights on low and her two best friends waiting for her. They both look up from their reading—Grace from a tome so old Maple can smell it from the doorway and Tom from his phone screen.

The brown bear rises, filling the already-crowded room as she opens her arms in an invitation for a hug. "Welcome home, Maple."

The cat slips under Grace's arm to prowl over. "Come on in, filly, let's get you comfortable." His hands on her, one taking her bag and the other on the small of her back, so gentle, so full of love, punch right through the carefully-constructed armor around her heart and she crumbles. Her vision swims with tears.

"Aw, sweetheart." Grace pulls her gently into a hug, holds her tight as she cries into her pajamas—an old t-shirt for a metal band Maple's never even heard of. The door clicks, then Tom is against her back, purring softly as he tucks his chin over her shoulder. "That's it, let it out. We're here. We love you, Maple. We're so proud of you making it through that."

When the tears slow, Tom nuzzles against her neck, then pulls away to carry her bag further in and drop it on the couch at the foot of her bed. Maple watches, quietly surprised to see him topless but not bottomless—apparently his pajamas for the night are just a pair of gym shorts, revealing the tortoiseshell pattern all the way down his back.

"Have you eaten?" At Grace's mention of food, Maple's stomach growls. She blushes, but Grace just pets through her mane. "Okay. How about you head to the bathroom, get changed out of those old clothes and have a nice soak in the bath we drew up for you? We'll bring some snacks in for you in a few minutes."

Maple steps away, then pauses in the bathroom doorway. "Um." She hesitates. But they both just wait, smiles not leaving their muzzles. "What about something to change into?"

Tom shrugs. "We could bring you something." He slinks into her space, purring, smirk turning all sexy, "I thought once you were out, we'd take care of your shot, then I'd take care of you. So make sure you get cleaned up." 

He says the words so pointedly there is no doubt in her mind what he means. She adds it to the list of things to do before she's done. She blushes and bobs her head up and down.

-----

Grace works the cheap knife carefully through the apple in her hand, growling and grumbling under her breath. 

Tom's ear flicks and he pokes his head out from rummaging for crackers in Maple's only two cabinets to watch Grace's effort, scowling. "Remind me to get her a couple good kitchen knives sometime." He points disdainfully at the knife in her hand. "That pitiful thing is unacceptable."

Grace grunts her acknowledgment.

"And teach her how to hone them," he continues. "Fuck, probably how to use them. Don't want her losing a finger, to those or this one." He pops open the box, then wordlessly holds a cracker up to Grace's nose. 

She quirks a brow, but takes it from his fingers and chews. "Stale but edible. I could pop down to the corner store."

He waves her off. "Nah, apple'll help hide the staleness, and they're not bad. Think she has any spread or cheese or anything?" He swings open the fridge, then whistles.

"How grim is it?" 

"Ketchup packets. A bit of chunky milk. Tablespoon of hummus in the bottom of a bowl, yum yum." He rolls his eyes. "This half-empty pesto looks alright?"

"Give it a sniff, and if it's still good I'll boil some of that spinach pasta to toss it with, for after you're done."

"Do I have to?" He turns his strongest pleading eyes on her. "My nose is too delicate to behold horrors beyond my comprehension, Grace."

Grace chuckles and bumps him with her hip. "Fine, you cub." She takes the jar, leaving him to assemble the pile of fruit and crackers into a more pleasing shape.

Once satisfied with the starburst spread, Tom drapes the kitchen towel over his forearm, winking at Grace. She harrumphs at his antics. He knocks three times at the bathroom door, then throws it open, stepping in and kneeling by the side of the tub. In an affected accent, he announces, "Your stale crackers and appie slicies, milady." That gets him a giggle. He hands off the plate to her, tail swaying. "Eat as much or as little as you like, okay, hon?"

She nods, unwilling to talk around the full cracker-apple sandwich already stuffed in her mouth.

He steps back out and closes the door behind him. Maple stuffs another cracker into her muzzle. A knock on the door startles her, and in her rush to answer she sprays crumbs into her bathwater. The door opens to reveal Grace, stepping in with an armful of clothes.

"I picked out a few options for you. Mix and match what you want to wear to feel cute and comfy, okay?"

Maple swallows hard to clear her mouth. "Okay."

"And now, we're gonna leave you to soak in peace. Take your time."

Maple waves, then sinks a little lower into the warm, bubbly water, thankful that this dinky apartment has a tub more than big enough to comfortably fit her. For a moment, she lets the warmth of their attention fill her heart.

Tom and Grace were the first to get to know her, even before she knew herself. Her freshman year, they pulled her into their orbit, took her under their wing, gave her space and time and love to explore and learn, free of her parents' influence. It all meant so much. Now at the end of her sophomore year, she's been on HRT for months, and though it's still early, she already loves every little change she has seen and felt so far.

Well, not every change—her nipples are still so sore.

-----

When Maple emerges from the bathroom, her strawberry-roan coat is shiny and fresh, and she's opted for a frilly lavender bralette and black, silky pajama pants, and feeling much better.

"Look at you, Maple, this is such a cute outfit!" Grace pulls Maple into another hug. "Feeling better now?"

"Much better." Maple returns the hug.

Tom rises from where he's been draped upside down over the back of the couch. "Ready for your filly juice?"

Maple blushes and nods rapidly, then drops her pants to sit on the edge of her bed in just her boyshorts—a pale rose pink that nearly blends with her coat—and hugs her pillow. When he steps away to wash his hands, Grace sits down beside her.

"I'm glad you left early enough to make it back in time for us to help you with this."

"Me, too." She sighs. "I don't know how much longer I can keep hiding this from them. Or if I should, or what."

"There's no easy answer for that, I'm afraid. But you don't owe them your time, or your love, especially if they don't make any reciprocal effort. And we'll be here for you, no matter how it goes."

Tom throws his arms wide. "And this is your fucking place, you're self-sustained here. Not like they could stop you paying for your classes or anything, so they really don't have any power over you that you don't give them." He smirks. "So don't give 'em any."

Maple leans on Grace's side, watching Tom go through the well-practiced motions, digging the little kit he got her out from inside her bedside table, withdrawing and arranging it all, hands swift and sure but delicate as they work.

"Do you remember which leg it is this week?"

"Uh." Maple screws up her muzzle in thought. Last week, she was still excited about the First. It was her right, then. She made Tom promise it wouldn't bruise, since it would be visible through her light coat. "Left."

"Good girl."

She goes stiff, twitches at the praise. Their eyes drift down to the bulge in her boyshorts. "Sorry," she manages to squeak out. Then the words start tumbling from her muzzle. "I just haven't been able to take care of it since I've been gone so I've been stuck half-hard for days and that was—"

"Don't worry, filly." He pets her left thigh, then he swipes an alcohol swab over it and winks, before turning his attention fully to her crotch, voice dropping to a husky stage whisper. "You let us take care of her E, then I promise I'll take care of you, alright?" 

A wet spot forms in her underwear. She blushes harder.

"Oop, better stop before I make you cum." He chuckles. "Alrighty, here comes the sting."

She closes her eyes.

"And we're done." There's a rattle as he drops the needle into the sharps bin. She opens her eyes. "Pressure, please." She takes over holding the bit of gauze over the spot while he unwinds a length of stretchy tape, then he wraps that around her thigh. "Good for another week!"

"Good job, Maple," Grace rumbles, squeezing her hand one last time before standing. "I'll be back after round one." As she passes, she musses Tom's ears. "Don't go too hard too fast."

Tom sticks out his tongue at Grace's retreating form. Turning back to Maple, that sly, sexy smirk returns. "Now, I believe I owe you some First of May head?"

Maple's blush goes incandescent in her ears and she nods. "Mhm."

Tom chuckles. "Then let's get these off, too." He tucks a finger into the waistband of her underwear, gives the elastic a tug. She takes over for him, shimmies from hip to hip as she works the boyshorts down, then freezes with them halfway down her thighs when he places his hand on the exposed flesh of her shaft. "What, sweetheart?" He purrs. "I'm just making sure neither of us gets concussed by this monster flying free."

And then before she can manage an answer, he yanks the shorts past her knees and dives onto her penis. Her breath catches in her throat, nearly chokes her, as his tail curls and flicks.

He is too good at this. The spines on the top of his tongue would be way too much if he wasn't so sparing with them, so careful only to give the barest hint of their roughness, often using the smooth underside instead to lave her shaft. Every few bobs, he pulls back enough to give her tip—already flaring—more love. One one such trip, he pulls all the way off with a pop to look up, holding her penis in one hand.

"You're so tense!" He jerks the shaft, tip to base, while rolling her testes back and forth with his other hand. "Stop trying to hold back, filly, there can be more than one round and I know what a flaring head means." He leans in to kiss her tip, then licks the bead of precum from it. "So let go." He dips right back down, all the way to the base, nose bumping into her belly.

And then he purrs.

Maple cums. How could she not? It's like having a vibrator wrapped around her. She goes stiff, grunts, hands gripping the comforter. He swallows once, twice, then pulls back, letting the third spurt of cum splatter on his tongue, then pulls fully away and catches the rest of it in a towel, jerking her off into it. She whimpers, almost too sensitive with days of backed-up need.

"Thaaaat's it," he coos. "Empty those balls, Maple."

When she finishes, Maple topples backwards, letting out a long-held breath in one big sigh. She feels lightheaded from how hard she came. She giggles. "Thank you, Tom."

He pats her thigh. "You're welcome. Be right back with Grace." He collects the cum-soppy towel and disappears. She listens to him as he passes through the kitchen. "Round one's done. Your turn." Maple's ears grow warm, and she flicks them. A moment later, Grace appears over her, looking down with a smile.

"How you feeling, Maple?"

"I feel gooooood."

Grace chuckles and holds out a glass of water. "Drink some for me?"

It takes a bit of work to remember how her body works, but eventually Maple manages to push up onto an elbow and take the glass, sipping from it. "Thanks, Grace."

"It's no problem, hon. When you two are finished, I'll have something a bit more substantial for you to eat, too, okay?"

Maple ducks her head at Grace's tone, so loving, so much more so than what her mother has ever used on her. "Thanks." She goes back to her water.

A moment later, Tom reappears with a glass of his own, and a bottle of sports drink. "Those balls were full, huh? T-blockers haven't had a chance to fully kick in yet, you're still pumping it out!" He chuckles, then waggles the bottle. "You're gonna need this, too, before I'm done with you." He sets both on her end table. Maple blushes again and hides her excited grin with her water. He hops onto the bed next to her, and only then does she register that he's shucked his gym shorts and is now wearing nothing but his strap-on harness. Her eyes grow wide and she sputters into the water. "You got cleaned up like I asked, right?"

"Mhm!"

"Good girl." He claps his hand onto her thigh. "Let's have you drink a bit more and stretch, and then I'll get the dildo and we can move on to round two."

She blushes so deep her ears feel hot. "H-how many rounds are there gonna be?"

His voice drops low again as he leans right in, muzzle to her throat, purring as his bared fangs near her pulse point. "As many as it takes to wring you out, filly."

-----

It's so comforting to be cuddled by Tom. It's not really a size thing—he's smaller than her after all, but he's just so sure of it. His grasp is firm but gentle, hands exactly where she needs them to be without her having to say anything. And his purr.

It's unfair that so few creatures can purr.

Between rounds, after the strapon has been retired, they sandwich Maple between them and cuddle, Grace on her back, Maple pressed against her side, Tom behind Maple. His claws—always carefully trimmed and tonight covered in rainbow-colored caps—flick in and out as he kneads gently at every soft part of her he can reach.

Grace pets through Maple's mane. "You raid on Thursdays, right? Did you get to do it while you were gone?"

"Mhm."

"How'd it go?"

Maple sighs. "One of our usual healers couldn't make it so I had to cover for him again."

"Uh oh. Did they at least behave for you?"

"Of course not." Tom makes an affronted noise as Maple continues. "On multiple bosses, I was doing more damage than the mage while still keeping them from dying from standing in the goo. It's like, change your build! That sigil is obviously not doing enough for you, and if I don't have to babysit you constantly standing in the bad, I can do even more damage!"

Grace pats Maple's hand where it's resting on her belly. "They made you give up your carbuncles and didn't even have the decency to not stand in the fire?"

"Assholes," Tom grumbles into her shoulder blade.

"Oh! But I did finally get my trinket to drop, so now I've got my best in slot for everything but my neck."

And then the next thing Maple knows, she's been talking about sims and HoT clipping for twenty minutes, and they've both been listening. She buries her blushing muzzle under Grace's tit. Maple takes a slow, measured breath. 

Tom squeezes her around the middle. "What happened, filly? You cut off real hard there?"

She shakes her head—as much as she can with a boob the size of her head on her head.

Grace makes an educated guess. "Parent stuff?"

Maple nods. Minutes pass. Tom purrs against her back.

Maple recounts the memory of her mother at breakfast the next morning asking what she had been up to, and the  in her mother's eyes when Maple tried to explain. The way her father rattled the newspaper and talked over her to mention the fucking weather. 

"What a shitty thing to do." Tom holds her tighter. 

"My dad talked to me twice the whole trip. First to express his disappointment that I hadn't been working out enough, and then as I was leaving to remind me they want me to transfer colleges because Rivinia is a 'den of sickos'."

Grace squeezes her tighter, nearly pulling her on top. "You just remember, you don't owe them any of that."

Maple sniffles and blushes and burrows back under Grace's tit. 

-----

There's a dangerous grin on Tom's muzzle as he digs through his bag. His fangs glint in the low, soft light as he chuckles to himself, before he lifts from the bag and brandishes at Maple something long and thin with a distinct, rounded head.

"Behold!" A cord dangles from the thing's base, swinging back and forth. "The Magic Wand!"

Maple swallows hard.

He prowls over, waving it back and forth. "You used one of these before?"

Maple shakes her head.

"Babygirl, I'm about to hard reset your brain."

Maple swallows harder.

"Just as soon as I find an outlet that'll reach."

The only viable outlet is usually hidden behind her bedside table, so he has to scoot that away—into the middle of the doorway like an ass—but then he whirls on her, the thing revving to life in his hand. She covers her muzzle as her penis jumps with excitement at the obvious—and very enticing—threat.

Tom pours himself into the bed, draping along her side. He nuzzles into her throat again—because of course he knows what that does to her—holding the vibrator centimeters away from her. "Ready?"

Maple nods.

Tom presses the buzzing head against the base of her shaft, drawing a gasp from her. He smirks. "And that's on the lowest setting."

"O-oh." A shiver runs through Maple. 

"Mhmmmm." Slowly, he begins trailing the vibrator up her length. "I could turn it up, later, if you ask." When he reaches her tip, her penis pulses and belches out a teaspoon worth of precum. "But I think even this is gonna be a lot for you."

Maple cannot manage words, already so far gone, her attempt at agreeing with him coming out as a needy little panting moan.

"Ohh, Maple," he coos, "so sensitive, my sweet strawberry-milkshake filly."

She shivers and moans loudly at the endearment, nearly overwhelmed by it, humping into the vibrator. That has him cackling against her shoulder and Grace barking a laugh from the kitchen.

"Looks like I found a new button, huh?" He trails the vibe back down, presses the head against her base again, against her lower belly, then leans up to whisper in her ear. "How does it feel to be so cute, so..." he pauses to grin and lick his fangs in her periphery, "delicious?"

Maple's breath catches. As if the words themselves weren't already too much, the vibrator continues winding her up, tighter and tighter. "T-Tom."

"Yeeeees, Maple?"

"Unf, nnnnnn!"

Tom cocks his head, ear flicking. "I'm afraid I don't speak needy little filly moans." His smile turns predatory. "Gonna need you to use your words."

She gasps, groans, grunts. The pressure builds. There must be steam coming out of her ears.

"Not quite. You want me to finish you off?"

Every second he keeps that infernal machine against her is another eternity of teetering on the precipice of release. She nods, delirious.

"Then tell me," he wheedles. "Let me hear that sweet voice of yours beg me to make you cum."

"Ah! Aaaah! Please, Tom!" She humps weakly at the vibe, covers her eyes with her hands. "Please make me cuuuuuuum!"

He nuzzles into her shoulder. "Good girl, Maple." Tom grants her mercy. The vibrator disappears, falls silent, and for an instant, her overstimulated mind is plunged into nothingness. But then his hand wraps around her, strokes her down-then-up, down-then-up.

And she explodes. Somehow, four orgasms in, this one is the most productive yet. She comes undone by Tom's hand, by the purr in his throat, by his self-satisfied chuckles by her side. Her entire world falls away and is rebuilt in the image of this one glorious climax. Her back arching, every muscle in her body so tense it hurts so good, Maple paints herself and her bed with every drop of cum she can squeeze out.

And then collapses.

She takes a gasping breath, her whole body going numb, floaty. She wonders idly if she cums that hard again if she'll simply die. As her senses return, she's suddenly glad she had covered her face to hide her embarrassment, because some of her eruption splattered on the backs of her hands and in her mouth, and she's sure getting cum in her eyes would have been awful.

-----

She's face-down, ass up again, tail flagging. She's lost count of how many times she's cum now. There's a puddle in the bedding. Tom is behind her, leaning over her back, giving her a reacharound. His voice is rumbling, somewhere between a soothing purr and a predatory growl, as he praises her.

"What a good girl, making it so long, cumming so much for me this evening, behaving so well for me." 

The harness and dildo are long gone, retired for the night, and now so is that monster vibe. It's just him. His clit grinds in against her taint, one hand working her shaft while the other plays with her breast—small, barely there—mostly focused on the over-sized nipple, so puffy and large as to be the majority of the breast. 

He kneads at it, rainbow claw caps raking over sensitive flesh, then grasps it firmly, squeezing it from base to tip, base to tip, in an obvious motion. 

He's milking her! 

Maple cums, harder than she has all night, muzzle shoved into the pillow, whimpering and crying as she spends herself, wishing she really could produce milk at this point. 

Tom releases her penis, leaving it to hang down, untouched, jumping and jerking with each full-body clench, each pulse of semen. 

"Thaaat's it, filly," he croons in her ear, nuzzling her neck and marking her as his. "You like being milked?" His second hand finds her other breast, joining the first in squeezing, now alternating—first one, base to tip, then the other while the first resets. Maple can only manage a weak nod, shivering. He chuckles, soft and smooth. "Good girl." He pulls one hand away to drag his colorful clawcaps down Maple's tummy to tap at the bandage on her thigh, then returns to her breast. "Soon, these hormones are gonna do their work, and fill these little boobs right up, make you a mare. And then when I play with you—" he squeezes one nipple extra hard, "—we're gonna get milk." 

Maple squeals into the pillow. 

Somehow, her orgasm redoubles. Her legs shake, tremble, before giving out, sending her collapsing into the puddle. He follows, purring up a storm on her back. Time ceases to have any meaning for Maple, as she's carried away on waves of ecstasy, adrift in love and lust and comfort. 

-----

Grace is just turning the page, three paragraphs into Sir Gareth's sprawling confession to his "rival," Sir Mordred, that the last year of competing with him for Princess Olwen's hand has all been pretense to spend time with him, admire his body, trade words with him, put hands on him—and thank goodness, because the knights' chemistry is so much more interesting than what either has going on with the princess, who is tragically underbaked as a character, and really Grace thinks love chevrons are about the least interesting thing het romance ever came up with—when Tom pads into the kitchen. She glances up.

He's damp.

Grinning ear to ear, he announces, "Bed's pregnant." And then he disappears into the bathroom.

Grace blinks. "The... What?"

Tom pokes his head out of the doorway. "That mattress's womb is flooded." He ducks back in. From inside, his voice rattles out, again, "Bed's pregnant." He returns with three more towels, already using one to wipe through his fur. "Twins, maybe triplets." And then he leaves.

For a moment, Grace considers what the fuck he may have meant. Horror dawns on her, slowly, as the implications fall into place. She grimaces and retches. She's saved from having to investigate by the timer beeping. She tests a strand of pasta, trying not to think about how much cum there must be, everywhere, for him to have been that wet, for the bed to be "pregnant". 

She thinks about it anyway.

-----

When Grace and Tom leave two hours later, they've fed Maple, cleaned up the worst of the mess, and left the horse wrapped up in a comfy blankie cocoon on her couch for the night while the mattress airs out.