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The Stallion and the Bull

The large bull stood inside his command tent, strain visibly falling from his body as he relaxed for the first time in weeks. It had not been easy, of course, but for the moment the job was done.

They had come out to fight, as he knew they would eventually, the siege gripping their city like a vice. For Lord Mar Tholan, it was as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning, once they had beaten off the relief force. The fight had been hard, but the outcome never in doubt.

Stripping off his scarlet command shawl, he stretched muscles long tensed and let out a soft moan at the feel of his joints cracking. He could hear his men all around, the many sounds of a victorious army after conquering a city. Rowdy sounds, bellows of laughter and joy in the besieging army camp, matched by even louder sounds from the city itself. Cries, screams, wild high pitched whinnies and triumphant bellows told him the tale. His men had started the plundering already, the riches of the city being collected. Riches that included its inhabitants, their bodies fit for spoil.

He had lost count of the battles over time, but the results were plain enough. He had become rich and powerful, a lord amongst Bulls, favoured of the high king. He had also become jaded in equal measure, a less visible but more palpable legacy. One more battle, what did it matter? He no longer knew the answer.

This one for instance. A beautiful city, home to the horses of the plains and their lord. Proud and noble, the equines had refused to do homage to the High King of the Taurines, bolted their city and settled in to resist. He had hated the necessity, but he knew his duty and had done it with his usual expert touch. Now all that remained was the mopping up.

It had not gone without cost however, and even a personal one. At a critical moment, a group of enemy knights, household guard of the lord of the city, had made a daring break and headed right for the commander's position, seeking to disorganise his army. They had nearly made it too, his own personal guard halting them just before the commander, his own sword drawn for the first time in years as he prepared to defend the hill. Secretly he would have welcomed it, the feel of real combat to restore his life force, but his men had done superbly, finally stopping the charge at the cost of many dead bulls.

The sound of hooves thudding to attention drew him from his memories, as someone sought him out. He was intrigued, as he should not be needed at this time, all the necessary orders having been given to his second in command. He had been looking forward to some time to himself, a long bath, a moment's peace, but it was not to be.

The tent flap opened, and a lieutenant from his guard entered, uncertainty written in the way his tail flicked. Exchanging a salute, he stood before his commander, aware his presence was unwelcome, and struggled with his task.

"My Lord...I er bring a gift for you. From Guard Commander Tar Chennak."

"I thank you lieutenant, however I see no gift?"

"Ahh, it is outside My Lord. I was told to seek your permission before bringing it to you. The Guard Captain gave me this for you" and he handed a note to the big bull before hanging his head respectfully.

Intrigued, the commander took the paper, eyes darting over its contents.

My friend, I know your desires better than any, and your need at this time. We found this one on the battlefield, alive but unconscious. He was the lone survivor of the equine's charge, and an impressive one, he killed five of my men himself before he was brought down. When he came to he begged for death, but I stayed my hand and instead present him to you, in memory of our fallen friends who perished this day.

Chennak

Blood flowed harder through the bull as he read, throbbing in his temples as he came alive at the idea. He had not savoured the taste of conquered flesh for far too long. Chennak did know his needs well.

"Bring the prisoner in"

The lieutenant bowed his way out hastily.

When the tent flap opened again, the bull took his time sizing up the new entrants. Two of his guardsmen flanked a third figure, shackled with arms behind his back and legs hobbled, so they practically had to carry him bodily into the tent. It was this third figure that captured his attention.

Naked, the stallion remained proud even in defeat. Taller than his own men, a stallion of perhaps 20 years no more, he was an incredibly beautiful specimen. Poets would do well to translate his beauty into words, and yet struggle to tell more than half the tale.

A long well muscled frame, the coat an intoxicating dappled grey, with darker limbs shading to black at hooves and paws. A long mane of black braided in gold, and a tail of almost silver strands. The long angled face carried a spreading bruise over one eye, and the left shoulder a gash slowly oozing blood, trophies of the battle, but they did nothing to diminish the beauty of this enemy. It was the eyes that held his attention longest though. A brilliant blue, their deep colour matched by deeper emotions, fear, despair, sorrow, anger, defiance, all written for him to see.

Dismissing his men with a nod, he took a flagon of wine from his desk, and stood before the captive eyeing him slowly.

"I am Lord Mar Tholarn, General in Command of his Majesty's army, consul of the High King. I am your captor. You will answer my questions, and you will obey me without question horse."

"I will do no such thing!" the stallion snorted, eyes blazing.

"Do you truly wish to die horse?"

"Yes!" it came out defiantly, but with an edge of real sorrow. There were depths here.

"Your city is ours, your people ours too. There is no escape, no return, I agree, but still you can hope for life if you wish"

"The life of a slave?"

"If you insist on calling it that. Say rather the life of an honoured guest. Why do you seek an end so eagerly? Pride?"

The stallion hung his head, avoiding the bull's eyes. "Not just that"

"No...I did not think so."

Completing a long searching examination, the commander circled the manacled stallion, taking in his beauty from every angle. Recognition flared in the bull, and with it came an idea.

"I remember you, horse. You were part of the group of household knights that charged my command party, a brave effort if ever there was one. You were close enough that I remember your face, even in the heat of battle. I remembered you because of the look on your face, one I have seen before."

"I have seen the drawn pale face of cowards, the blank stare of those lost to feeling, the gritted teeth of the battle frenzy. I saw something else in you though. The look of one determined to die, having lost that which was most precious to them. I know that look horse, years on the battlefield teach you these things."

The stallion shuddered at the voice, which seemed to be entering his mind and tearing at doors he was desperately trying to keep shut. He was too weak to resist however, and memories of the battlefield returned fresh and sharp.

He remembered the last desperate charge, its power and surprise carrying them through the lines and to within an ace of their goal. His sword had sung in the clear air as he clove through his enemies, seeking only to kill as many as possible before the inevitable end. His last sight was the command banner, the black horns on scarlet fluttering in the spring air before blackness overcame him, a blow to the head leaving him apparently dead. He only wished he had not woken up.

"What was his name?"

The question snapped him back to reality like a blow, his body shaking with emotion.

"What?!"

"Your lover...what was his name?"

The stallion blushed crimson, feeling stripped bare in ways his mere nakedness could never do. Dropping his head with a deep sigh, he whispered out the name that now filled his brain.

"Motharin." The name was pain, and the pain was a memory. The first attack, Taurine swordsmen in wedge formation charging their line. The household knights stood in the van, braced to take the charge. The momentum had separated them briefly, fatally for a moment. His love had slain the great bull before him, and turned towards his mate, seeking to join the ranks again, but before he could a swordsman had got behind him in the confusion, running him through before the stallion could shout a warning.

As the ranks had formed again, and the battle ebbed for a moment, he held his beautiful love, rocking him in his embrace, trying hard to wish away the reality. The reality was written in blood however, a stain that his desperate need could not wish away, as it pooled from his tunic and dripped from the sweet mouth, the same mouth he longed to kiss each time he felt him near.

"Looks like I get to be the mare again..." Motharin had whispered, voice laboured and in pain.

The stallion had snorted, the line filling his heart to overflowing. It had been their private joke, whenever they had jostled and competed in their years together, "Last one back to barracks gets to be the mare." His love had strangely contived to lose almost every time, something he had confronted him with, smiling and laughing. Their needs and desires had fitted together like their bodies; hand and glove, a perfect match.

"This time I swear I'm going to let you win" he replied, holding his love tighter.

He was rewarded with a snort from his love, a sad grin, and it was the same sad grin that his lover had on his muzzle soon after as the light left his eyes and he slumped against him, heart stilled forever. He had held him, still rocking, a wordless keening howl that seemed to come from the very bones of the earth pouring from his muzzle. Then the trumpet had sounded for the charge, and he had stood, a dark shadow with death on his brow, ready for an ending.

"How...how did you know?"

The bull snorted, nostrils flaring.

"I did not, not for sure, not until you admitted it. I suspected however."

"How?" the stallion breathed, face a mask of misery, partly from the memory, partly from the feeling of ultimate violation. Even this belonged to his captor now.

"As I said, I have seen that look before, too many years on too many battlefields have taught me more than you young horse. Also you had no sign of a tail ring. For a beautiful one such as you, and a knight of the household guard, to remain unmated to any mare, would be unusual unless by choice."

The stallion merely nodded, the explanation logical enough, but still leaving the most important question unanswered.

"What...what am I here for then? What are you going to do to me?"

The bull rocked back his head, a low rumbling laugh tinged with sorrow filling the tent.

"My men have made you a gift for me, a victory celebration for their commander. I am supposed to defile a proud young stallion, most beautiful of our captured foes, your pain and humiliation at losing your virginity to your conqueror a delicious end to the day. Little did they know."

Despite the feeling of rising heat at this pronouncement, the stallion could also appreciate the irony of the situation.

"Well, it seems your men failed in at least one act of planning today."

The bull snorted again, enjoying the defiance of this beautiful horse. As he emptied the flagon of wine in his paw, the liquid burned down his throat, filling his veins with life. His mind was made up.

"That may be little one, but that does not mean the idea lacks all merit. Whether you are virgin or not, you are still an enemy, and desirable, and at my mercy, and the idea of using your body is still immensely enticing."

The stallion caught his breath at that, momentary thoughts of escape from torment now dashed. Shackled and hobbled as he was, there was no real escape possible, and he stood, motionless and trying not to tremble, as the powerful bull removed his battle armour with languid bovine grace.

Stripped down finally to his tunic, the bull lifted the simple garment off his body to reveal his full naked frame to the terrified stallion. Though shorter than the horse, the bull was incomparably more powerful, thick body a solid block of muscle and sinew. Unable to stop, he let his gaze travel the full length of his captor; large horns, tipped with silver and decorated in crimson lines, the broad flat head and muzzle, thick neck and shoulders. Barrel chest and belly, leading to widely flared hips and powerful legs, then down to thick calves and wide cloven hooves.

It was the body of a warrior, all muscle without fat, criss-crossed lines of scars decorating rather than marring the picture. Unable to avoid it any longer, the stallion looked where he dared not; the thick furry sheath with the massive pair of balls hanging beneath. A sheath that was already showing a hint of pink cock at its opening.

Seemingly paralysed at the sight, he could only stare as the bull approached him now, taking the young stallion in a firm grip and pulling him to the low bed, before dropping him gently but firmly on the sleeping skins below. With his paws and arms trapped behind his back on the bed, his legs spread by a metal bar between the hobbles; whatever the bull wanted to do, he had no chance of stopping him.

The stallion attempted to quell the shaking of his body, determined to endure what was to come with the last of his strength, to show the bull nothing as his body was used. Once it was over, he would take the first opportunity to seek the solace of death, and join his lost love. There was nothing left, nothing to remain for. His spirit belonged to the Gods already, even if his body still belonged to his captor.

He had not reckoned on the bull however.

Laying next to his captive, the bull took in the sight of the young stallion. Lowering his wide muzzle to the prone form, he sniffed luxuriously, the scent an intoxicating mix. Sweat, strong and sharp. The wild musk of young male, potent, virile. These scents lifted beyond the ordinary smells of the battlefield that still lingered, blood, smoke and fear, the smells of death. The stallion underneath smelled of life, delicious and vivid, male and proud, the smells of the bull's own youth. He almost wept at the memory.

"You are a gift from the Gods little one. Such a gift should be savoured."

The stallion shuddered as he felt paws on his skin, thick hoof tipped fingers touching him, teasing, caressing. The sensation was so different to what he expected, the shock kept him from trying to break free as the bull played his body. The sensual touch made his fur stand on end as he was savoured, the sure touch of the bull a revelation.

The general let his fingers and eyes take ownership of his prize. He would touch, stroke, caress, listening for the gasps and cries that told him he was on the right line, watching the muscles beneath the fur as they twitched and strained in response. He could wait no longer, he had to taste him. Broad thick tongue snaking from his muzzle, he followed the course of his touch, rasping tongue now tracing across the chest, suckling the firm nipples, a huffing snort from the bull tantalising the chest fur of the writhing stallion as pure pleasure filled his senses.

Slowly, achingly, the bull continued his exploration. The deep cleft of the young stallion's pectorals proved a deliciously sensitive spot, as did the abdominals, the muscles quivering like butterfly wings as he lapped and nuzzled. Ignoring the beautiful cock poking from its sheath for the moment, he licked across the muscled cradle of his hips. Then down the lean legs, the fur inside his widely splayed thighs bristling as the paws and muzzle devoured him.

The stallion tried with all his might not to respond, but the experienced bull was too much for him. Writhing, he fought the sensations in vain, his cock slowly pushing out of its sheath and thickening as the bull worked over his body.

Seeing his prize now pulsing against the muscled belly, the bull claimed it as his, muzzle closing around the tip as he gave the startled stallion unexpected intense pleasure. Suckling his way down the shaft, he took the entire organ into his muzzle, working his stallion over. A series of sighs, moans and pleadings gave way to a full throated cry of pleasure as the young stallion felt his heavy balls cupped and roughly squeezed while his overheated cock dripped into the bull's questing mouth.

The bull was enjoying his prize too much to let it end however, and as he felt the churning balls start to draw up he backed off, returning to licking the captive horse, before returning to his sweet torment. The process repeated over and over, the lamps burning down as the bull spent an eternity teasing and enjoying the young captive.

Lost and beyond rational thought, the stallion whimpered, desperation filling his being. He needed this more than he had ever done, though it hurt more than any pain to realise how he was being played. He was close to tears, ready to beg and humiliate himself if that was what was required. Pride held him back by a thread.

Suddenly, he felt strong unyielding paws on him, turning him over on his belly, his oversensitive cock pressing against the sleeping furs. His thoughts cleared for a moment, to be replaced by cold fear. The moment had come, and at least he had been spared the humiliation of begging.

When he felt his muscled cheeks gripped and pulled apart, he gritted his teeth and waited for the pain. His cry of surprise greeted the impossible reality that instead of violating him, the bull was eating him out, warm tongue lapping his nethers and focussing on the tight muscled donut of his tail hole.

A low chuckle came from his captor. "I can see which of you was the mare little one. Your muscle is as almost as tight as a virgin colt. Don't worry though, you will be well ready when the time comes."

"Looks like I get to be the mare again..."

"This time I swear I'm going to let you win"

"Oh gods...no...!" he gasped, distress and need warring inside, but the bull was not to be distracted. Setting about his task with a will, he opened the tight pucker gradually, slowly, his tongue transporting the helpless stallion to new levels of need as his paws cupped the bursting orbs and pressed gently.

Finally, the bull covered the stallion with his heavy body, the smell of bull musk filling the air. It was time for the mounting, but still he would take his time. Licking the sweaty neck, he whispered to the captive youngster, calming him, telling him how beautiful he was, as he prepared for what was to come.

His heavy cock now fully extended, the bull pressed the tip against the pucker he had loved so carefully. Thanks to his preparation, the tip entered effortlessly, the first thinner inch sliding in as the stallion clenched at first then sighed as the pain was not what he expected.

"You don't know bulls very well little one. While your stallion lover would have felt pain every time you split him with your blunt tip, bulls are better equipped for the task."

The stallion could only moan as the bull gradually edged his cock into the tight entrance, each further inch expanding as the cock thickened towards the base. Towards the end the stallion was panting at the feeling of being stretched and filled, soft moans escaping with each new thrust.

With infinite care, infinite patience, the bull entered the bound stallion, until with a final thrust he hilted himself completely, a low bellow of triumph drawn from his muzzle. Reaching under the horse, he grinned as he felt what he sought. His partner had not lost his erection, the massive bull's unexpected gentleness had seen to that. Instead his cock drooled a solid line of excitement into the furs.

The stallion nonetheless was shaking now. When the massive orbs of his captor touched his own, he felt an electric shock at the warm pulsing living things against him. The feeling broke him, the final proof of his deflowerment, and the realisation that a part of him had welcomed it too much for him. It was a final sense of conquest, like seeing the hated banner fly over the city, and it left him shattered and alone. And yet still his body burned with the need.

The bull started a slow, loving rutting, pleasuring rather than using. His partner responded, body coming alive again as he moved with the bigger fur above him, body relaxing as waves of pleasure began to pulse through his body. As the bull rutted slowly, the tip of his cock began to press against the spongy prostate, and the stallion gave himself to the feelings, lost to anything but a deep need for release.

The bull had age and endurance on his side however, and he wanted to possess this stallion body and soul. Feeling the liquid fire against his cock as the clenching channel began tightening, the bull slowed again, pulling back to tease the entrance. A shuddering sigh erupted from the stallion, a long frustrated nicker as he felt the orgasm elude him again as it has so many times.

Again the dance began, the bull leading, the stallion able only to follow. As he backed off a second time, the bull was rewarded by a soft pleading sob from the tortured equine. The game was nearing its climax.

"Please..."

"What little one?"

"Please!"

"Please what?"

"Please...My Lord."

"Yes little one...but I need you to tell me what you want."

"Please...let me cum"

"Yes little one...and what do I need to do to make you cum?"

The stallion choked back a sob as he realised the bull was going to force him to say the words that would humiliate him.

"Please...fuck me. Hard..."

"Yes little one...whatever you wish."

Gripping the bound youngster below him, the bull threw himself into a wild hard rutting, ramming now deep and hard, uncaring at the pain he may cause, teaching the proud stallion to submit. And submit he did, through clenched teeth, reluctantly, achingly but completely, his hole gripping the invading cock and seeking to draw it deeper. Each hard thrust sent a shot of pure pleasure through his body as the bull cock began to play a fast rhythm on his prostate and he felt the pleasure build, inexorably, this time allowed to pass the point of no return.

When his long delayed orgasm finally came, the stallion could not hold back a full throated cry as he spent all over his chest and the furs below, wave after wave crashing through him and out to spread its sharp scent through the tent. Coming back to reality, he felt a vast warm stain against his fur, immediate reminder of his own release.

It was then that he realised that he felt no answering warmth in his hole, the bull still fully erect and panting, short snorts puffing from his nostrils. He had held himself back, wanting to enjoy this as long as possible, confident that the youngster's recovery would match his greater control well and allow the experience to continue. He was not to be disappointed.

The same hard paws now turned the shaking horse over again, until he was on his back, his bound legs now above the bull's shoulders with the thick cock still buried to the hilt. The bull bent over him, leaning in for a long deep kiss that he tried to resist at first. As he persisted however, the stallion gave in and the long tongue slid inside him, tasting of his own body, and he felt himself pulled into a long passionate kiss that he found to his horror he was responding to. The cock inside him pulsed and throbbed, as his own, never truly softening, now thickened anew.

He looked into the placid brown eyes above him, seeing a surprising tenderness, shocking him to the core.

"You are beautiful little one...it would be a waste of the God's bounty to kill you. I would rather do this, for as long as you remain with me."

Heart racing, unable to frame words, the stallion held on as the bull drew him into a tight embrace and began a loving hard rut. Every stroke drove him further from the world he knew, until he felt he was floating in space, the muscled bull above him using his body and giving in equal measure.

Arching his head back, he felt a tongue on his throat, licking and biting gently, as the pounding built and built. A paw reached for his stallion cock, rubbing along the shaft and teasing the flared rim, bringing him closer.

His mind fled, bodily memories drawing him to another time, the last time his love had taken him like this. Weeks before the siege began, when life still held promise and joy. They had finished exercises, and after a slow sensual wash in the pools, returned to the barracks for the night. His lover had looked at him with an unusual hunger, and the hunger had felt its expression the moment they closed the door to the room they shared.

Motharin had been on him, undressing him in moments, the hunger for his body written on his sweet face as he worked him into a frenzy. Coyly, Motharin had led him to the bed. Instead of laying back, begging his mate to enter him as was their normal way in lovemaking, Motharin took the lead, his mate following enjoying this reversal in their roles.

Motharin had coered him with a body familiar yet always surprising. The look of passion, of love pure and deep, made his heart sing as he felt himself taken, the unfamiliar pain of entry rapidly passing leaving a beautiful burning fullness. Then it began, and his cries of pleasure matched his lover's as they performed the ancient beautiful act of two males in love, giving and taking as they mated.

He could almost feel it now, soft breath, the fullness of his beloved's cock. The weight of his lover's body against him, the fast urgent thrusts and frantic stroking as he brought his mate along, the last strangled command to cum, cum that he always wanted to obey. Feeling a spreading warmth deep in his bowels, the stallion cried out too, matching his lover's pleasure with his own ecstatic release.

"Gods!...Motharin!....ohhh Motharin....yes...yes...YES!"

His own orgasm receding, he opened his eyes, returning to the world, and the sight of the bull above him, a look of infinite sadness in his eyes. Realising what he had done, the stallion broke into fragments.

"Oh no my love, I am so sorry...please forgive me"

Body wracked by sobs he could not control, he gave in, lost to the pain and the grief again, guilt and shame adding to the burden. On and on he cried, heedless of his surroundings. The pain was all he could feel, his world subsumed in the blackest night.

"Forgive me..."

Licking at the stallion's tears, the bull held him, letting the emotion reach its peak and crest, the body beneath him finally going slack in his embrace. Running a blunt finger down the exposed chin, he comforted his partner, his own thoughts sombre and bittersweet.

"Forgive me..."

Finally the bull spoke, low resonant voice laced with pain.

"Mine was called Paloran. I lost him 10 summers ago, during the first ursine war. I held him as he died, and a part of me has been dead ever since. The reason I knew the look in your eyes little one, was because I saw the same look from the mirror many years ago."

The stallion opened his eyes now, tears still glistening as he stared at the bull above him.

"Do not cry little one, they have gone somewhere we cannot reach, but also where they cannot feel pain any more. We have a duty to them still, to honour them in how we live, not in how we die. Time enough to join them when our own proper time comes."

"Will you return with me, under my protection, and join me in my home?. Perhaps we can heal each-other, little one. "

"By the way...I never did ask your name...?"

"A...Arestan...but...but...I..."

The bull pressed one finger to his new lover's lips, stilling the confusion and the pain for a moment.

"Shhh sweet Arestan. Do not answer me yet. There are many hours to go before the dawn...we will have all the time you need."

The lamps burned lower and flickered out one by one, but the two paid them no attention, lost in their own world. There was healing to be done, and night's soft cloak surrounded the two, the stallion and the bull, and kept them safe.