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CONTENT WARNING:

The story you are about to read contains explicit and detailed depictions of the following:

Rape/Non-Consensual Sex

Incest*

Injury & wounds

Death

Infidelity

Reader discretion is advised

*ALL INCESTUOUS ACTS BOTH PORTRAYED AND REFERENCED WERE COMMITTED BETWEEN TWO ADULTS

The sound of hoofs crashing

Iron bending and fracturing

The screams and chaos that followed

None of it came slow enough for Elio to properly react. There was only blinding light and head-splitting ringing, overwhelming the horse for what felt like centuries. When his senses began to return what he saw caused him to wish for their absence once again. His wool tunic was completely ripped open from just below the neckline down over the horizon of his stomach to who-wants-to-know-where. His nerves on fire, his head melting, his muscles writhing.

The white horse raked at the ground, desperately trying to keep his insides from escaping himself. He strained his neck to look over at his brother.

What was his brother

Now a limp pile of blood and cloth, barely visible in Elio’s periphery. He tried to reach out, but his arms betrayed him, merely worsening his injuries. The world lost its color, gravity itself seemed to invert. The last thing the horse remembered seeing was a pair of crimson eyes piercing at him from the hysterical crowd–

Tract Five – The Lord

Elio erected himself in his bed fast enough to cause the stars to dance in his vision. His heart raced, his sweat making his silk undergarments and bedding weigh heavy on his person. His hands shook as he pulled such coverings from himself and sat on the edge of the mattress. Every breath felt like a maelstrom of needles in his throat.

Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, his mistress shifting in her sleep as he did so, and approached his reflection in the mirror fixed to the mortared walls of his bedchamber. His reflection announced the existence of a pale man dressed in clothes not fit for his form. His eyes sunk deep into his skull, his arms much smaller than the inflated sleeves in which they were nestled, his chest gaunt and matted.

The horse apprehensively unbuttoned his top and traced his fingers along the scar. It ran from the base of his neck down to his genitals, creating violent ridges and creases where the sinew threads had only barely managed to pull him back together.

His hand suddenly spasmed shut as he did so. His muscles and joints locking up, disobeying his mind as he did so. His breathing and heart began to pick up in pace. Shaking, it took the force of his other hand to pry his palm free from the demented grip.

His muscles slowly relaxed, the panic and tension subsiding. He once again continued tracing down to his lower form, which proved some parts of him would never be one again, as the two dangling pieces of his separated scrotum his fingers gently passed over would never let him forget.

“Five years” the words echoed In his head. Five years since the jousting accident that killed Grigorio, his older brother, and nearly took him with it had occurred. Nearly the entire fiefdom was in shock, as far as the word had spread at least.

Speaking of shock, a soft but metallic knock came at the door that startled Elio out of his haze. He made his way to the door before slowly opening it and wincing at the creaking it made, amplified by his desire for it to not do so. There on the other side stood Françisco, his ever patient and loyal guard. But his usual warm smile did not accompany his visit this morning.

“‘He’ is here.” The canine spoke simply.

Elio’s breath caught in his throat, more-so than usual. “‘He’, are you.. certain?”

The Mastiff nodded “Yes, Señor. He awaits in your private sanctum as you instructed.”

The lord tried to nod his head in acknowledgement, but it appeared as little more than nervous jitters. Françisco, thankfully, picked up on his lord’s meaning and nodded in return. He dared a glance beyond the royal to his mistress, still in bed.

“What shall I do Señor?” He said in his lowest voice.

“Tell her, tell m–” The equine stuttered. He sighed and paused. “Tell her I will be busy until I return. She must not know of course, no one can. Clear my arrangements for today as well. I…” Elio paused once again, his thoughts weighing more than lead. “I must attend to this immediately.”

Elio stepped into the private retreat in the innermost center of the manor. It was a place none but a scant few in the royal family and their most trusted guards knew. It contained a garden, a small library, and another most luxurious of bathing and bedchambers. Far outclassing anything else in the palace. A delicate flower in the cold fortress the horse found himself the head of. Built long before the rest of the manor had even been conceived, in a time where it would’ve served as a centerpiece rather than a hushed secret.

It was a place the lord knew well. Many, many excursions had been made to its warm stone walls and stucco moulding. It was a place he once felt the most secure, the most comfortable. But that had been a long time ago. Now he could only bring himself to enter this space for one reason. Once every year, on a given day, he was summoned by the figure that now lay on the luxurious velvet bed, obscured by curtains but nonetheless immediately recognizable.

Trembling, Elio entered past the open glass doorway, relieved and took his seat on the edge of the bed. He was soon met with the strong hands of Grigorio wrapping around his body, holding him close to his own. The larger horse’s chin resting on the smaller Lord’s.

“I missed you so much, brother.” He spoke in his signature deep voice.

Elio wordlessly let himself fall back into his brother’s hold. Compressing together like a collapsable chair. The older horse took the lead, grinding his long hot shaft across the smaller equine’s entrance.

“N-no..”

“That’s what you’re gonna say to your older brother?” Grigorio said, tightening his grip on Elio.

The Lord squirmed and twisted, trying to break free as the older man began to force himself in his younger brother. The larger horse ripped a hole in his breeches, then his braies, fully exposing his anus. The lord tried again to wriggle away, only for Grigorio to again grip Elio, tearing away at his silk tunic until only small bits of pathetically loose fabric remained.

“I know how much you missed this. This dance we used to do. It was just us, you offered yourself to me. I accepted. You belonged there. You belong HERE, in my arms, where we can become one.” Grigorio whispered in Elio’s ear as he continued to have his way with his brother.

Elio barely had the energy to spread his legs, letting his brother’s oiled shaft slide in and out of his body, further matting and tearing at his fur as the royal gripped the bedsheets until his knuckles ached.

“Please.. slower, PLEASE!” Elio begged, tears flowed from his wincing eyes, feeling his body go through burst after burst of pain that echoed through him long after.

“Slower? I thought you liked it like this. I thought you begged me to go harder and harder until you no could no longer feel once I was done with you”, Grigorio taunted. His full shaft now fully entering and exiting his younger brother, his hips rolling with each thrust, seemingly widening Elio’s insides.

Without warning Grigorio turned his brother around, pressed his chest to Elio’s, and bit down on the smaller horse’s shoulder. Grigorio’s thrusts increased in pace, his teeth dug into the Lord’s skin, causing Elio’s legs to bend back and apart to accomodate the massive shaft tormenting his torso.

Finally, it happened. Grigorio’s thrusts became so fast, so hard, Elio felt he was going to split in half. The older horse broke his younger brother’s skin with his bite, his muscly body tensing up before releasing a flood into the smaller male. Their dry collisions quickly being replaced with wetter ones. Stains forming on fur, velvet sheets, and clothing.

The two lay there for a moment, locked in time. Reality forcing its way back into both of their minds. The larger man took his exit of Elio’s body, causing the horse to grip the sheets once again as the pain of insertion was replaced with the agony of emptiness.

When he looked upon his assailant, his form had changed. He was thinner, but not smaller. Longer and darker fur now covered most of his body. His head was shorter and he’d grown facial hair. Two long, twisting horns now sit atop his head like a demented crown. A pair of crimson eyes now looked back at the Lord. Cunning, confident, full of truths and lies more horrid than any man should rightly know.

“Why… why did you do it?” Elio managed to whimper, his body still aching.

Malroth chuckled, wiping the horse’s blood off his lips. He lay back down on the bed parallel to the royal. Elio tried to inch away from the goat’s grasp, but the cult leaders arms snaked around his from nonetheless. Trapping him in his clutches once again.

“Oh sweet Señor, I needed someone I could trust. Someone who owed me a favor.” Malroth crooned, his deep voice seeming to echo deep within Elio’s mind. The goat resumed grinding his shaft between the horse’s legs, causing the male to shift and squirm yet again.

“Your brother, older by seven years, he was always the favorite. Strong, handsome, poised to take the crown with charisma to spare. You wouldn’t have been ready for the pressure, the responsibility even if you’d prepared for it. Too busy with painting, poetry, and of course taking your brother’s dick behind closed doors. Where you thought no one could see.

“But that time was over, the crown passed him by due to an…. accident. One that left him out of the question and you, who was barely in the running, now thrust–” Malroth punctuated this by pressing his shaft hard against Elio’s still raw hole. “–onto the throne. This, of course, lead to your many vices. Rumors of both your infidelity and infertility cannot be contained forever. Even YOU know that. But it was at least better than the knowledge of your true subject of lust, your preference for that which had been buried half a decade ago, escaping beyond these hallowed walls.”

More trembling from Elio before the goat finally let him worm his way out of Malroth’s hold. The Caprinae rolled off the bed and onto his feet once again, shuffling with something as he continued.

“You get to play in your little fantasy world, stay in the past, stay with the only one who ever truly cared about you. You get advisors that do all your dreadful official work for you, and better than you ever could. All so long as you play nice of course, and don’t let my little secrets slip out of your pretty lips. My business, my town, my name. All under lock and key.”

Elio could swear he heard Malroth hiss as those last words escape his mouth. It was then he saw a metallic glint appear, followed by flashes of ruby. He tried to escape the bed, but black tendrils appeared from the shadows, holding him to the mattress. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” The horse wailed.

Malroth came into view again, a vile grin spread across his face. “Surprise! I need something from you once again.” The goat said with glee, balancing the point and base of his dagger between his two pointer fingers. “I require your blood. It’s for a project I have in the in the works, long term. It must be royal blood, and in my case that sadly means yours. Trust me; you still very, VERY, much owe me.”

The cult leader touched the tip of his dagger to the horse’s thigh and paused before making a swift cut along the flank. Elio screamed in pain, the cut feeling more like a deep burn than a slice. Malroth collected the deep red liquid into a vile, filling it just over halfway before removing it from the wound and fixing a cork stopper to the opening.

More cries and twitching from Elio as the dark vines receded to the shadows. The horse attempted to get up, taking a swing at the goat standing just beyond the bed. As soon as his fist reached Malroth, the goat was gone. A deep, dark laugh echoed within the horse’s mind as his weak, violated form collapsed onto the stone floor.

He looked up to see the bedchamber for what it truly was. The mortar cracked and overflowing with ivy. The wood furniture stained and gnarled. The mattress upon which he’d laid rotted and collapsing. He slipped getting up, before finally finding his feet. The cut no longer bleeding, but a dark scar forming upon his flesh. He looked around for any signs of Malroth’s presence. But none could be found.

“Enjoy your fantasy. Cling to the decaying past. It is all you will ever have.”