FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Bovine Discipline

Criminals. Sire. Calf. They will learn their lessons under Kokran Shatterspike

Anyone with a hint of wisdom and observation could see the reflected light came from a spyglass. Even then, Brem was quick. He would only check the caravan’s position, feeling the urge to put the spyglass away as quickly as he used it.

His focus danced from one spot to another, trying to estimate the number of tents and carts hidden in a rocky crack that also housed one of the rare oases.

“What do you see?”

“Not much. My guess is they’re more than fifty. But I can’t say they have guards.”

“No guards? Are they crazy?”

“Or greedy,” answered Brem, prosaic. “If they don’t pay guards, they increase their margins.”

Brem's eyes still danced across the iron-red rocky mesas, casting large shadows on the camp. There were no guards up there, but the shade made it difficult to count the number of people. Plus, with those constant movements and the people hiding in their sable-colored tents, Brem’s count might have been wrong.

Yet, he was making a quick estimation of how much food could be stored on those carts amidst the coffers, the silk bolts… And those hefty iron tools. The latter would be a blast on the Sunlands’ markets.

With that, Brem hastily tied the spyglass to his belt and straightened up, looking to his right.

Contrary to what one might expect, age wasn’t always a sign of wisdom. Berehem was a perfect example of this idea. The graying and certainly bulky Minotaur might have looked impressive and powerful. But idleness revealed how silly he could be when he was picking his fur like a child.

“Bere’,” huffed Brem, frowning at his sire.

“Yeah?” answered the sable-coated Minotaur, snapping his head to face Brem.

“Let’s move closer. There’s no point in keeping watch from so far.”

“Told you,” chuckled the older Minotaur, straightening up and going on his hooves. “We should have rushed there.”

“And put ourselves in danger. No thanks.”

Brem grunted and even flapped his ears, a distinct sign of disrespect directed at his sire. Not that Berehem cared. The two were related, shared the same blood, but it was obvious Brem wasn’t exactly like his sire. As Minotaurs, the two were hulking beasts that had to walk hunched on their hooves, their upper bodies strikingly impressive.

Where Berehem had a sable-colored coat and only wore a loincloth to complete his barbarian appearance, Brem looked more refined. Perhaps it was his harness, his reinforced skirt, the iron sword at his hips, or the clinging trinkets he had at his belt.

Spyglass, compass, maps, they formed an attire that gave him a more scholarly look, though his body was just as impressive as his Sire.

The Sire who’d been the drive to their current lives as they slid down a sandy mound, descending the ridge they’d used for reconnaissance.

They moved with impressive efficiency, characterized by an economy of movements and sounds, even with their bags on. They kept watch for the snakes and other dangerous beasts dwelling under the rocks and the sand.

Yet, there was that uneasiness and the weight visible on their shoulders.

But that… that was normal.

They hailed from those lands, as much as it was true. But those lands, the Sunlands, had not always been stretches of searing sands and sterile mesas.

The tales from Berehem once spoke of a fertile country with rivers and waters that brought life and plants. Not anymore, since sand and heat choked everything. Even the rare city-states teetered on the brink of oblivion because of resource shortages.

There were no mines, no iron, no precious jewels underneath that sand. Perhaps there was gold, but not enough.

Remained then the livings: slaves that were hunted and brought outside the Sunlands, and the criminals, stealing from the caravans crossing through the Sunlands.

Berehem and Brem were not slaves; hence… They were thieves, criminals.

If they were caught, they would be executed in public. But the riches they reaped had been enough to keep them alive until now. And there was the thrill. The excitement.

The satisfaction when stealing.

“How do we handle it?” asked Berehem, grunting behind Brem. “Rush in as usual?”

“I’d propose another method,” answered Brem, blowing his right nostril in defiance. “They’re a larger prey than before. We should wait until early dawn and slip into their camp to steal what we want.”

“What? Are you taking me for a pointy ear? You told me you saw no guards.”

“No guards keeping watch outside or around the camp. But they could be inside. Plus, they got iron.”

In a land without metals, iron was more precious than coins. And way more dangerous than the club Berehem usually wielded. The same smacking his thigh.

“What’s gotten into you?”

Brem blinked and froze, looking over his shoulder. To see his Sire looking disappointed, his tail swaying.

“What?”

“You’re using pointy-ears methods, Son! We’re Minotaurs! Where is your pride?”

“Your pride narrowly got us killed last year.”

“Narrowly! You speak like them!” laughed the Sire. “Look at me. I’m older than you, and I lived.”

More than that, Berehem even approached, passing an arm over his Son’s shoulder.

“Let me tell you. We bellow so they know we are challenging them for their stuff! We charge in! I use my club, you your fancy stick… And we earn enough for…”

“Three months,” huffed Brem, trying to slip away from the grip.

“We earn enough for three months! Come on!” continued Berehem, shaking Brem’s shoulders.

“No. Bere’. It’s too dangerous this time. There is a cave nearby we can use to rest and sleep. It’ll be perfect to wait there.”

Berehem stopped and released his arms. He stepped away before putting his hands on his hips.

“No.”

“No?” asked Brem, raising an eyebrow.

“No. I will not use a pointy-ears method,” grumbled Berehem, one hand on his hips and mimicking a mouth with his massive calloused fingers. “I prefer to hide like a lowlander.”

Even the high-pitched voice was demeaning.

“We don’t know what can happen if we rush there. It smells wrong,” grumbled Brem.

“Well, that’s your problem. I’ll go there without you.”

“And I’ll go to that cave,” replied Brem, pointing in its direction. “It’s perfect for setting up a camp.”

“Good to hear. You’ll set the camp while I bring us riches and maybe two beautiful cows to fuck!”

Before Brem could answer, his Sire threw him his bag. And he received it with a huff.

He observed the leather bag, then his Sire rolling his shoulders and detaching his club from his belt.

“I won’t be long, pointy-ears,” laughed Berehem before he bellowed.

Brem’s ears dropped, and for a second, he was stuck between following his Sire or his plan.

His Sire, without surprise, gave him no such choice as he left, charging and shouting.

It would take him two or three hours to arrive at the caravan due to the arduous terrain. Even then, Brem had no doubt his Sire would be screaming his lungs out all the way, and not even look tired.

So, without even checking, Brem went to the cave that was just like he remembered.

They often used the region, with its many ridges and hiding spots, for their crimes. And as such, Brem could say he knew the place like the back of his hand. He put the bags down, set the bedrolls on the floor, sat on his own, and waited.

At first, there were the echoes of his Sire’s bellows. Then, they stopped.

Silence. Brem took out his maps and began writing on them. He knew where and when most caravans would pass. This one they’ve been following was odd. The carts were large and loaded, but didn’t leave as many traces as those that were heavy. There were no traces of guards roaming around, even on mounts. Worse, they clearly had no rearguard.

It smelled like a trap.

But… Even if they had weapons or anything, they couldn’t do anything to Berehem. As stupid as his Sire was, Brem knew Berehem could easily take fifty humans on his own.

He was a force of nature, much like most Minotaurs. Yet, Brem would have preferred a more cunning approach.

So… He waited.

His Sire wanted to do that alone, Brem would then wait by noting maps, napping, drawing, or even taking a few walks around the cave to make sure no one was snooping.

But after one day… Brem was frustrated.

“He must have gone to another cave or lost himself,” grumbled the Minotaur while packing their bags and slinging them over his shoulders.

It wouldn’t be the first time Berehem would be distracted by a female and forget all countenance. It happened before; it could happen again.

If that was so, there was a chance Berehem had forgotten to steal what they’d planned to take. And so, it was up to Brem to get in the caravan. However, he did it with his own method.

Not proven, but it’d certainly work as he slunk between the crags, watching out for the nonexistent guards, and approached the oasis.

Though it reeked of a trap, the Minotaur found no guards around when it was early dawn. In fact, it was as if people were waiting for him when he entered the camp. An old Lizardman saluted him, checking his tent. A young human girl, covered with silk and veils, beckoned him. He didn’t understand her speech, but with the way she offered him a cup of water and flatbread, she might have taken him for a lost traveler.

Even then, Brem accepted the cup, emptied it, and continued to stroll through the tents. The garishly dyed fabrics showed they were from the Sunlands. Locals like him. But as he checked around, a detail struck the Minotaur.

Sure enough, they stored all the weapons and their chests in one corner, practically at the opposite end of the entrance from the camp, which was stupid. But there were Minotaurs.

The brutes were piling up near the weapons, waiting, sitting, idle, even playing dice. And they all had piercings. On their ears, through their noses, through their exposed nipples for some. They were decorated like a bunch of cattle, but none eyed Brem. They ignored him royally when he circled the weapon stashes, the chests.

Even the majority of humans that were part of the caravans seemed to ignore him as he strolled around and made many turns to check his potential exit points.

To Brem, it was sure they counted him as part of the stupid and submissive bunch of Minotaurs that kept to themselves.

Hence, he had the perfect cover if he so desired to leave with the weapons. Something he could do despite his Sire’s apparent failure to reach the camp.

“You can do this,” whispered Brem to himself for a moment, feeling his heartbeat going faster as he approached the cart that was heavy with all sorts of blades coming from the lowlands.

Longswords, bastard swords, even curved swords. There were more, but they were the easiest to carry as he put on nearby belts and had the swords’ scabbards attached to his hips.

There was no cry, no shout. No sound around as Brem stocked up on the blades he planned to sell in the nearest market.

Yet, fingers locked on his shoulders.

“Hey. Leave me be, I’m-”

Brem’s voice died when a fist hit him. His jaw flared with pain. He would have dropped like a rock. But someone grabbed his arm, and then another arm slipped under him to steady him.

Yet, the fist hit him again. As well as the realization.

Sand fur, robust build, much like him, the same eyes. Brem’s mind raced as he saw an older version of himself covered with piercings. No… It looked like his Sire.

His Sire, who had a nose ring, pierced rings, and pierced nipples. And who didn’t utter a word when his fist hit Brem’s face again. Knocking him out.

-

Brem slowly opened his eyes.

His jaw ached, so did most of his face. But he felt something cold pressed against his face. Something soothing that made him move his head and try to rub his swollen cheek against the damp fabric.

An action that drove the fabric away. Or at least, the relief it brought.

Brem grumbled, huffed, and puffed his chest. And then opened his eyes, finding it less swollen than expected. Whenever his Sire beat him for an error, the Minotaur would always have issues opening his eyes and eating. Right now? There was some soreness but no apparent… Swelling?

A surprising realization. Brem snapped his gaze right and found the one holding the damp, cold fabric was none other than his Sire.

A Sire who wore no expression as he put the fabric away and straightened up, much like a doll. His body was like steel, his muscles tense, and he had his loincloth. Worse, the metal was all over his ears… Six piercings for both ears, one for the nose, two for the nipples… And there was potentially more that pressed against Berehem’s loincloth.

“Wha- Bere’?!”

“Ah! He is there. He’s your son. Your… Calf? Isn't he?” asked another voice.

Brem snapped his gaze left, to where the voice came from. At the same time, he pulled on his legs and arms, only to find himself bound. Then, before he could get a proper view of the stranger, Brem’s eyes went over the leather straps tying him down to a table.

Straps that were reinforced and in such an ample amount, his only freedom was in his fingers’ wiggling and his neck turning.

He gargled.

“Yes, Master Kokran.”

Brem blinked at the tone his father used that was so devoid of energy, so dull. And again, he turned to see who Berehem was talking to. A dwarf.

They were not hailing from the Sunlands but the lowlands. Nevertheless, Brem had already seen a few to recognize a dwarf from the lowly humans. Yet, that one had coal-dark skin and glowing orange eyes. And fiery red hair that seemed to amplify the satisfied and eager smile on that face.

“Good. It is rare to have two bulls sharing the same bloodline. Your kind is so individualistic,” said the Dwarf, smiling and snapping his fingers.

A second later, two Minotaurs entered the tent while carrying a stool, which they put near the table before the dwarf stood on the stool. The Minotaurs, both pierced, slipped away. Leaving the Dwarf to lean over the table, examining Brem like… A pet? No. An animal. A trinket?

Brem huffed.

“What have you done to my Sire?”

“Your Sire?” laughed the Dwarf. “I fixed his attitude, and I have plans to make him more useful.”

He even waved his hands towards where Berehem was, and there was some stomping. Followed by the sound of metal clicking against metal. A surprise.

“Tsh. I know my Sire wouldn’t make himself useful even if he wanted to. He is too proud to follow orders. So what is it? Poison? Blackmail? Magecraft?”

“Poison? Are you taking me for a brute?” scoffed the Dwarf, reaching for the robe that partially covered the black plate armor beneath. “But why, yes, magecraft works for what I employ. Cow, bring me the- good.”

Brem snapped his eyes right, seeing Berehem setting up a folded iron support over Brem’s belly. Then, he put a box on that support he opened to reveal something that made the Dwarf smile.

“By the way,” said the Dwarf, picking up a needle from the box as well as a steel ring, no different from the piercings Brem had seen. “My name is Kokran Shatterspike. We’d better get acquainted.”

“Brem,” huffed the Minotaur. “But I’d rather not see your ugly face again.”

“A shame. We will be close friends.”

The Dwarf leaned forth, his needle almost scintillating with some dark energy. He wasn’t using it yet, but the way the tip danced and pointed in different directions was unnerving.

A second later, the Dwarf stopped.

“It might be funnier if I let him pick,” continued Kokran, turning to where Berehem would be. “Where should I pierce him in the first place?”

“Right earlobe,” answered Berehem, his voice calm.

“Ah! Right earlobe! Your first, too!”

“I- AH!”

Brem cried when the Dwarf, with a quick movement, pierced the earlobe with his needle. And it hurt. It hurt more than getting beaten by his Sire. More than getting slashed. That pain was not only intense, it was wrong. And it seemed to seep into Brem’s brain while he kept crying and pushing against his bindings.

But even trashing and shaking did nothing to stop the pain, to shake off the table or the box. Everything was as it was when Brem’s thrashing stopped… And the Minotaur dropped limp on the table, out of breath. And feeling hot, his right earlobe throbbing.

And heavier.

A second later, Berehem approached with a cream he had at his fingertips that he applied to his Son’s ear, covering the piercing and the bleeding spot with that salve. One effective salve; after a single application, Brem felt the pain was gone. But not only.

Brem’s breathing quickened, his heartbeat sped up… And down his belly, he felt something stir. Something wakes up… And he frowned, gasping.

“The first application. Hmm… He took it better than I expected,” said the Dwarf, nodding with pursed lips for a second. “He has potential.”

Kokran even nodded to himself while he checked the box and took another piercing… before he froze and looked at Berehem directly.

“Cow. Do not forget to… Help him, you know,” said the Dwarf, waving the needle. “It is important that he understands.”

“Understand what? That you’re-HRMPH!”

Brem’s eyes widened. Something was invading his mouth. It was hot, it was damp, it was large… And a look around confirmed it all. His Sire was kissing him. It wasn’t a gentle and chaste kiss; it was a full invasion. His mouth was filled with spit.

Worse, breathing was getting hard with that enormous tongue titillating the back of the Minotaur’s mouth before Berehem withdrew, leaving Brem gagging, coughing, spitting on the table… And warm. Bothered.

“The… Sun?” he swore, feeling his mind foggy.

It was not normal; it wasn’t supposed to happen. Berehem only wanted females, only desired the finest women with the softest curves. Yet, he was kissing… Brem?

And that kiss, it awoke something in Brem’s groin, a fire that was growing stronger by the second. His mind was racing, yet every thought, every consideration, was slow and sluggish. Fear ran amok, but not his conscious self.

He blinked, watched his Sire’s mouth go away with the Minotaur pulling back. Still, a thread of saliva joined their mouths and… Brem blinked, watching as his Sire’s hands were moving, drifting, going over his bound arms, then his sides, and then…

“HRMPH!”

“You understand it well, Cow. It is all part of the process,” said Kokran, turning one of his needle-like ones as if it were the finest work of art to have graced this tent. “To bind someone, many employ magic in such an amount that you get puppets.”

Brem listened, his ears flapping. But his entire focus was on his Sire’s hands going down his loincloth and yanking it away. The tent’s air was thick and sultry, but it felt colder against Brem’s exposed sheath and low-hanging testicles.

Cold and icy to the Bovine who fought against the need to moo. He clenched his teeth, going from his Sire to the Dwarf who stopped. For a second, Kokran seemed to think, then he reached inside the box. Incenses.

The scent was strong, and the smoke rose slowly as the Dwarf approached the needle. His movements were careful, as if he were spinning a thread.

“The result is that once the master is no longer there, you have nothing but husks. I do not… Deal with that. Husks are useful but too cumbersome if you’re not a mage. But my craft is more refined… … I used to be a blacksmith.”

The smoke twirled around the needle before the Dwarf shook it away, satisfied while he pulled a piercing from his box.

“Where?” he asked.

“The other ear,” answered Berehem, his other hand going somewhere outside of Brem’s field of vision.

“Typical. You are aware that if he resists, he will be pierced as much as you, or more,” said the Dwarf, leaning forward. His needle was there, and then… The pain. The terrible pain was like Brem’s ear had been drilled through.

Then, the weight of the piercing slipped through the hole… And Berehem applying the salve.

Once more, the pain vanished.

Once more, a shot of heat spread through the Minotaur’s body. He huffed, he swallowed his saliva, he even hiccuped. But soon, his Sire’s mouth pressed against his, and there was another kiss. One that was deeper, more tender, more powerful.

And the taste. It was softer, much softer.

Brem, this time, didn’t resist as the mouth pushed forward, and that tongue tickled his uvula. It was… Wrong. Wrong, it should be so wrong. Yet, he did not push back when the appendage passed through his throat without so much as a reflex. And then, Brem gargled, force-fed that saliva.

It was how Berehem kissed the human girls when he landed a few. And he was doing it to Brem? To his spawn?

Yet, Brem felt… odd. Excited? Teased? Tempted? His mouth remained open, his jaw relaxed, his eyelids fluttering as he closed his eyelids for a second and savored the saliva whose taste was getting softer by the second.

Same as his Sire’s touch when it descended against the groin, against his thigh… Right onto his cock that stirred from the sheath and ascended, steadily.

The pink flesh was bright, glimmering from the coat of precum. The aroma of musk was strong, though it mixed with the smell of incense and other males who’d been in that tent.

A scent of sex… And pleasure that seemed to satisfy the Dwarf as he smiled, still spinning the thread of smoke.

“I learned quickly you cannot simply beat metal and expect it to curve as you want. You can… But there is technique, not brute strength. Damascus steel expects you to fold the metal until it gets its current strength. Damascus steel, that’s exactly the steel you were about to steal from me,” continued Kokran, stopping his movements.

He leaned, snapped his fingers near Berehem’s face, and the Sire pulled back, letting Brem breathe, and gargle, and grunt.

“What… Are you saying?”

“Nothing. I am a dwarf who likes to ramble. But talking about body-puppeteering with mundanes is dull. And mages are constantly comparing their talents until they learn I have no magical power myself. So I like to spitball and talk out loud when I am preparing another criminal.”

“I-“

“Am not a criminal?” asked the Dwarf, leaning forward while waving his needles. “All my bulls say that. You lot always say that, but you’re at the front of the line for stealing my cargo. And I hear on and on about how you stole someone’s wife, or something like that. That’s what he wanted.”

With that, Kokran pointed at Berehem, who licked Brem’s neck, while stroking and holding the youngest Minotaur’s erection, pumping that flared cock, that median ring… And that leathery base.

“But let’s return to your lesson about… Submission. Where?”

“First ear, underneath.”

“Classic.”

Again, Berehem’s hands left Brem’s erection for a second, leaving him needy and drippy, and painfully aware of what was to happen.

The pain, the soothing salve, and the heat that was growing stronger, like assaults. That and Berehem’s constant prodding, his kisses, his touch. More and more, it felt… Good. Natural. Pleasant.

Brem never thought of his Sire as sexy. At most, Brem would’ve qualified his sire as a powerful brute. But here he was, kissing Brem… And making moan and groan… And salivating all over himself after he pulled back from the kisses.

“Why… is… he doing this?” asked Brem, coughing and grunting when feeling his erection squeezed.

“Because it is part of the process. When I ‘break’ a bull, I do not use brute force. I create a compulsion,” said Kokran, air-quoting. “Hunger is good, but you can resist it. Thirst works, but I do not want you to die on me. Suffocation is too dangerous. But sex? Oh, sex! It’s good! It’s simple. Everyone craves it. More so, you, Minotaur! Which ear?”

“The… Right nipple,” said Berehem.

“He would look much better like you,” commented the Dwarf, leaning and piercing the nipple. This time, the hit was much stronger to the chest, and for a second, Brem felt like he’d been stabbed through. But again, the pain disappeared, and so came the shot of pleasure. Of need. But no kisses.

Rather, Berehem’s mouth went on Brem’s nipple, giving it a lick and… Brem mooed. He craned his neck, mooed, and felt like he came. Maybe he did, but he continued to feel horny and excited.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Your Sire was the same. His nipples are sensitive,” commented the Dwarf, threading the smoke. “Do you want to give him a feel? It is reciprocation.”

Brem fought against the need… But as his eyes watched his Sire’s pierced nipples, watched those steel rings going through them, his lips smacked.

“Yes.”

“Go on, cow. Offer him a taste.”

Never before had Brem imagined playing with a male’s nipples. Even less his Sire. But when he opened his mouth and then closed his lips on the nipple, it was… Pleasant.

His Sire mooed above, but his fingers remained on Brem’s erection, stroking and massaging it while his Sire cried and moaned.

He was sensitive, too. He was just as sensitive as he was. And it made Brem feel better, somehow? And worse, in reaction.

“Sex is simple. Everyone likes it, save a few. And Minotaurs are more sensitive to it than we are. So it is easy to compel you. But… I don’t have females at hand. And I won’t pay whores so they’ll keep you wrapped around their fingers.”

The Dwarf huffed, presenting the needle to the other nipple.

“The second?”

“Yes, please.”

Berehem’s voice was stoic, but there was a hint of desire in it, and Brem could see his Sire’s cock stir from the sheath, sliding out. He was massive; they were massive. But compared to Brem, Berehem was bigger. Virtue of age and virtue of bodies.

Yet, there was no comparison made when Brem licked his Sire’s offered nipples and was stroked by him. No, there was only a lust that was growing. A desire for… males. His Sire among them.

Even the pain going through his chest did nothing to stop his hunger for sex this time.

“Hmm… He is almost done,” said the Dwarf, switching a needle. “But he might need two more. Ears again?”

“The… Cocktip.”

Oh, the smile Kokran had. But Brem saw none of it as he watched, felt, and was fed the sensations by his Sire’s body. He hungered for more; he hungered for that body that was plainly beautiful and massive.

“So I arouse in you an appetite for other men. Me included. It is our tie, and what will tie you to your future master. Sex and desires. You’ll be a prisoner of your needs, and you will follow them until you are released… or not.”

The pain, this time, wasn’t as intense as before. It was a piercing sensation, amplified by magic, right at his cocktip. But Brem was practically sucking on his Sire’s nipple like a calf, biting and nibbling on the flesh. Flesh that was getting harder and needier.

Flesh that answered the bite in kind when Berehem’s fingers stroked the healed cock, pulling on the skin down and then up, without giving the young stud a break. Berehem… did.

It wasn’t just a mere brutal grip entirely; the Minotaur had somehow become dexterous enough to be stroking the skin right by the flare and where the piercing had been slipped through. But it wasn’t enough… Not enough to make Brem cum. Not at all.

The young Minotaur seemed to be still holding onto something, as, when Berehem’s chest was removed from him, he smacked his lips. And spoke.

“Is that… What… You’ve done?”

A question that elicited a surprise from the Dwarf, before he waved another needle.

“Not exactly. For your Sire, I had him fucked by two Minotaurs, one after another. At first, he was crying for it to stop. But as soon as he broke, he was eager to kiss his torturer. He would even kiss you, as you can see.”

“Will you… Force him to do that?” articulated Brem.

A question. And Kokran had his needle tapping against his lips.

“I might. I cannot say I am against the idea of trying this on you. Perhaps an incestual bond is stronger than a normal one. Plus… It is not unlike you are eager,” said the Dwarf.

No, with that, Kokran advanced one hand and put it on the cocktip, feeling the flare bend from the pressure.

Brem’s eyes widened, about to cry. But Berehem’s mouth caught him in the cry, silencing him in a kiss that left the Minotaur thrashing and yet helpless, while Kokran had his finger dance around the urethra, teasing the sensitive spot.

Then, as he pulled his fingers free, Berehem stopped his kiss, leaving Brem heaving… Huffing. And watching his Sire sucking the Dwarf’s offered finger before wiping it with a towel.

“It is intriguing, however. I can feel your longing for your father. But for once, you are not answering my call.”

Kokran waved his hand, and Brem felt a pull on his little finger. Nothing more, so he didn’t raise it.

“I guess, then, I must use rougher methods. Cow. Do it.”

Brem turned his head to Berehem. And Berehem undid the straps. He moved the box and support until they were above Brem’s chest, covering it and blocking the view.

However, he could sense the lack of pressure on his legs, the freedom he’d been given… Before it was taken away by his Father’s hands, gripping his ankles and lifting them.

Then, his hooves appeared, lifted by his father while the table creaked from their weight. Then, there was… Something. Warm, hot, slimy. Bulging. Throbbing. And… Presenting itself against Brem’s asshole.

“I-”

“Typically, the piercing at the cocktip is the end. But there’s another one that can finalize my craft. Keep doing it, cow. It must be done.”

A huff answered.

Instantly, Brem felt a pressure push against his asshole. A pressure that was growing in intensity. A pressure that was daring his tight pucker. A pressure that was practically… Forcing through his tight asshole.

His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, and his hands clenched and clawed the table.

“N-No. No-No!” cried Brem, anxiety flaring through.

Anxiety that was amplified by the pain when he felt the piercing going through his scrotum, adding another iron, another ring to his body. Another weight. This time, however, it was different. Even when the salve was applied and the pain soothed, Brem could sense the weight all over his senses like a blanket.

Yet, the only sensation that was piercing through the veil was the pleasure and pain coursing through his asshole.

A pain that was drowned in pleasure when that cocktip delved deeper, stretching Brem’s guts further than anything before. Yet, the more his Sire’s cock advanced, much to the Dwarf’s apparent satisfaction, the less pain Brem experienced.

No. He felt… Good. Surprisingly good.

He'd heard the females crying and begging when Berehem took them, pleading for the fucking to end. But here? It felt absurd for the young Minotaur as his lust-and-aphrodisiac-addled mind had tuned down the pain.

Remained only the sheer pleasure, the satisfaction… And the pleasure was building up in his groin while his Sire continued to hump and pump inside his guts. It was…

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Y-Yeah,” moaned the young Minotaur, craning his head and hitting the table with the horns.

“It does. That’s what I offer, young one. Pleasure. You saw all those Minotaurs, did you?”

Brem clenched his teeth and nodded… hearing hooves coming closer.

“If I desire it so… They can have their fun. And they’re enjoying it, all of them.”

Brem didn’t doubt it, not when his guts were pumped and filled by his Sire’s cock. However, there was still a demonstration. And Brem felt a hand stroking his face. Not soft like the Dwarf’s. Not massive like his Sire’s.

But one that guided his mouth to another set of nipples. Another chest the young Minotaur nibbled on while shaken and rocked by his Sire’s thrusts.

Even his mouth, which had been feeling dry and practically tasting nothing but ashes, suddenly awoke to the flavor of the flesh’s salty and meaty skin. His eyes opened onto the dark brown coat, only to feel a hand stroking his nape. A caress that was and felt warm like the sun’s touch.

He was feeling nothing unless it was sex… The realization hit. He became aware of that veil blocking his senses, his self… Except for the pleasure that had continued to build up in his groin, which couldn’t be ignored. Not anymore.

“Cum… And you’ll be like them. Give in to the pleasure.”

Brem clenched his eyelids, trying to stop the orgasm. His teeth bit louder, enough to get a huff from the Minotaur. But he could feel that pressure continuing to push.

He tried… He tried to distract himself.

Maps. Caravans. Fights. But soon, those thoughts melted away.

Each time, those thoughts would bring him back to his Sire. His Sire fighting. His Sire flexing. His Sire… Fucking.

Brem’s moans echoed loudly in the tent, practically a cry when his first cumshot came, then the second. His asshole clenched tightly onto his Sire’s cock, milking him of an orgasm that ended with Berehem’s semen flooding Brem’s guts.

Even then, Brem continued to bite and moan as the orgasm wasn’t over. It continued, driven by the thoughts and fantasies of his Father.

His Sire hugging him. His Sire kissing him. His Sire sucking him. His Sire’s musk. His Sire’s cock. His Sire.

The whole presence of that thought, that whole image that remained branded in his mind, the weight that pressed on the veil, making him… no, forcing him to stay in. Not to fight it. Not to fight as his fingers, released, were allowed to spread his buttcheeks so his Sire could pump him full… Full of semen. Full of nutbatter. Full of potential calves. And Brem cried, cumming again… And again.

The assault didn’t stop, though the world itself felt distant. The pressure on his buttcheks, from his own fingers, was lessened. His breathing was a thought away. Only the fucking, the pleasure, even as he felt his Sire’s cock wasn’t inside his ass. Another Minotaur was fucking him. But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter because he had his Sire’s cock in his mouth, sucking on it tenderly while listening to the faint exchanged whispers… Drifting, steadily.

“Where is the master? He will come to get us? After my Calf submitted?”

Was it? Berehem?

“He is not coming. And I was allowed to keep him.”

“But… It’s my Calf!”

A cry. Was that… Possible?

“This is not your decision, Cow. Serve well, and he might give me a different Cow to keep before we part ways. Or… I could be convinced to keep a second Cow. I wouldn’t mind another dick-loving Bitch to work under me.”

“You… I-“

Brem’s eyes drifted, watching his Father raise his fist, ready to hit the Dwarf, but stopped at the last moment. Right before Brem’s head was yanked, forced to suck another Bull’s cock.