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A cool breeze swirled leaves across the fields of the master’s manor. Strange bellows and occasional growls could be heard echoing across the pastures. A scent was in the air – known only to the beasts of the field, and perhaps also to those afflicted with the Wildblood. Recently changed from Minotaur form to giant bipedal Rynsdeer form, Lord Tristan stalked the grounds in search of his disobedient slave. ElkSatyr had been understandably scarce since his last ‘release’, only a fortnight ago now. Although he longed for such attentions, such attentions took their toll in draining both physical and psychic energy.

Neither in the form of elk, nor that of satyr, ElkSatyr watched as Lord Tristan Steadfast paused his cloven-hoofed meandering towards the direction of the west pond. Although well-hidden visually amidst the dense native grasses, the anthropomorphic Lord could sense his prey. Tristan’s brilliantly black muzzle turned upwards as his top lip curled back. Sucking in the air and making a snorting sound, Tristan took in the pheromone laced scents. Through a tangle of many creatures in season, he began to parse the invisible trail he sought above all – that of his slave. He knew his human was near; the musk as specific as the coat markings of an Okapi.

Tristan let out a coarse bugle which reverberated over the hills causing the droves of other fauna, sentient and not, to grow still and quiet out of respect. The echo lingered, a reminder of the almost preternatural power of the master. At seven feet tall, not including a glorious set of antlers which would prevent entry into most standard passageways, the black Rynsdeer was a sight to behold. Piercing blue eyes were mostly rolled back, showing their whites, as Tristan further analyzed the bestial bouquet. He caught the scents of several others intermingled with his human. Another cervid – a lesser stag, a werewolf female and were-hyena male (seasonal groundskeepers), they would all pay their debts for their trespasses – a warning and promise well understood by all those in the master’s employ. But most of all, ElkSatyr would pay to a degree he would not likely soon forget.

Tristan lowered his head and shifted his body towards the grasses in which his disobedient one was remaining hidden from sight. Accents of Tristan’s grey fur tips along the underside of his arms, the center of his belly, and the backs of his legs briefly caught and reflected the waning sunlight. The morning’s application of coat oil was doing its job of keeping the Lord sleek and comfortable in this, his most heavily fur-coated form. Despite the coolness in the air, and the effect of the oil, pooled sweat dripped off each of Tristan’s pendulous balls as he turned. Each testicle was easy the size of a gourd, a symbol of the master’s virility, a testament to the season and need to breed. Tristan’s ample sheath began to shake below the brown leather harness that he wore. Before taking another step, the master’s natural breeding processes took over part of his conscious mind. Tristan’s cock-tip began to peek out of its sheath, bouncing around as if beckoning. With a grunt, the massive beast began to utterly spray the area around himself. A potently full bladder misted across the grasses, some landing on Tristan himself, some even landing many yards away. The meadow air was laden with the pungent scent of the alpha male, the Lord of the manor and surrounding woods and fields.

It was too much for the human to bear. The autumnal scent of the rutting bull filled his brain with primal urge to submit and be taken. Curious notes of the earth, hay, and slightly overripe fruits could be detected by ElkSatyr, but taken together, the slave’s brain processed the signals as would a feral doe in heat. He let a slight moan escape his lips. It was enough to seal his fate.

With a low resonating timber to his voice, the glorious Rynsdeer quietly uttered a single word, “Come.”

On hands and knees Tristan’s slave began to crawl forward, staying as low to the ground as the foliage would allow. A slight click, click, click could be heard as ElkSatyr’s chastity belt lock repeatedly knocked against the device itself. Oh how the slave craved the attention of his master, even if it meant orgasm denial after denial. To be owned so completely, to be able to bring such a magnificent creature (or others at Tristan’s demand) such pleasure was beyond describable. Although ElkSatyr’s doeskin trousers would typically protect from the plants, they did nothing as he crawled. Dozens of sharp bastard spiked goat-stickers penetrated the fabric and many pierced his flesh again and again with each movement forward. The continuous pain was of no consequence to the submissive’s mind; all he could do, indeed, all he desired to do was to move closer by the demand of his master.

Upon reaching the area of ground imbued with the soaking scents of the giant bull, Lord Tristan immediately closed the remaining distance with a single jump. He was just careful enough to avoid jumping directly atop his slave, an act that would be permanently injurious, if not ultimately fatal for the man. With practiced expertise, Tristan grasped the back of ElkSatyr’s neck with one of his massive hoof-tipped hands and deliberately drug the disobedient slave through the grasses and dirt he’d just marked. Even with those incapable of scenting Rynsdeer pheromones would know without a doubt that this human was owned property. A substance this powerful would not wash away with any amount of soap and scrubbing. Only time diminished its effects. To make the point of degradation clear, Tristan pressed the man’s face into his taint, and then slathered his face across his stinking balls and sheath where the musk of the bull was utterly overpowering. As ElkSatyr went limp, he was unceremoniously hoisted onto Tristan’s shoulder as the Lord pivoted and sprinted back towards the well-manicured grounds.

* * * *

Sometime later, ElkSatyr awoke from the intoxicating and incapacitating scent of his Rynsdeer bull-master to find himself face-down upon the outdoor padded breeding bench. This was not a device he had been affixed to before as it was typically reserved for female species of anthro (and sometimes feral) to best ensure they would take from multiple perfect breedings. Sometimes the device was also used for extreme punishment and humiliations. Elksatyr quickly noticed the shuffling of many legs attached to hooves and paws, and more rarely pairs of feet. Not wishing to be on display he made a pitiful attempt to leap away from the bench but found that most any movement was completely restricted by the numerous strategically applied straps and buckles. There was a wave of chuckles from the assembled group. From what ElkSatyr could discern, it was likely the whole of the male staff of the manor, and even a few of the current male visitors come to celebrate the coming of the fall. He could hear a few of those he’d laid with before with master’s permission or direction, and a few he’d laid with in a more clandestine manner. Rabbit, fox, wolf, goat, sheep, horse, elk, boar, deer, otter, human, even a lion and a visiting gryphon! With a muffled shout of protest, ElkSatyr attempted to form words through the spider gag affixed to his head, but of course, was unable.

“Friends, family, and those in my employ” intoned Lord Tristan from somewhere amidst the crowd, “tonight we are all equals!” A great and bestial cry arose from the gathering as ElkSatyr could almost sense that the shifting of their limbs was a sign of tense excitement and anticipation. As the cheers began to die down, Tristan continued in a lower voice with, “All equals save for one, my bodyservant ElkSatyr.” A nervous hush descended as Tristan went on. “And tonight will not be a typical punishment insofar as a mass punishment could be considered typical.” Anticipatory silence washed over the assemblage.

“Tonight each of you shall mark this slave’s place in the order of things with your own golden musk.” Excited murmurs began to ebb and flow as Tristan began to increase his volume once more.

“Tonight we shall give our seed sacrifice unto this slave to appease the Gods of Fall Harvest!” A roar erupted from the crowd but Tristan continued on, further raising his deep and triumphant voice to be heard over the cheering.

“Tonight, we shall perform the ancient Rite-of-Rut you all should know as the Magnificum Arbores Autumnales Cuckhold!” As the eager cries of the male beasts reached a fever pitch, Lord Tristan shoved his way to his slave’s head and whispered into his ear, “Perhaps now you shall truly know your place. If the Gods deign to look upon these Magics and Seed Sacrifice, then by morning you shall be properly bred and pregnant with your master’s offspring as my final offering shall be the Alpha of alphas.”

With this, Lord Steadfast rose to his full and impressive height, at the forefront of the breeding bench, and bellowed, “Begin!” The Rynsdeer bull unleashed yet another golden musk rain, this time directly onto his slave, as those closest around the bench began to do the same. With a final exclamation granting tacit permission to the assembled males, Lord Tristan decreed, “We shall not stop until this slave’s gained a pot belly of your spunk!”