Renaut and the River
His name is Renaut Grayhoof, and he is a Tauren--- a bull man, of sorts. Standing proudly, though slightly hunched, at a tall seven feet and few inches, the smoke gray-furred creature snorts and shakes his head idly. The desert in front of him seems to stretch a long distance off into the horizon, the sun blazing hot and above him. He closes his eyes, his ears picking up the faint sounds of a bubbling river. Moving with a purpose, his gait strong and heavy, he turns to his left and heads in that direction.
Renaut turns his head, his horns extending from the sides of his head, white with a bit of black underneath that streak out to the narrow and pointier ends of them. They are capped by bronze tips, each a bit worn and tarnished from age and continual use of ramming those horns against something relatively hard. The bull's eyes are hazel; they gleam with curiosity and intelligence, but yet stern and strong. His brow usually furrowed in a frowning position, his expression neutral... a staunch defender of his territory and others, for sure! His face is clean shaven, no need for a beard on the already furry cow, and he prefers it that way. His nose ring jingles, light partially reflecting it off of his eyes while his ebon lips purse in frustration, before realizing the sound was in front of him and the cool water causes him to reflect... possibly time for a dip in the water? Looking around again, he knows he is safe and alone, a sure confidence that allows him the benefit of relaxation.
His armor is stifling; he removes it carefully as to not chip or dent the thin mail that protects him. Already his flesh and fur is sweaty, a strong masculine smell--- the scent of musk, flooding his own senses. He blushes inadvertently but feels no shame as he takes in his own perfume. Sighing, he puts the armor to the side, removing a dark colored shirt and yellow tabard. He looks down at himself and smiles thinly. His pectoral muscles well defined, a bit soft but extremely firm with a thin layer of fat under the fur and skin. Flexing, they become even harder, and he takes some comfort in knowing his solid stature is still, quite solid. One nipple is pierced by a golden ring that sways slightly, remembering the reasons of why he got it in the first place. It makes him grin. He places his hands on his stomach, a gut from enjoying his food, but still strong muscle lying underneath to support it. One pat and his flesh moves for a moment, before settling in a mere second.
Turning to look at his biceps, one after the other, bulge with every motion he makes. Renaut's hands are big, fingers are thick, he has to be able to carry his bow and grip it strong to possibly deflect attackers. They have been many places, those fingers and hands... memories that make him chuckle low, that blush on his face deepening. Lifting his arms, his scent only becomes stronger, pits slightly damp with sweat but the air becoming so heavy with musk. Another snort, jingle of the gold nose ring, and he huffs shortly. His wish for a sudden friendly face becoming apparent as he pulls the loincloth down and around his hooves, kicking them off to the other side; it too, slightly dampened... but not completely by sweat.
Between two gray furred thighs sat the other thing that saturated his under garment, a half-erect bull-man phallus. The head slightly flattened, its ebony flesh--- much like his lips at this moment, glistening in the sunlight and the reflection of the water. The Tauren moves forward; looking at his reflection from below. His balls hung low and full, his ears picking up on a bit of sloshing liquid that isn't the river he starts to wade in. The water sits at his ankles, but his shaft needs tending to... the river cold, but still quite refreshing against his fur. So he sits down, rump sliding a little on the muddy surface underneath the flowing water. His hands, reaching down to cup his very warm scrotum, enough to nearly overflow from one grab alone.
He is happy to be flexible. Renaut's secret, even at his youth, was that he could easily service himself... something that he liked to do enough when he was alone. He preferred partners, of course, of the male persuasion--- another thing that was rare enough in a tradition-bound society. But it was becoming more prevalent, and something he did. His thoughts cross through the politics but end at his nagging need to release. He grips his shaft, his thumb on the head, and rubs it. Jolts of pleasure course through his body, the sensation of a firm and squeezing hand exactly what he needs as his cock pulses in his grasp. It grows longer, wider... the girth nearly the size of a beer can, the length nearly fifteen inches. Lucky to also be well endowed, he thinks, before rocking back and holding his legs up and over his head. They, too, strong like the rest of his body, as his cockhead hangs directly in front of his drooling, gasping muzzle which dripped with sweat and drool from the attention he gives himself.
And he leans forward, to take it into his muzzle.
The flavors of slightly unwashed and sweaty flesh, hard and dripping with clear fluids that he savors in his flat, blunt muzzle light his brain in a way that only he gets when he is hungry. And he is indeed starving, albeit in a different way, as he pumps his hips into his own muzzle. His balls tickle his chest; they hang low and full, and the bull knows best as he presses his tongue into the piss slit, into the urethra that is even more sensitive. His warm, flat, and smooth tongue curling into a U so he could press it in... and receives a present of even more pre-ejaculate which he now swallows... guzzles it down, throat expanding as the amount starts to grow.
Another lucky gift he had discovered very young, that fills his tummy.
He rocks back and forth to aid himself in the self-pleasuring. He opens his mouth to stick a finger in to gather some of the lubrication, to only push that same thick and wet finger into his anal passage. Stars erupt in his eyes, he moos and the vibrations cause his cock to burst forth with even more liquids! His own taste aiding in his pleasure, he grunts as he presses the finger in as deep as possible. The pain is so less than the pleasure, he moans out loudly, touching his prostate only barely, causing his hips to buckle and his body uncurl and his shaft to come from his lips and tongue.
Like a geyser, his ebon shaft, explodes with bull milk. It splatters on him, covers his clothing and armor that lay feet away. He cries out, pulling his hands up, tweaking nubs that become extra sensitive to his touch... the pleasure causing him to suffer the most delicious and best feelings. He quickly pulls himself back to get the shaft's head back into his muzzle, the cream viscous and slimy but so delicious, pure essence that he could only get so often but travelling alone... left him always so hungry for it. For himself. For another. He doesn't care now, doesn't care that he suckles from his member like a newborn infant, hungry for nutrition. The Tauren, humping up into his own muzzle, is happy, tail wagging--- the gray tuft dripping with water and his own seed.
Finally, it ends. Seconds feeling like minutes. Pleasure that seemed like it'd never end (ah, but if it only didn't!) he reaches down to his balls, where some of the more potent flavors tended to gather, giving them a quick fondle before pulling his hand up to suck on his fingers. The bull could smell himself strongly. It makes him hungry again. But he sighs, stifling that feeling, standing up and smacking his lips. They got stretched, but, they start to feel better again. Normal, in fact. He stretches out again, before moving into the water fully, things all coming to a close...
He hears a sudden noise. His ears perk. Renaut starts to breathe fast, hard... all that adrenaline at the idea of a possible onlooker, some voyeur! Snarling, he hears the rustling of leaves and wet noises not too far. He bursts out of the water, charges into the brush! No way would anyone catch him off guard, ever---
--- tripping over someone's bags, landing on something hard but fleshy. He looks up into the eyes of an unearthly creature. A Draenei. Alliance. His robes on the ground, his own engorged shaft erect and dripping, and his cheeks bright red... and looking mightily surprised.
Renaut smiles, that hunger not yet sated, his malehood not even retreated... and ready to go again.