FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Author's Note: A commission for Crimsoncanine, who was kind enough to donate the characters, inspiration and artwork for this piece. Hell, credit to him for the creation of this entire universe.

Samantha © Crimsoncanine Midas © RageddyHatter Original Artwork: Link

Medicinal Purposes

"Khas, that underlying, mysterious force that allows us to manipulate the world around us, has a plethora of uses, countless in number, in many fields from the sciences through to magic. But in medicine, in the ways it allows us to heal that which would otherwise remain unhealed, does its true strength lie."

- Academician Dr Leonard Kimball, Chief Administrator, Royal National Khasmetic Medicine Directorate

-o-O-o-

Samantha slammed the top of the printer down with malicious spite, a resonant thunk the only protest it dared to give, the cow-girl snarling at the uncooperative mechanical beast as it refused to obey her will. The wayward office device had never been kind to her, a trend that showed no signs of letting up any time soon. Their little personal war seemed destined to span onwards into eternity.

Sam may have been the best damn mage practitioner in the entire Khas medical wing, perhaps even in the entire province, but when it came to technology she was absolutely loathe to get that particular obstinate contraption to do her any favours whatsoever.

With the last thread of her patience virtually frayed she was half-way tempted to throw the accursed thing out of the nearest window. The hospital's new Head of Medicine was due to be dropping in that very day, and here she was struggling to just get her paperwork in order.

Why could it never be easy?

"Come on, work!" Sam punctuated her words with the drop of a hefty fist, rattling the printer's plastic casing, "You useless, miserable, cantankerous piece of sh-!"

The machine interrupted her with an ill-sounding whine, then powered down completely.

Sam's eyes narrowed dangerously, "Work before I skewer you_on one of my _horns!" She yelled, her palms beginning to glow with energy as she focused her rage, a build-up of Khas massing, ready to give that vengeful emotion a terribly destructive outlet.

"I swear to the Overseer, I will end you!" she brought her wrists together, energy taking form between her fingers like a ball of lightning.

"Have you tried asking it nicely?" A low, gravelly chuckle jested from behind her.

Spinning on her heels, Sam was quick to turn, anger boiling over, ready to glare down the fool daring to mock her.

"You stay out of this..." she instantly trailed off into silence, eyes widening in surprise at the enormity of the bull presently leaning against the doorframe. He was regarding the shorter cow with a droll, confident smirk, arms folded casually across his chest. He seemed upholstered more than dressed, decked out in some fine business suit the size of which she could only guess. It did nothing to obscure the toned form of the bovine mountain before her.

Sam's eyes widened further as he actually ducked forwards into the room, horns as thick as her forearms barely avoiding the head-jamb of the doorframe. Inside, he straightened up again, towering a full head taller than the comparatively petite cow-girl. Bovines were always big, and Sam herself was used to standing a head or two taller than most of the other staff on the department (she'd heard some of the shorter nurses referring to her as "Amazonian" on more than one occasion). But this man-bull - this behemoth - made her feel as big as a mouse.

He was an imposing presence indeed.

Samantha was quick to brush her initial shock aside, well-practiced and stubborn pride giving her strength, a familiar mask of mild annoyance quickly welling to the fore - though she still subconsciously straightened up a bit to try and make herself seem as big as she possibly could.

She scowled, though the yellow-eyed bull before her retained his easy, lop-sided grin.

"I can fix that for you." He offered, his cheeky smirk not waning for a moment. He'd noticed the shock in her eyes, of course, and the amusement it gave him showed no outward signs of fading.

Sam snorted out a retort, "I don't need your help. I've got this."

She wheeled back on the machine and gave its side another solid slap with her palm.

"Clearly."

With her back once again to the door, she didn't so much see as feel the lumbering Goliath take a step closer, his large shadow enveloping both her and the machine.

She was slow to half-turn, looking back over her shoulder to glare at the bull again, only to find his face was right beside her own, looking down at the printer. It took great restraint to fight the urge to recoil. She would willingly surrender no outward sign of weakness; not to a stranger.

"Allow me." His soft words tickled her low-hanging ear, earning a reflexive flick.

"I said I don't need-!" she protested as he leaned in, one massive digit depressing a single button atop the printer, a timely metallic clunk following before the sound of the printer-head priming resonated through the new-born silence.

"There we go." He moved back upright.

Samantha clenched her fists in annoyance and ground her teeth, mumbling an obscure obscenity beneath her breath, trying to reign in her irritation before it got the better of her.

"Just needed the right touch." The larger bovine mused all the while, "A little tender loving care goes a long way, you know."

The last thread of her temper snapped with a near audible twang, and Sam rounded hotly on him, a firm shove from both hands against his chest attempting to push him backwards, out of her personal space. She fleetingly registered some brief surprise and dismay when he didn't immediately move, the sensation much akin to pushing against a giant immovable boulder, but after a second or two he clearly got the message and stepped back of his own volition.

Great, her mind snarked. He was just as strong as he looked.

"I said I didn't want or need your help!" she fumed hotly at him.

"You seemed to be struggling." He said simply, giving her a quizzical raise of an eyebrow and crossing his arms back over his chest.

"I would've sorted it out myself eventually!"

"Indeed."

The dubiousness in his tone was infuriating in the extreme.

Angrily swiping the wayward dark-hued locks from her face, two fiery, rage-filled amethyst eyes narrowing perilously, "Just who in the hell do you think you are?!"

"Oh, sorry. How rude of me." The bull offered his hand for her to shake, "Doctor Midas Zarasa. Head of Medicine."

Sam felt the colour fade from her face. Head of Medicine?

The Head of Medicine.

"I... You..." she stumbled.

An awkward silence fell, save for the sound of the printer reeling off a ream of freshly inked paper, until with a buzz of activity it punctuated the heavy calm and ejected the last copy, powering down without fanfare.

The polite hand Midas had offered didn't waver for a moment either.

Falling back on old habits, uncertainty giving way to pride, Sam moved to retrieve the paperwork and tried perhaps somewhat feebly to maintain some semblance of nonchalance.

"Well, that's swell." She quickly retrieved the print-offs and shoved them into her new boss' outstretched hand, "Here's the paperwork."

And without another word she brushed briskly by her superior, forcing him to half-turn to avoid a direct collision, and stormed out of the room.

Midas merely watched her leave, then regarded the documents she'd handed to him with some puzzlement. Simple, unimportant bureaucracy at best, he had to wonder why it had gotten her so riled. He followed out of the room a moment later, just in time to see Sam stalk past the nurses' station without offering any greeting or acknowledgement to the staff present, moving through the large swing-doors beyond, and out of the department entirely.

"Well." Midas whistled to himself, "That's one way to make an impression on your new boss."

When he came to the nurses' station himself he noticed that neither of the two staff present - a female canine typing eagerly away at the desk and a male cat transcribing notes onto a whiteboard on the aft wall - had so much as looked up from their work to take note of the cow who had all but stormed by them.

"Who was that?" he asked them both, leaning against the counter's edge.

The feline chuckled in amusement but didn't break from his task. It was the dog who looked up, though she too seemed overly amused, as if they'd just shared some silent in-joke between one-another.

"That? Doctor Kermes. Samantha. Best Khas doctor we have." She regaled like it was common knowledge, "Terrible with technology, though. And a bit of a bitch sometimes."

She was smirking at her own ironic use of the word "bitch".

"Indeed." Midas turned to thoughtfully regard the doors, "Hmmm..."

They didn't cross paths again that day.

-o-O-o-

Sam watched from her spot of solitude at the end of the corridor as a young russet-furred vixen in a junior sister's uniform leaned over the nurse station's high counter-top, elbows and forearms propping up her chin, giggling like some schoolgirl as she hung on every word their new head of department uttered, the bull himself sitting and working quite casually on the other side.

Overseer only knew why he was working there, but he seemed to be charming the practically-literal pants off the girlish vulpine before him, her tail held high and swaying in time with the light bounding of her feet. She seemed unduly giddy to the stoically observant cow.

Midas's lips moved, though Sam couldn't read precisely what he was saying. But the foxette's shy, rosy blush was visible even through her thick fur. In the next instance the bull leaned up, reached out towards her muzzle, and plucked the small pair of glasses that she'd been wearing from her snout. She blinked for a moment, then giggled mirthfully as he held them in front of his own eyes and began intently reading his monitor.

The nurse giggled some more, then swiped a hand-paw towards her stolen glasses. Midas leaned back easily enough, the vixen over-reaching and losing her balance, and despite the height of the countertop she still managed to topple over it. Though she didn't fall all the way. One of the bull's massive mitts, reacting quickly enough, was sufficient to stop her from falling. Wide enough to support the nurse by her midsection, she seemed to come to no harm. Halted mid-flail, she seemed rather surprised to be so suddenly suspended in mid-air - all the more so as the bull rose up, grasped her firmly with both hands, and lifted her the rest of the way across the counter as if she weighed nothing. He was careful to place her down gently, safely on both feet on his side of the station.

She looked up, cheeks flushing profusely as he looked down at her. She turned away, abashed.

A bovine finger placed beneath her chin brought her gaze back up. The bull smiled warmly, setting her glasses back on her face.

Sam couldn't watch any more. She cringed, and retreated back the way she came.

Midas turned his head and gazed at where Sam had been standing. He frowned for a moment, then turned back to the vulpine nurse with a smile.

-o-O-o-

Every time Samantha saw him, Midas seemed to be flirting with some nurse, doctor, orderly, or even a patient. He was highly personable, that much was obvious - the entire staff seemed to be quickly warming to him - and to her eye he was absolutely eating it up.

It left a sour tang on her tongue. She couldn't bear to be around when it was happening. Something about it just made her feel uneasy...

Naturally, none of this escaped Midas. Whenever he was with other members of staff he would take note of the cow-girl if she happened by; how she would watch intently for a second or two, and then just turn up her snout and walk haughtily away in the opposite direction. It was apparent that she didn't approve, though he could only guess at her reasons.

Of course, she also seemed to barely acknowledge his presence when he was by himself either. If they happened to cross paths in the corridors he'd smile and she'd frown. If he entered a room, she'd depart it as quickly as etiquette allowed. If he said hello he was lucky to get anything more than a curt nod or a grunt from the cow-girl. Even if she was in the middle of doing something, she'd stop whatever it was and retreat from his presence.

The only exception seemed to be when she was with a patient. She'd hold out until her work with them was done, but she'd still not pay him any notice beyond the bare minimal of professional communication and courtesy.

It intrigued him.

Samantha's stubborn pride had been laid bare before him from their very first encounter. Her colleagues were also very clearly aware of it - he'd been garnering bits of information here and there from them for quite some time. She didn't seem to socialise much with any of her colleagues. They all regarded her as a skilled Khas practitioner, but most of them also seemed to think she was snotty, single-minded and unsociable. As he'd been told on his first day there, she was a bit of a "bitch". She didn't seem to like anybody, or even pretend to. But surely there had to be more to it than that?

She sure came across as unfriendly, and almost ruthless in getting things done when it came to her work. Her colleagues didn't seem to actively avoid her, but they were sure to keep out of her way when she was driven to do something.

But she was also clearly very highly competent at her craft, and none of the patients ever complained about her conduct. Obviously, whatever was going on with her, she wasn't without a softer side for the people under her care.

The bull's curiosity compelled him to do a little digging.

Midas took to observing her in turn, especially when she didn't realise he was there. It wasn't always easy for him to keep out of sight, but if he wanted to understand Samantha he would just have to try.

A little bit of patience sure paid off.

The more he saw of her, the more he learned. The more he learned, the more she genuinely piqued his curiosity. Increasingly, the more he wanted to try and figure her out.

A few days in and he started to notice a particular, peculiar pattern to her behaviour and her daily routine. There was a specific time when she would vanish from the department, usually around lunchtime, and she wouldn't reappear for at least an hour. When she did come back she always seemed to be much more relaxed, at least by her standards, and the bull had at first thought maybe she was just venturing out for her lunch.

Time away was an easy way to unwind, even in short doses.

Still, he had to wonder.

To investigate further, Midas began to strategically place himself at the nurse's station at the times when Sam's schedule would bring her by, with particular care given to her apparent lunch break. And at these different times, when they physically crossed paths, he'd try to take notice of how she seemed to respond to his presence. It was a subtle, inconspicuous means for him to test the waters, or so he thought. He made no effort to tone down his friendly, flirtatious nature with the rest of the staff - her reaction to that piqued his curiosity as much as the routine she seemed to be keeping.

Her response always seemed to be the same, though; retreat. She'd keep her distance for a moment or two, observe, turn up her nose as always, then find an alternate route to wherever in the department she wanted to go.

Except for that one particular instance - every day at the same time she'd ignore the goings-on entirely, and dare to venture by the station and leave the department without so much as a word.

That alone raised more questions than it answered, and the more he mulled it over the more Midas needed to get to the bottom of it.

If her first instinct was always to seek an alternate route to avoid him, what was it about that time of day that drove her to change the habit? What compelled her to risk his presence just to get through those doors?

Midas knew he'd never get the answers simply by watching her leave. He doubted he'd ever get them by actually asking her, either. So on the last day of the week, as the cow-girl rallied herself and slinked by the station without so much as a word to her boss or the other staff chatting there, venturing beyond them and out of the doors, Midas silently counted to ten, excused himself, and set off in pursuit.

Catching up wasn't too difficult, but he was careful to keep his distance, unsure as to what he should expect. He grew increasingly perplexed as he followed her deeper and deeper into the hospital. She wasn't hard to keep track of, her bovine form distinctive above the general mass of medical staff and patients even as they moved through some fairly busy intersections. Cardiology, Haematology, Orthopaedics - she ignored the turnoffs for them all.

Until she reached the junction for Obstetrics. A sharp right followed.

That made him puzzle. Was she pregnant? She certainly wasn't practicing medicine here. And she sure didn't look it.

No. She turned off at the next left, towards the Neonatal Unit.

Recently pregnant, perhaps?

He kept his distance as he watched her approach the midwife desk. He couldn't overhear the words she exchanged with the porcine attendant there, but the pair did share a brief smile, Sam's tail flicking back and forth behind her excitedly. The smile was an expression he was sure he hadn't seen Sam use before. She was promptly ushered by, moving deeper into the department.

Midas only stepped forwards after she was out of sight.

The midwife at the desk noticed him immediately, recognition plain in her expression.

"Doctor Zarasa?" the matronly sow was surprised to see him, "What brings you down here?"

"Not my usual stomping ground, huh?" he offered a winning albeit lopsided smile.

The midwife simply nodded.

"I'm just here as part of a study, with a colleague. The use of Khas in neonatal care."

She seemed to think for a moment, then her eyes lit up as if realisation had struck, "I see!"

Midas wasn't quite sure what she thought she understood, or even how she could draw any conclusions, but it was immaterial as long as it served him in getting beyond her station with minimal fuss.

"Then you'll be looking for Samantha." She went on, "She's in her usual room. Down the corridor, third right. Last door on the left. You can't miss it."

"Thank you." He bowed respectfully, heeding her directions and pacing away.

Well, that had been interesting. Khas. Neonatal care. Somehow his little attempt at a bluff had made some sort of connection between those two phrases in the nurse's mind, and it all linked to Sam in some way he couldn't quite figure out himself. The questions only seemed to mount, though he filed them away in his mind for later consideration. His present curiosity was far more pressing on his priorities.

He turned right, as instructed, just in time to see a nurse cross the corridor carrying an infant, no more than a week old at first glance, into the very last room on the left. He assumed it was an infant, at least - what else could it be, a bundle of small bound blankets in the arms of a neonatal nurse? A small greyed trunk protruded from the bundle.

"Baby elephant?" Midas whispered to nobody in particular.

Why would a midwife carry a baby elephant into the room Sam was supposedly in? A bovine mother for an elephantine calf? All of his previous hypotheses went up in smoke. There was no way a baby elephant could be the child of a cow.

As he approached the door he slowed his pace, careful to be quiet, able to hear the nurse speaking inside.

"Here you go. This is Asha."

He could hear the baby give off the tiniest of whines, followed by a more urgent-sounding whimper. By the time Midas reached the door to peek in the nurse was no longer holding the child. Sam, sitting in a large, comfortable looking arm chair, was smiling down softly at the tiny being placed momentarily into her care.

He noticed that she'd opened her lengthy white lab-coat, her mocha-toned shoulders exposed all the way down to beyond her clavicle. The deep indigo-blue of a surprisingly scant bra, translucent and floral in design, protected her modesty - if barely. It didn't hide much. With her lab coat fastened at the waist, he would've been hard-pressed to discern anything underneath.

"Shh, little one." Samantha cooed - actually cooed - at the bundle now cradled against the white gauntlet of her forearm, bringing Midas's mind out of his reflections, "I'm here for you. Don't cry."

The bull couldn't supress the thought that maybe it was her child after all?

He watched as Samantha's free hand, unhindered by the infant, found the bottom of the bra, careful to avoid disturbing the infant.

It didn't take a genius to realise where this was going. Midas knew as well as any that Sam's bovine nature manifested itself in all the usual ways, a generosity of size not at all restricted to her height or build in general. She was as well-endowed as any cow, somewhat above the norm even for her own kind, but not grotesquely so. She'd never really seemed to play up to it in the way she dressed - thinking now, Midas realised, that was probably due to the lab coat - though she could've done little to hide the obvious completely.

The coat _was_respectable standard attire for any doctor, and as far as he'd ever paid notice she'd been inclined to wear nothing by way of attire that could be considered... unprofessional. Perhaps the occasional glimpse of something that may have been an undershirt.

Though as he watched, he came to realise that what he'd thought perhaps was her deep-coloured undershirt equated to little more than easily accessible underwear that actually tightly encompassed her breasts. Though it left little of them on show with the coat done up, by itself as it was it did reveal her entire latte-hued midriff from the bottom of her ribs to well beyond the pinch of her waist and flair of her hips. Even the fur it covered was noticeably the same colour through the fabric. As were the additional vague details it alluded to.

The gentleman within labelled it as particularly "fetching". Other parts drew their own favourable alternatives.

It was astoundingly _daring_for somebody who'd taken such care to construct an outwardly cool mien.

He was still pondering that thought when, with a firm hold over the almost strategically-placed loop between the cups, she pulled the lingerie up over her chest. Part of Midas's mind wondered if it were some kind of joke; an attempt at being wry on Sam's part - something sexy that the world would never get to see. A much larger part of the bull was intrigued and focussed on everything that was currently going on in that chair.

It was fascinating watching the fabric removed, Sam revealing herself. Under any other circumstance Midas may have found the sight utterly arousing. As it stood, however, curiosity was by far the overwhelming driving force compelling him to watch. Not that the bared bovine wasn't exceedingly attractive to him... But there was more to it than that; a maternal aura that seemed to envelop her. She seemed so calm, so contented. So utterly natural in that place and time.

And in the bovine male, that stirred some instinct deep within.

"I'm here, little one." He heard her whisper to the child again.

Sam's palm began to radiate a faint blue glow, and she drew her hand slowly a few centimetres over one of her exposed breasts. Runes that had gone unnoticed by the bull, perhaps even been near invisible until she activated them, glowed beneath spread fingers. Midas recognised it as some sort of hex. It wasn't one he'd ever personally seen before, but still it was fairly obvious what it was for.

With a tender smile, and the slight assistance of the nurse, Samantha hugged the little one in closer to her bosom, and...

Well, Midas had seen enough.

With a smile of his own and a growing sense of purpose he turned and departed, leaving Sam to her duties.

-o-O-o-

It was an hour or so before Sam returned to the Khas wing of the hospital, and Midas noted as she passed the nurses' station that she was back to projecting her usual stand-offish aura, toned down somewhat but still noticeable. Her eyes flicked his way for an instant, filled with distain, as he chatted with a couple of the nurses. In the moment their eyes met he returned her disgust with his own sincere interest.

If she recognised it as curiosity she certainly didn't acknowledge it, rushing briskly by.

Though he wasn't about to let her get away with it that easily.

"Doctor Kermes." He called after her. She pretended not to hear him, even though he saw an ear twitch in his direction. Midas rose to his feet and let his voice deepen to an instructive boom, echoing down the corridor, "Samantha."

He noticed a couple of the nurses at the station actually shrink back from him slightly. He would've smiled at the effect of the power he was exerting, perhaps even relished it for a moment or two, but circumstances dictated that he at least appear serious.

It was gratifying to see her actually stop dead in her tracks, then slowly turn to face him.

Amethyst eyes came to stare back at him, a strangely neutral mask hiding her emotions, considering the expression she'd sent his way mere moments before. The cow-girl remained utterly silent, though somehow her countenance still seemed to demand an answer, hands slipping into the pockets of her lab coat.

Midas decided to take the initiative, "Come with me."

Before she could speak he was moving off towards his office. The seconds were fleeting, brief instants, when he wondered if she would actually deign to follow. Of course, she'd have to hurry to keep up, and sure enough he heard her hurried footfalls rapidly gaining behind him. By the time he opened the door and stepped into his room she was clearly right behind him.

He was careful to step aside, allowing her to enter so that he could close the door behind them both. He wanted a little privacy.

Sam found herself standing in front of his desk, and she held her ground, forcing Midas to round her so that he could take his seat on the business side of the desk.

"Take a seat." He told her.

She still didn't speak, but she was quick to sit, nestling lightly between the arms of the chair as if she wasn't intending to stay long.

Midas followed suit, though whilst the cow sat bolt upright in her chair he opted to lean forwards. Elbows propped on his desk, fingers steepled and resting his chin on his thumbs, he shared a brief silence with the cow-girl, simply exchanging a wordless glance.

Their mutual reticence couldn't linger, and it was Midas who broke it with a question.

"Do we have a problem?"

"A problem?" Sam frowned.

"You keep avoiding me."

Sam derided, "What of it?"

"Well," Midas tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin, ignoring the attitude she was projecting, "We can't jolly well have the hospital's best Khas doctor _avoiding_the head of Khas medicine now, can we? It doesn't make for a very effective chain of command."

Sam slowly reclined, crossing one leg over the other, incredulous, "Chain of command? What do you think this is, the armed forces?"

"No, Sam." Midas couldn't restrain an exasperated sigh, "It's a hospital, with strict codes of conduct and rules of practice."

"So?"

"So," he met her eyes intently, "how can we have a working relationship when you actively avoid me?"

Her response was to scoff, crossing her arms over her chest.

Midas sighed, pushing back his chair and rising to his feet, "I don't understand."

"What?" Sam asked as the towering bull rounded his desk.

"This attitude." Midas perched surprisingly lightly on the very edge, not quite close enough to be in Sam's face, but near enough to be an imposing presence.

"Attitude? Look, I-" She began to protest.

"Be quiet." Midas pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and fore-finger, closing his eyes and exhaling.

She ignored the instruction, "Who do you think you-"

"Who do you think you are?!" Midas thundered, rising to his full height over her, "Treating your colleagues this way! They don't deserve it, and neither do I. So tell me, doctor," he almost spat, "why do you keep up this pretence?"

For her part, Sam had actually shrunk back into her seat, fear in her eyes, "Pretence? I..."

Midas leaned over her, resting his hands on the chair's arms. She was quick to look away, not meeting his eyes, not at first, "This isn't the real you."

When she looked up any fear she'd held had been swept aside by a clear, burning anger, "How would you know what the real me is?!" she demanded, "You don't know me!"

"I know enough." Midas straightened up, but the cow-girl moved with him, rising to her own feet, eyes narrowing to a piercing purple glare.

"What do you know?!"

Midas didn't back down. He couldn't afford to, not now, "I know you spend a lot of your time helping out on the maternity ward. I know you use Khas hexes to augment your _natural_abilities, probably to let you do that little bit more. I know you have a caring, sensitive side."

Sam gasped and stepped back like he'd slapped her, but his assault continued.

"But for some reason," the bull lost none of his momentum, "you don't just hide this from the world, you go out of your way to convince everyone that it doesn't even exist at all. I want to know why."

Before his eyes, Sam shrank back down into the chair like the weight of the world had settled onto her shoulders. She was deflated; she looked defeated.

Midas felt a wave of sympathy, but he still wanted answers, and he had to press on now that her defences were down if he was ever going to get them, "We're not leaving here until you explain yourself. What are you afraid of?"

A low mumble was all that the senior doctor could make out, his ears rising forwards as he strained to hear, but Sam's utterance was entirely indecipherable.

"I didn't catch that."

A fraction louder, she murmured, "I said I don't want them all to see me as weak."

Brow furrowed by a puzzled frown, Midas sat himself back down against the edge of the desk, "Why would anyone see you as weak?"

"Because I am weak!" she was on her feet again and at eye level with him in a flash, "At least in their eyes!" an angry arm flew in the direction of the door, "I'm a Khas-damned cow, and what precisely are we good for? Ask anyone. We're damned breeders! Oh, sure, you're a bull. But you don't carry that same stigma over your head. You don't have to fight the stereotypes."

"Samantha," he placed his hands on her shoulders, "you're hardly the only-"

"The only cow?" she shrugged him off, turning her face away and hiding her gaze behind the lengthy fronds of her hair, "Oh, don't I know it. But I'm the only one in this damn place trying to actually make something of myself. I've had to fight to get where I am." Sam clenched her fists, "I'll have to keep fighting to stay where I am. I can't stop. I can't stand still. I can't let anybody - them, you or even me - undermine all that by allowing myself to appear weak!"

She was angry. Bitter. Resentful in every direction at once, and yet in no direction in particular - a rage without an outlet. And to Midas's eye, she was doing nothing to hide the little bit of sadness that seemed to undercut it all.

He was sensing some sort of regret. Some bitter experience she was thinking of in that moment.

"I don't want them to realise I'm broken..." she whispered again, almost whimpered. She still wasn't meeting Midas's gaze, but he couldn't mistake the way her shoulders seemed to shake, or the distance that entered her tone.

He had no idea where it was all coming from, "Broken?"

"I'll never calve. Ever."

It was as if she'd flipped a switch, illuminating all of the pieces of the puzzle he'd been trying to piece together at once, "So the trips to maternity..."

"The closest I'll ever get to be to being a real cow."

"Your attitude." He realised, "It's not a weapon. It's your armour."

Sam looked up. She wasn't crying. She fought too hard for that. But her eyes still wavered and brimmed, "And you want me to surrender it." she stated simply.

Midas was silent as he thought.

When he finally spoke again his voice was low and soft, "No, not surrender." He acquiesced, "Just know when to take it off."

Sam's expression changed to puzzlement, and he saw a question there in her eyes.

"Look," he sighed, "I'm not asking you to be all sweetness and roses every minute of the day. Your secrets are safe with me. To be blunt, I'm just asking for you to come down off your high horse, take off your armour, and roll around with us _mere mortals_here in the mud every once in a while."

Sam blinked. A moment later a smirk was tugging at the corner of her lips, until at last she could no longer restrain an earnest chuckle, "You know, for a moment there I was almost expecting pity..."

It was Midas's turn to grin, "Samantha, you are in the wrong office for pity."

"I didn't want it anyway."

"Good." He rose to his feet, towering over her once more, and offered up his hand, "So, we understand one-another?"

With a nod she accepted the gesture, gripping his great mitt in her smaller paw, "Sure."

Instead of the handshake she was expecting, the larger bull lifted her hand to his lips and placed the gentlest kiss just behind her knuckles. Her reaction was an incredibly deep blush.

"Pink is your colour." Midas teased.

It sure was a day for firsts.

Sam had no retort.

-o-O-o-

Days passed, and to Midas's delight Sam actually began to open up to him a little bit more. She still kept mostly to herself in regards to the other staff, but the previous cool indifference that had made her seem unapproachable to most was noticeably reduced. She was no longer avoiding him. The look on the face of the nurses when she'd first approached him with a pleasant-ish "good morning" had been absolutely priceless.

Progress all round, as far as he was concerned.

Well, except in one regard. He still seemed to earn a disapproving frown whenever she happened to find him being friendly with the nursing staff. It was just his nature, and nobody else in the wing seemed to find it particularly untoward. But there was clearly some objection Samantha had which she was, as yet, unwilling to voice.

Which was fine. To a point.

He had to admit, it gnawed at him. A little over a week after their first chat it began to actually bug him. With the next week on the wane he decided that he had to actually do something about it.

It wasn't until near to the end of Sam's shift, warm evening setting in with all the glorious ambers and golds of the setting sun, that he actually managed to find a moment to spare. No doubt getting ready to clock off, Midas managed to locate the cow-girl easily enough, the pair crossing paths in the corridor not far from the staff locker room. It was almost strange, seeing her more casually attired in an indigo-blue tube, without her white lab coat, her visible fur vibrant and alive in the evening glow.

There was something about her...

"Sam." He greeted as he approached from behind.

"Doctor Zarasa." She paused and turned, offering a respectful nod.

"Can I have a word with you?"

"Sure, I-"

The larger bull's arm was around her shoulder before she could finish, promptly ushering her into the closest vacant office. An unoccupied examination room that could've generously been called an over-glorified cubicle rather than an office, it equated to little more than a worn examination table, a vacant seat, and a barely used desk that had clearly seen better days.

Midas closed the door behind them.

Sam half-frowned, turning her back to the table-cum-bed and leaning back against it, palms sinking slightly into a vaguely padded surface, "Hardly the ideal spot for a meeting." She pointed out. Her eyes shot over to a clock over the door, "Or the ideal time."

"My apologies." Midas conceded, "It isn't ideal. But it's immediately convenient."

"So..." Sam clucked her tongue, "Why are we here."

"You recall our previous little chat?"

She crossed her arms beneath her chest. So, Midas noted, she was still a little defensive about that...

"Yes..." she trailed off tentatively.

"Well," he grasped at where to begin, "I feel we've made great progress so far-"

"Thanks. So why do I sense a 'but' coming?"

"-but we do still have one issue."

"We do?"

Genuine confusion. She didn't know she was doing it? That surprised Midas, but what other explanation could there honestly be?

He clearly had no choice but to be blunt, "Every now and then you seem to give me a look of complete and utter disgust."

Sam frowned for a moment, as if she were thinking. When her eyes widened, shooting up to his own for an instant, then descending to the floor in the wake of an intense blush, it was apparent she'd cottoned on to something.

"So... Do we still have a problem?"

"No, I..." she trailed off, eyes downcast.

"Go on."

"It's just... I... Um..."

Midas wasn't sure why she was struggling, "Do you not approve of how I... Interact, with the other staff?"

He was trying to give her a point to begin - perhaps the words were merely eluding her, or she was afraid of causing offence - but the shake of her head left him at a total loss.

"No. No. If you want to flirt with the nurses, that's none of my business..."

"Flirting is an imprecise term. I-"

"-flirt with the nurses." She interrupted.

Midas paused, looking at her for a moment, before eventually nodding, "I concede the point."

"It's just, I feel..." Sam hesitated, "It'd be nice if... you know..."

She couldn't quite bring herself to say it.

Midas, though, gave it a little thought and wondered if maybe he knew where this was going after all, "Are you saying you'd rather I flirt with you?"

Sam met his gaze, amethyst eyes sparkling, thoroughly abashed and cheeks awash with a rosy glow. Eventually she nodded, "...Yes."

Midas lips tugged upwards. Then he laughed.

"Samantha," he stepped forwards, shaking his head, "the only thing that has ever kept me from expressing an interest in you is that I didn't want you to resent me."

"Oh..." she seemed downcast at first, until her eyes flicked up, wide with realisation as the penny dropped, "Oh!"

He would've long-since tried to flirt with her, had he thought she'd be receptive to it.

Midas gave a hearty chuckle, "Precisely, my dear."

Samantha's burning blush lit up her cheeks, even as she looked down. Midas remedied that by placing a lone finger beneath her chin, lifting her eyes back up to his level so that he could read her.

Challenge accepted.

"I flirt, Samantha. I could try to hide it or dress it up beneath convenient excuses, like 'It's my nature'. But the simple fact is, I enjoy it. There are some cute women here, and we all have a little fun together."

Samantha's eyes softened a little, but she still frowned.

"But there is one woman here," Midas pushed on, "who always seemed to place herself above all that. Strong, independent, self-controlled..." his fingertips moved, slowly tracing her jaw, until his palm caressed and cupped her cheek, "Passionate; caring, though she tries to hide it," he said, irony running rife through his tone, though it was still a compliment. Carefully, tenderly, his other hand swept the bangs of hair away from her face, "Beautiful."

He chuckled at the timid cerise in her cheeks. It hadn't waned in the slightest, "Embarrassed, my dear?"

"Just..." she whispered, "Not used to this."

"The attention?"

Waves shimmered through her dark blue-hued locks, "The forwardness."

Midas leaned in, his lips so close to her ear that their movement actually tickled her fur, "Is forward bothering you?"

Sam turned her head until her own lips tickled him in return, "No." she breathed lightly.

"Well then," she could _feel_his smirk.

Titanic hands found their way around her waist quicker than she could react. The cow-girl yelped as she was nimbly lifted up into the air and placed with surprisingly delicate precision on the edge of the examination table's scuffed viridian padding. It wasn't the most comfortable perch, but the few added inches of height it afforded brought her up much closer to being on an even level with Midas.

He didn't have to lean over as far.

"Is this forward enough?" the whisper into her ear became a soft butterfly kiss.

To his surprise he felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back and away.

"Doctor Zarasa, I hardly think that's appropriate."

Midas raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he'd been too forwards?

But Samantha smirked.

A swift swipe of her hand later and her fingers firmly grasped his tie. A tug drew him directly towards her, and once he was close enough she let go and slipped her arms loosely around his neck, urging him further forward until they were snout to snout, parted only by a microscopic infinity.

"This is better."

Her arms tightened around him and their lips met.

The kiss she gave him was deep, more impassioned than the hefty bull had anticipated. But it removed any doubt still lingering in his mind. Hands still holding her by the waist, Midas straightened up, lifting Samantha up with him.

The cow-girl yelped into his lips, her grip noticeably tightening around his neck as her fingers clenched into the deep pleats of his shirt. She soon realised that he wasn't in danger of dropping her, though. She grinned into the kiss, and wrapped her legs around his waist as if to keep him close to her. Midas's trunk was so thick that her ankles barely met at the small of his back.

His grip on the cow-girl was comfortable, as if she were some mere featherweight creature in his arms. It wasn't something she was in any way used to. Frankly, it was invigorating, and ever so slightly intimidating too.

The kiss ended only when the pair of them needed air, and even so there was still some reluctance to accept any distance between them, though Midas wore a very goofy grin as Sam loosened her grip and pulled her upper body far enough back to see his whole face.

"Well, doctor, now who's being forward?" Midas couldn't help but tease.

Sam shrugged, "Actually I think I'm leaning backward."

"Only at my leisure." He winked.

"Is that so?"

Midas was quick to act, Sam's loose grip her failing as his strong hands prised her further back until her arms slipped helplessly from his shoulders. Moving a little way with her, he laid her back on the table-top that had formerly been her seat. Her legs didn't give even an inch from his waist, her strength enough to keep him locked to her, and he was left with no choice but to lean so that he was over her completely, his chest to her chest, his lips once again finding her ear.

"My dear," he growled, "You are _pushing_your luck."

Sam's arms once again managed to lay claim around his neck, "Is that so?"

"Yes. It is."

She felt him shift, and something pressed against her that she hadn't noticed before.

Their eyes met, and despite the position they were in, she felt the heat dawn readily to her cheeks.

It hadn't escaped the bull's notice.

"Shy so suddenly?" Midas asked.

"No. Just... I realise where this is leading."

Midas surprised her, all playful pretence falling away as he spoke in earnest, "It doesn't have to."

She reached up and caressed his cheek, amethyst eyes bright with a quick moment of admiration, "I want it to."

Mischief smouldered in Midas's eyes, "How much?"

She pulled him down by the collar almost forcefully enough to unbalance the usually stalwart bull. Had she been a more petite female he may have worried about crushing her beneath his bulk on the way down, but she seemed ready for him as she was pinned to the surface beneath her, their bodies moulded together.

"It occurs to me," he whispered against her lips between kisses, "That we're very overdressed for this."

She didn't speak, but Midas could feel as Sam somehow slipped her hands into the non-space between them. She seemed to fumble for a moment as she got her bearings before he felt the buttons of his shirt being systemically released. Being a gentleman he shifted enough to give her some room to work.

Given enough room, though, she was quick to cease all efforts to liberate the buttons and instead pull at either side of his shirt. A series of light snaps signalled the demise of any button unfortunate enough to have remained looped through its eye.

"I hope that wasn't your best shirt." Sam quipped even as she ruined it.

Midas chuckled deep in his throat and straightened up, putting some distance between them and widening his view of the creature before him. Sam lay there, watching, as he carefully removed his tie. Holding it in one hand he worked it loose, then used the added freedom to slip off his shirt entirely, "Not anymore."

It was dropped to the floor and immediately forgotten.

Sam had no regrets to offer, and she didn't see fit to feign them, looking up and admiring the exposed fur of the bull's chest. Muscles that had remained a vague implication obscured by a layer of fine cotton until that point visibly rippled beneath a steel and tan pelt as he moved. She couldn't resist reaching up and running her fingers across them. The fur was soft, but there was no give in his flesh.

She wondered if perhaps he was carved from wood.

The explorative adventures of her fingertips came to an abrupt end as Midas's hands took a firm grip on her wrists. When she looked up to his face there was an excess of mischief she'd come to recognise in his auric eyes.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

Midas didn't answer with words, at first. He pulled her hands away from his chest, lifting her arms and placing them high above her head.

"I'm thinking," he held her wrists firmly together with one hand, using his other to gather up the length of his tie, "I have you right where I want you." He was quick to bind her wrists.

Sam did nothing to stop him.

When he was done the bind was snug, but not actually all that tight.

"Right where you want me?" she smirked, flexing her elbows as if threatening to escape.

Not that she was inclined to.

"Right where I want you." He repeated, looking down and tracing his free hand lightly across her exposed clavicle, eliciting a slight tremor, before leaned in to recapture her lips.

Sam was impatient to return the kiss, her eyes closing for the sweet moment, and though she couldn't see his movements she paid rapt attention to the way his fingertips began to wander through her fur. To her cheek, her neck, onwards and downward to the sand-fallow fur of her chest, until they encountered the purple-blue fabric of her tube-top.

It covered only one thing - well, technically two, a wry part of Sam's mind noted as she felt the bull's digits attempt to grip at it - so his intentions were immediately clear. Firmly, he pulled it down without hesitation, exposing her breasts and breaking away from the kiss they'd shared.

Her eyes reopening, she watched him closely as he put a little space between them, and his eyes began to drink in her curves. In spite of herself, she found it difficult to fight another blush. Something about the bull just seemed to keep her off-guard.

His bistre fingers found her fur once more, though this time tracing the contour of a generous breast.

"Every inch of you is magnificent," she heard him whisper as he caressed tantalisingly close to a pointed nipple.

Sam whimpered, betraying her arousal, and Midas smiled, "Right where I want you."

His hand departed that peak, moving lower across the soft peach-cream down of her stomach. She stifled a giggle as he inadvertently tickled her bellybutton - a quirk he noted away for later impish abuse - and he sought out the buttoned hem of her jeans instead.

Eager fingers toyed with the etched brass disc for a moment, "You know, I'm thinking of suggesting a dress code for some of the Khas doctors."

Sam's eyebrow quirked even as she watched him.

"Yes. Floral reds are certainly a pattern I'm fond of." He deftly flicked the button free, the crimson band of her chosen panties clearly visible underneath.

"How could you tell?"

"I've been paying very close attention."

The cow-girl's expression grew momentarily thoughtful.

For the first time since being tied, Sam lowered her hands down from above her head. A twist of her wrists and her bindings came loose, and she placed her palms against Midas's chest, pushing him back a bit. For his part, the towering bull stopped what he was doing immediately and met her amethyst gaze. There was no protest to be found in her expression, but still he couldn't help wondering why she'd unexpectedly stopped him. Her reply was a soft smile, with a sly twist tugging at the corner of her lips, and she pushed back a bit more firmly.

Midas took a step back at her insistence, letting the cow-girl sit upright as they untangled themselves. Sam was quick to rise all the way to her feet, and Midas watched as she let her loosened jeans catch across the flare of her hips. She reached down herself, unzipping the fly, and the garment fell all the way down around her ankles. With a little urging and a tug from her thumbs, the bunched up top followed, leaving her standing in only her ornate gauntlets and the floral red thong.

Soon, with a little care-filled work, even the gauntlets were removed. Sam turned around and placed them carefully, almost reverently, at the head of the examination table.

She didn't hear Midas take a step closer, but she felt his breath against her shoulder and her neck, letting her know he was right behind her. She half-turned her head, just far enough that she could see his face, and he looked down with primal hunger in his eyes.

Her tail lifted high behind her, tip swaying and swatting at the fur of Midas's muscled torso, playful in its own right. She sought out the band of her underwear with her thumbs, hooking around the garment and preparing to pull it down. The bull's hands were atop hers in an instant, holding them in place, stopping her from following through.

Sam gave him a confused frown. Midas simply shook his head.

"Leave them on." He urged with a low rumble.

Sam gave a slow, acknowledging nod, releasing her grip and resting her hands in front of her on the examination table.

Midas's hands lingered on her hips, though he stepped closer still, pinning her tail between his abs and the small of her back. She could feel his firm arousal pressing into her from behind, and it set her mind apace.

A wry witticism fell to silence on her lips as Midas moved his hands around to her stomach and his lips softened into the fur of her neck.

She melted back against him, the contours of their bodies moulding easily into one as she raised an arm and draped it around his neck. The kisses he gifted into her fur worked their way upwards, sending tantalising shivers down her spine, eventually finding Sam's cheek as she turned her head.

As his lips slowly sought out her own his hands traced up her torso, her faintly defined abdomen tickled by his touch, and eventually finding the outward flare of the underside of her bosom. His hands were large, as large as they came, though as they cupped her they had never before felt less adequate for a task.

Newfound passion infused their kiss, his fingers squeezing her firmly, the cowgirl whimpering into his lips and arching her back slightly, projecting her breasts forwards into his palms and her rear back against his own eager arousal. The hard peaks pressing into his hands let Midas know that the feeling was reciprocated, even if the sounds she made and the caress of her lips on his own had failed to do so.

The bull's other arm found its way around the enthralled cow-girl's midriff, his palm pressed against her lower stomach, just lower than her bellybutton, fingers lightly and almost idly caressing the short soft fur there. Though he didn't allow them to idle for long.

Slowly, tantalisingly, he walked them down towards the band of her underwear. Before they could venture further he felt one of Sam's hands lay across his own, and he wondered whether she was trying to stop him again. The thought vanished as she used her own hand to slip his beneath her underwear and guide him lower.

Midas smirked against her ear, feeling the bovine femme almost imperceptibly widen her stance a little as his hand ventured ever downwards, pressing back against her a bit more insistently as the heat noticeably rose at his fingertips.

When they finally encroached upon their target; hot, wet, aroused.... Two digits pinched the most sensitive of nubs and he actually felt her tremble.

"Are you okay, Samantha?" he teased.

She offered a slight nod, a long low moan her only vocal response as Midas drew his fingertips back and forth in long, slow moves. Midas had to confess, at least to himself, that holding such a strong-willed, obstinate, beautiful woman so tightly at his whim was something of a power rush.

In these moments she was entirely his; he was in control.

If her rapidly increasing rate of breath was anything to go by, she seemed to be appreciating it too.

"You seem eager, my dear."

"I am eager!" she hissed, leaning more heavily against the table-top as Midas crooked one of his fingers into her and stole her breath away.

"Good." His other hand pinched and rolled one of her nipples between a thumb and forefinger. He pressed himself more insistently against her, "Me too."

Anticipation sent a shiver up the full length of Sam's spine. Reaching back, she slipped a hand between them, finding the waist of his trousers and quickly seeking out the buckle of his belt. She lacked the skill or dexterity in her fingers alone to unbuckle it with a single hand, but thankfully she had other skills which would allow her to complete the task.

A warm glow emanated from her palm as she channelled a small amount of Khas, a simple telekinetic trick that often served her well in her job being reimagined and removing the buckle. With the belt free all that kept Sam from her target was a button and a zip, both opponents which she promptly slew with a single flick of her fingers and an insistent tug.

She heard Midas's trousers softly hit the floor. She felt him lift his feet and step quickly out of them, somehow without ever ceasing the ministrations of his hands. With her own fingertips, she felt her way quickly inside his shorts, unwilling to wait any longer than she absolutely had to.

Instantly her hand was greeted by his eager length, hot and pulsating as it overfilled her ensnaring hand, keen fingers deftly wrapping him up as well as they were able, and offering a few brief strokes. With the way her wrist was angled it wasn't the easiest of motions to maintain, but it was certainly a rewarding one. She felt the bull huff into her ear, their shared hand-jobs stoking their mutual desire.

Sam didn't intend to keep it up for long.

Straightening up, the cow-girl led Midas to take a step backwards, each of them having to relinquish their grip on the other in the process. Losing contact for a moment wasn't really something Midas minded. He was certain they wouldn't be apart for long. And it gave him a second or two to take in the sight before him. Sam; her every curve, line, and little imperfection, all laid bare before him.

Except for that one last protective piece of lingerie.

Reaching forwards, Midas tugged the fabric firmly into his grip as tightly as he dare and pulled them aside. There was no real way Sam could misinterpret his intent as it left her exposed to him. The way she then leaned forwards, pushing her backside towards the bull and slightly arching her back, she gave him her eager consent in all but words.

Sam looked back over her shoulder, eyes smouldering, greeted by the sight of Midas removing his underwear. His arousal stood proud in plain sight now, as ready for her as she was for him.

She smirked like the cat who'd got the cream.

Midas stepped forwards.

And immediately poked her in the butt.

"Hey..." she couldn't hold back the giggle, "You could injure somebody with that thing."

"Well, I would aim." He tightened his grip on her underwear, his other hand taking her hip, "But I seem to have my hands full."

Sam took the hint. Reaching down and back, the cow-girl grasped his girth as he pulled back a little way. She aimed, drew the heated tip across her most intimate lips a few torturous times just to savour the moment...

Midas snorted. Before the bull could push into her she pushed back.

Midas had looked huge, but only as she impaled herself on him was the reality of the matter made clear to her. She hesitated with a gasp as her knees trembled and the air was forced from her lungs, but Midas wanted more. Enveloped in the heat of her core, he continued the thrust, and in one firm motion hilted himself inside her with a grunt of his own.

Sam instinctively stepped forwards with their combined momentum, pinning herself between the bull and the table, the edge digging into her thighs. Her elbows locked as she leaned heavily on the padded surface, arms pinning her breasts together.

"Gods..." she panted, her fingertips digging into the padding, "Oh gods..."

She hadn't been as ready for that as she'd thought, but already she was craving more.

Midas held her hips tightly, keeping himself hilted for a moment or two, "Mmmm, Sam." He grunted, "I had no idea..."

"I..." she gasped as he pulled back slowly an inch or two, tormenting her already overstimulated nerves, "H-haven't spent much time around bulls..."

He leaned over and whispered into her ear, "I can feel that, my dear." And thrust back in.

"Mmmnnn..." Sam agreed as she felt Midas withdraw a little bit further than before, pushing back in a bit more forcefully this time, the sensation simultaneously indescribably fulfilling and yet tantalisingly, teasingly torturous as he began at a slow pace.

It was a very snug fit, but she desperately wanted more, and her aggravated groan gave voice to her frustration.

"You won't break me."

She couldn't see the grin on Midas's face, though she felt the grip he had on her hips tighten. He moved a bit more quickly against her, pulling her back against him as added leverage - not that she needed the encouragement.

He grew more forceful with every inward thrust, hips colliding audibly with her backside, and the cow-girl turned her head to the side so she could look back and meet his eyes. The lust and desire she felt were reflected in his auric gaze, though there was something a bit more primal visible there too. Not just a desire for her, but a need to have her.

Deep down inside, it made her tremble, because she felt it too.

Midas leaned forwards and captured her mouth in an impassioned kiss, the smaller bovine moaning appreciatively against the lips she welcomed, his hands roaming up her flanks

Daring to entrust her balance to a single arm atop the table as they ground against one-another, Sam took his right hand with her own, and guided it higher still. She needed to feel his touch elsewhere, and she was happy to guide him there.

Midas's fingers traced up her side, across fur-covered ribs, over the outermost curve of her breast, and around towards the front where a proud nipple found itself suddenly encircled. Sam could feel Midas's hand grasp and squeeze, though she quickly let him know to be a bit more firm, gripping herself through his hand.

Midas wasn't slow in getting the hint, and his other hand worked its way up from the other side, until he held her firmly by both breasts.

Their lips had barely even parted for air, though they both dared a panting breath as and when they could, with mixed success. What the pair lost in rhythm without Midas's guidance on her hips they made up for with sheer enthusiasm, until they were forced to end the kiss If only to capture some actual air.

The distance between them was never more than a few millimetres.

For a moment she thought she heard Midas whisper something, but she couldn't make it out.

"What?"

"Pectus incantamentum..."

Sam's eyes widened in realisation and she looked down. Midas's hands glowed; or rather, they radiated as he used his Khas to activate her hex, the glow of the runes visible in the gaps between the bull's fingers.

She could feel the changes immediately.

Her chest grew noticeably warmer as her breasts began to slowly swell with milk, the pressure rising from within as her already generous bust began to engorge more prominently into Midas's huge hands. It was the strangest feeling, having somebody else activate the hex, and the effects seemed to be coming at a much more accelerated rate than she was used to.

"Nnnng..." she groaned at the increasing sensitivity within, "You know what you've done?"

Midas gave a couple of very sharp thrusts into her, "Definitely."

Sam was forced to release his hand, both arms taking up the strain against the table as Midas leaned into her, his angle more acute and unrelenting. She could feel him urging more Khas into her hex, her soft, yielding flesh tightening and expanding readily into his grip.

She wasn't sure what his end-game was with this, but the discomfort of the increasing pressure actually seemed to spur her own rising pleasure.

She felt more full than she ever had done in her life.

For his part, Midas was revelling in the feel of her body and the control he was exerting over her. Every whimper and moan fuelled his lust and urged him onwards, and the invocation of her hex just added to it. The force of their rutting and the increasing weight in his hands was making it difficult to hold on, but he relished it.

Sam's knees trembled and her legs threatened to give out. The pressure in her chest felt like it was reaching a breaking point, her flesh feeling incredibly taut, her nipples almost achingly hard. She needed release, in more ways than one.

"Midas..." she gasped his name.

The bull could smell her scent saturating the air of the small room. Her moisture seemed to be coating both of their thighs, and he felt a warm dampness start to trickle between his fingers.

"You're leaking." He cooed into her ear.

Sam's teeth dug into her lip. She felt Midas's hands squeeze with some force and she was forced to stifle an anguished whimper. He followed it with a deeper squeeze and drew his grip out through her areola and towards the tips of her nipples.

The whimper became a blissful moo, and the trickle he'd felt became a gush for the instant that he tugged at her.

Samantha's torso fell to the bed as her elbows caved, pinning his hands beneath her.

"Perfect." She heard Midas grunt, and he began to all but attack her from behind.

Sam was glad of the examination table. Her legs betrayed her, refusing to co-operate.

Trapped, Midas's hands still somehow worked at her breasts, and despite their restrictions, he was now actually milking her. She had no words to describe the contented bliss she felt rising. It was all she could do to simply let him take her like that, her body awash with more stimulation than she'd ever felt, the combined feeling of impending let-down and her stretched, abused womanhood relishing in his onslaught...

Sam looked back, head half turned, and watched him with half-lidded eyes. He was drinking her up in his own gaze, leaning over with his nose nestling just behind her ear, hot panting breath teasing the fur at her neck.

"Samantha..." he hissed, and she knew what was coming next.

The cow-girl felt excitement, anticipation.

Want.

She tried to smirk, but her eyes screwed shut and her teeth bit deeper into her lip as a tremor of bliss washed over her in warning of what was coming next. Every hilted thrust Midas made into her core was coiling a tension tightly within; a hair-trigger that could release at any moment.

The huge bull squeezed his hands once more and Sam felt herself let-down, freely drenching the table and Midas's hands. His grip held her tight, she moaned, and he pushed in as deep and hard as ever he had. She felt him brush across a spot somewhere within her, and suddenly Sam was on the precipice.

A final grunting thrust from Midas, a tremble through her depths, and Sam reached her limit. Unable to take any more she cried out and the pleasure took her in an overloading sensory tsunami of ecstasy.

She almost screamed.

As tight as she'd been before, the orgasm clamped her down so tightly around Midas in a way that was so divine it almost deprived him of movement, if not his very breath. Her orgasm rippled all around the hilted bull as she writhed and shuddered beneath him.

He couldn't have held back if he'd wanted to.

With a pleasured roar of his own every muscle in his body flexed. His hands gripping tight, body pressed to hers, buried and filling her, he erupted within, his pleasure filling her core with intense waves of nirvana.

Sam was vaguely aware of the warmth that filled her even as she tried to find herself, lost somewhere within her own pleasure, some distantly rational part of her mind committing the sensation of his seed pulsing against her cervix, perhaps even beyond it, deep into her memory.

It was a new marvel for her, though not at all unpleasant, Midas being the only and the first with the sheer size to impart such a gift upon her.

It was an easy feeling to relish.

The moment was slow to pass and easy to savour, though even after it had fleeted the pair didn't separate, merely catching their breath as they remained lost in one-another.

"That..." Sam panted, first to speak, "That was..."

"Bliss." Midas nuzzled against her neck.

Sam reached back with one hand to stroke his cheek. They shared a smile, then a kiss, and Midas at last pulled back and withdrew.

The feeling it left of absence in his wake was almost mournful to Sam, but her body quickly adjusted, though she was sure she could still feel something of him lingering inside her. Perhaps the memory of the sensation, or perhaps something more... Certainly she felt the essence of their endeavours soaking into her lingerie.

One of Midas's arms snaked its way around her waist and helped her straighten up, seemingly taking most of her weight and supporting her. She'd never been more acutely aware of his strength than in that moment, and she was grateful for it.

It was fortunate. Her legs would be unsteady for some time.

It became even more redundant as he wrapped his arms around her, embracing the cow-girl in earnest from behind.

She looked up at him. He was smiling.

"What?" she asked.

His eyes gestured towards the table. She looked at it for the first time since standing up. It was sodden with pools of white fluid, retained by the impermeable fabric - her milk, she realised. She looked down at herself. The fur at her breasts and stomach was sodden, matted and damp. Her breasts were still slightly swollen from the ordeal, though nowhere close to being as full - still, the occasional drip managed to escape her nipples. The remnants of whatever was left.

"Well, this will be a tough one to explain to the cleaners..." she noted.

Midas chuckled. He held out one hand, alight with energy and surprisingly bright, and before her very eyes the mess they'd made seemed to evaporate entirely into nothingness, only the scent of hot humidity lingering. In less than twenty seconds the examination table was dry and, apparently, clean.

"Quite the skill." She mused. Sam looked to her clothes, strewn across the floor. Pulling away one of Midas's arms, though keeping a hold of it with her hand, she reached over and picked up her tube top.

"One of many." Midas added with a wry smirk. He looked to his own clothes, but made no move to retrieve them. Instead, he reached out and took the top from Sam. She allowed him to have it, and he pulled it down over her head, giving her time to slip her arms through it.

He adjusted it downwards towards its rightful place, though with it bunched as it was it managed to catch around her breasts. Midas let go, leaving it to barely cover anything but the narrowest of bands across her chest, cinching around her bosom in a manner that if not for recent memories may have seemed obscene.

Midas made no move to untangle the top, enjoying the view, even from his unique angle, "That look suits you."

Instead, Sam adjusted it, though with the dampness of her fur it seemed to stick more snugly than usual to her curves. Or maybe she was still just swollen, "Pervert."

"I try." He winked.

Sam rolled her eyes in mock indignation, turning away from him to retrieve the remainder of her fallen attire. She leaned over, but then heard quick movement behind her. Without any further warning her tube top went completely slack and fell away completely. It led to a moment of confusion, until Midas tossed a pair of surgical scissors onto the table.

She was too surprised for words, her mouth agape but lips dry. Where the hell had he found those? She felt Midas slip his arms around her once again, this time in an embrace, one arm around her waist and the other around her breasts, wrapping her up tightly and resting his chin between her rune-engraved horns, amidst the tussled mass of her hair.

She looked up to see his smiling eyes. Lifting a hand, she caressed his cheek.

She couldn't help but return the smile.

Midas whispered into her ear, "Problem solved."

-o-O-o-

Medicinal Purposes