FSE

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A bright sky dotted with clouds hung above Kaldar Pass, a dirt road used by merchants and religious folk to travel between cities in the kingdom of Taros. On this day, two brown horses pulled two canvas-covered wooden carts, slow and steady as tortoises, down the well-used path. Four guards flanked the caravan, two to a side, each on a horse of their own. Sigmund, one such guard, sat idly on his horse as the drivers kept their leisurely pace. It was seen as a great honor to guard the caravan and Sigmund had been “lucky” enough to have been chosen the past three years in a row for the duty- this would be his fourth. The supposed “honor” didn’t make the job any less tedious and dull. The round trip could have been completed in just half a day, but scripture dictated that the pilgrimage be a much longer affair.

Sigmund’s mail armor rattled as he lifted his leather water pouch to his lips. He had been a member of the guard for almost ten years, and being nearly forty made him one of the oldest footsoldiers in the company. Under normal circumstances, he would have been offered an officer’s position long ago; however, being born without a father made him “unfit for a position of leadership” according to a royal decree. By all rights, Sigmund was lucky to be a soldier at all. Be that as it may, his comrades had never looked down on him for it, and truth be told, Sigmund wasn’t the least bit interested in a promotion. It would have been nice to not be assigned to this pilgrimage every blasted year, though.

He looked to his right, at the elderly man driving the cart. Next to him sat a young woman, and they were both clad in white religious robes for the event. Sigmund didn’t know them, as the guards did not often fraternize with members of the church. The carts they were driving carried food, mostly fruit, and vegetables, but there were also the skinned and dressed carcasses of small game animals such as rabbits and chickens. The young woman beside the driver turned and smiled at him. Sigmund gave her a polite nod in return before turning his attention forward.

The hours dragged on as the caravan moved ponderously down the road. Sigmund stifled a yawn. He knew that there was still a fair bit of distance to travel, and it was proving difficult to remain alert. He thought about how happy the kingdom would be upon their return and how delicious the feast would taste. His fellow soldiers would salute him for a job well done, and they would all drink until the dead of night. Perhaps he would be able to convince his fellow guard Nathaniel to spend some time alone with him. The younger guard had been on Sigmund’s mind for quite some time, and he often found it difficult to concentrate when Nathaniel was nearby. His thoughts would turn to lewd fantasies of the younger guard’s toned, hairy body pressed against his own as their tongues rolled around each other. He adjusted himself on his horse as the crotch of his pants became uncomfortably tight, making him grit his teeth. It had been too long since he had been able to relieve the tension in his loins and this pilgrimage duty was just another thing preventing him from doing so. Still, he couldn’t help but think of Nathaniel’s round ass cheeks grinding against his throbbing bulge-

A loud whooping noise erupted from the woods to the left, a short distance from the road, and Sigmund looked up to see the guard ahead of him turn her horse to face the sound as she drew her blade. He looked towards the woods in time to see a group of brigands burst from the foliage, bearing down on the caravan with frightening speed. An arrow flew past Sigmund’s face and buried itself in the caravan driver’s head. Sigmund gripped the hilt of his sword, but only had time to yank it halfway out of his scabbard before a stone struck the side of his helmet and sent his senses reeling. The world turned upside-down as his steed took off without him and Sigmund’s eyes barely had time to register the wooden corner of the cart swiftly approaching his head before he collided with it and was thrust into a sea of blackness.

***

Sigmund was slapped awake. He grunted and reluctantly opened his eyes, expecting the worst, which was very nearly the case. He had been stripped of his armor, and most of his clothes for that matter, and was leaning up against one of the wheels of the cart he had been guarding. His wrists were tied behind his back, and the coarse rope dug into his flesh when he tried to move. The bandit who had slapped him was wearing Sigmund’s mail and pointing the guard’s own sword at his neck. The man’s face had rough features, scarred and unshaven. One of his eyes was grey and glassy, probably from a prior injury, while the other was brilliant blue, and his expression was a mixture of pride and frustration. Sigmund could tell the other brigands were rooting through the carts nearby even though his back was to them. The bandit leader- he assumed he was the leader anyway- gently dragged the blade of Sigmund’s own sword down his chest, through his rough body hair until it was pressing firmly into his pudgy belly, just above the waistband of his pants. While it wasn’t enough to draw blood, it wouldn’t have taken much effort to spill Sigmund’s guts all over his lap.

“Two of my boys are dead,” the bandit leader said. “And all we’ve got to show for it so far is a handful of jewelry and a cart full of food.”

“Bad luck,” Sigmund replied, gritting his teeth when he felt the pressure of the sword point increase slightly against his skin.

“Do you value your life? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut your belly open right now.”

However holy, the sanctity of the pilgrimage wasn’t worth Sigmund’s life.

“Our destination is your answer,” he said. “There is only one place we could have been going this time of year.”

The brigand glared down at him, his face a mask of confusion. “Don’t try my patience, bootlicker. What are you talking about?”

A glimmer of hope. If he told the bandits about the cave and the riches within, maybe they would let him go.

“You must not be from these parts. There is a cave several miles from here, a temple really. We were on our way to deliver these offerings, but there are many more treasures within.”

The brigand’s lips turned upward in a grin. “Good answer,” he said as he lifted the sword from Sigmund’s skin and sheathed it in its scabbard.

“A-am I free to go?”

The criminal laughed harshly. “Do you take me for a fool? Absolutely not. You are going to lead us to this temple. If you don’t, I’m sure one of my boys would take very great pleasure in separating your head from your shoulders.”

Sigmund gulped as one of the “boys” in question yanked him upward onto his bare feet and pushed him toward the front of the carts.

“Alright, gents, we’re going to get the real haul now!” The leader barked.

Sigmund noticed that the seven other bandits were actually fairly young, and typically clothed in what looked like scavenged and looted clothing. Very few of them had any actual armor to speak of. The element of surprise was probably the only reason they had been able to take the caravan at all. Sigmund grimaced at the bodies that lay strewn about the carts and shook his head. The religious clergy had been slaughtered, the robe of the young girl in the second cart was ripped open, leaving her topless, but that hadn’t stopped the felons from gutting her like a fish. Two of the three dead guards had only been fresh recruits. If Sigmund survived this, he would have to return and give his traveling companions a proper burial, as well as warn the king that the tribute never arrived. The bandit threat was a mere trifle considering what actually lurked in the temple. The leader fell in line behind Sigmund and pushed him down the road.

“No funny business now,” the criminal sneered.

Sigmund knew that he would be dead before he took two steps if he tried to run, so he obediently took the lead as the brigands marched in a clustered gaggle behind him. Some of them had gathered what little riches had been in the first cart and others had stuffed their packs full of food and game from the second. Even bandits had to eat, after all, but for all the leader’s boasting about his intelligence, they hadn’t left a single horse alive. Idiots.

***

It was several hours before they arrived at the temple entrance. As Sigmund had said, it was a cave, but the opening was adorned with ornamental wreaths, and bronze basins filled with scented oil. Two stone statues of bulls sat on either side, covered with religious candles that had dripped wax over the sides of each bovine. The horns were tipped in gold, and some of the bandits rushed over to try to pry them off. Normally, the offerings would be blessed at the basins before being taken into the temple’s ritual annex and left for the beast to claim whenever it saw fit. The pilgrims never stayed to witness it, of course. Only once had a group been so late with the tribute that they had actually glimpsed the creature, and they had fled too swiftly to remember an accurate picture of it. Sigmund knew that this time, they were already late by more than an hour.

“There’s your temple,” he said. “Now let me go, please.”

The leader of the bandits took the knapsack off of his back and pulled out some vegetables and two rabbit carcasses. He chuckled softly to himself as he began tying the food to Sigmund’s arms and legs.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not as stupid as you seem to think,” he said. “All manner of beasts live in caves. So you’re going to be some bait for us while we steal the treasure. If there is no treasure, then whatever lives in there can kill you while we look for all I care.”

Sigmund gritted his teeth as he was shoved toward the gaping, black maw of the cave. The cool, damp air from inside drifted outward, kissing his bare flesh as the leader marched him inside. Two bandits behind them had lit torches to illuminate the dirt floor and stone walls of the cavern, something that Sigmund was thankful for at least. The air had a musty smell, and it only became cooler the further into the cave they went. Eventually, the dirt floor gave way to stone steps and then to a moderately sized room carved out of the stone. Sigmund had been here before- this was the ritual annex. An empty altar sat in the center of the room on a circular dais, flanked by two stone braziers that burned brightly. The only other exit to the room lay on the opposite side of the altar: a large, wide-open hallway that disappeared into darkness. The group passed the altar and continued into the depths of the temple. After a while, the flat, carved passage split into two, one heading to the right and the other going straight. The bandit leader pushed Sigmund forward into the straight path.

“Keep going that way, bait. We’ll take this other route. And don’t think of turning back because two of my boys will be waiting here to kill you if you do.”

“How can I keep going if I can’t see anything?” Sigmund asked.

The bandit leader cut the rope that secured Sigmund’s wrists. “Feel your way forward then. I don’t care.”

Sigmund grumbled to himself as he trudged forward, keeping one hand on the left wall. He glanced behind him and sure enough, two of the bandits were waiting at the intersection, one of them holding a torch. Sigmund crept forward until he was certain that he was out of range of the light before he started to untie the rope holding the food to his arms and legs. He tossed the food down the dark passage ahead of him before he turned around to wait. His skin probably still smelled like a dead rabbit, but at least he wouldn’t have the bait flopping against him if he had to move. He crouched in the darkness and watched the two brigands as they guarded the intersection. His only hope was that the beast wouldn’t come from behind him. He needed it to distract the bandits so he could make his escape.

He waited there for what seemed like ages as the bandits paced back and forth. Then he heard the first scream, echoing from deeper in the temple. The sound of distant fighting followed for a brief moment before several more gurgling cries drifted from the blackness and then silence resumed. Sigmund’s heart raced in his chest, pounding against his ribcage as if it was trying to break free. It was impossible to tell where the sounds had come from, and the two brigands were shifting on their feet as if trying to decide whether they were more afraid of their leader’s wrath, or whatever lurked in the darkness.

“Come on, flee, you cowards,” Sigmund whispered to himself.

They didn’t get a chance to decide. A massive, man-shaped, hoofed beast charged into the intersection, too fast for either bandit to react. There was no way Sigmund was going to get around the monster now. It was silhouetted in the torchlight, but Sigmund saw the horns protruding from its head as it snapped one bandit’s neck with ease and grabbed the other before he could flee. Sigmund didn’t stick around to watch what became of the final criminal. Against his better judgment, he turned and ran as fast as he dared to toward the blackness of the temple. He had no other choice. Distant, clopping hoofbeats reached his ears and Sigmund pushed himself to run faster into the inky blackness around him. Maybe he would be able to outmaneuver the monster in its own den.

As he ran through the darkness, Sigmund hoped he wouldn’t run face-first into a stone wall before his eyes adjusted, but he couldn’t stop with the horned beast chasing him. Luckily, his eyes adjusted to the dim light after a few moments of blindness. At a four-way intersection, he turned left, and at the next choice, he went right. The slapping sound of his bare feet against the stone echoed through the halls as he made another right and found himself at another four-way intersection. He had completely lost track of where he was in relation to the entrance and the heavy hoof-steps in the distance were slowly getting closer.

“Damn, damn, damn!” he said as he ran down the left path. The hoofbeats of the beast were still quite a ways behind him, though they were getting louder by the moment.

Sigmund’s foot caught on a broken piece of the stone floor and he fell forward, barely managing to shield his face from the painful landing. His toes stung, but he tried to stand anyway and keep going. The clopping hooves had all but stopped and now slowed to a walking pace that was very nearby. Sigmund hobbled forward on his wounded foot and screwed his eyes shut in preparation for the monster’s killing blow. Sigmund’s heart leaped up into his throat when a large, rough, human-like hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed his back firmly against the wall. Then a strange, cow-like snout began sniffling over his bare skin. Sigmund froze. Why wasn’t he dead yet? He clenched his teeth against the throbbing ache in his foot as the creature sniffed him. The nose moved down one of his arms and up the underside of it, dipping slightly into his now sweaty pit before moving across Sigmund’s damp, fuzzy, muscular chest and down his pudgy belly. It was an oddly arousing feeling, and shame colored Sigmund’s cheeks in the darkness as he struggled not to grow hard from the strange sensation.

“I know your scent,” a deep, imposing voice said as the nose lifted from his skin. “You have been here three times before.”

“W-what?” Sigmund was speechless. He had never even considered the idea that the monster could speak.

“Why have you profaned my home with impure offerings and would-be thieves?”

Sigmund’s mind raced. He had nothing to gain from trying to lie, and he doubted the creature would believe him if he did. His own nose picked up the musky, masculine scent that wafted from the creature’s large frame, and he could feel the heat radiating from it as well due to the monster’s previous exertion.

“They waylaid our caravan. I am a soldier from the kingdom of Taros and was supposed to be guarding the carts. We were on our way to present you with the appropriate offering on schedule, but they killed everyone except me and threatened my life if I didn’t give them more treasure…”

The beast snorted. “And now they are dead, but the bargain must be upheld. What have you to offer in place of your ruined tribute?”

Sigmund had nothing. Well, perhaps that wasn’t true. A brief memory of the touch of the creature’s nose against his flesh made him gulp audibly at the thought of the one thing he had left to give. He wasn’t sure what the creature would do if Sigmund offered sexual favors. The size of the beast’s silhouette alone was enough to intimidate him, never mind the creature’s growling voice and the large hand that still firmly pressed his shoulder into the wall.

“I… I have nothing.” He croaked hoarsely.

“We both know that isn’t true, little man,” the beast said before a long, thick tongue dragged along his sweaty chest and over his swiftly hardening nipples.

“W-wait, this isn’t part of the bargain!” Sigmund said through a groan in spite of his quickly growing arousal at the soft tongue.

“You broke the agreement. I will have tribute, even if it means I must force you to give it.”

The beast’s commanding words reminded Sigmund of an old flame from his training days. He was a drill instructor who had worked Sigmund to the bone during the day and then fucked him at night. What a pleasurable season that had been! The memory was making his cock rock hard in his pants, and he gasped as the monster effortlessly tore them from his hips.

“Perhaps you won’t have to do much forcing…” Sigmund said softly as he felt crimson heat rush to his cheeks from the feeling of the tongue now sliding over his throbbing shaft. Sigmund gripped the monster’s horns and his… fur? He didn’t have time to think about that though, because the tantalizing tongue was rubbing over all of the right spots on his dick and urging him toward climax. Sigmund huffed and panted as the creature sucked and licked, rumbling low in its chest with pleasure as that large, rough hand rubbed the soldier’s toned, fuzzy chest.

It was so lewd and perverse, the feeling of being blown by what felt like a bull, but the thing talked, so that meant… “Oh gods, I’m close!” Sigmund moaned as his whole body shook and the tongue wrapped itself around his pulsing manhood.

His cock erupted thick semen into the beast’s huffing maw, painting that talented tongue white with his essence. The creature sucked and sucked, drawing his entire load into that hungry mouth until Sigmund’s orgasm slowed to an oozing trickle. Panting, he slumped on the wall as the beast pulled off of his length.

“Yes,” the monster said. “You will make a fine tribute.”

“What? But you’ve already…”

“You were not purified. An unclean tribute does not satisfy.” The monster grabbed Sigmund’s arm and began pulling the naked, limping human through the darkness.

“Ow! Hey, hold on, I don’t even know your name!”

Sigmund’s cheeks burned once again as the beast scooped him up into its large arms and he was cradled against its very muscular, hairy chest.

“You may call me Boros.”

Sigmund’s heart fluttered from being held so close in the monster’s surprisingly gentle embrace as Boros clopped through the dark, maze-like halls of the temple.

“How can you tell where you’re going?” Sigmund asked.

Boros snorted in amusement. “Call it a sixth sense.”

“But you can’t actually see in the dark?”

“I don’t use my eyes if that’s what you mean.”

Sigmund was silent for a few moments as the beast’s clopping hoof-steps echoed off of the stone walls around them.

“You’re… more well-spoken than I assumed…” he said, trying not to offend the creature.

“That’s understandable. Monsters typically do little to convince humans of their intelligence.”

Sigmund curiously ran a hand over the beast’s thick, coarse body hair on its pecs, which caused a pleased rumble from the burly chest. “How long have you lived here?” he asked.

“I would have thought that the tradition of tribute taught you the history behind it.” Boros rubbed Sigmund’s shoulder idly with a thick thumb as he spoke. “To be brief, I have been here for nearly two-hundred years. King Taros the Second...”

The beast paused and sadness colored the tone of its voice.

“Sorry, I wasn’t intending to bring up bad memories,” Sigmund said.

Boros chuckled dryly. “No, it’s fine. The king was indebted to me, so in exchange for my protection of the nearby border crossing, the tribute tradition was created to guard against would-be monster slayers. It is only natural that rumors would spread, I just didn’t realize that they would overtake the truth completely.”

Boros turned a corner and Sigmund could see a dim light down the hallway ahead. His heart began racing again as he thought of seeing the monster in full for the first time and his stomach tied itself in knots not only from the apprehension but also from the lewd thoughts of whatever else Boros had planned for him. The light became brighter and Sigmund looked up as Boros’s face was finally revealed. A brown-furred snout, thick like a bull’s and with a wide, brown nose that twitched in the damp air of the stone hallway. They passed a pair of carved marble pillars and torches placed on either wall, which caused Boros’s golden eyes to sparkle in the flickering firelight. Two scar lines split his right eyebrow diagonally, and another broke the fur just barely to the left of his left eye. His flat ears stuck out from the sides of his head just below his impressive, ivory-colored, curved horns, and the bull-man had a dark brown mane of sorts, though it was wild and unruly about his chin and cheeks, like a human beard. Below his neck, the fur disappeared and a normal, human body continued, though he was much larger than a human could ever be. Sigmund guessed that Boros was probably eight or nine feet tall. Coarse body hair covered the beast’s pecs and continued down past where Sigmund was being cradled in those massive and equally hairy arms.

Boros stopped abruptly, jolting Sigmund from his admiration of the beast’s masculine form and causing him to look around at where he had been taken. The room was surprisingly well furnished. Taros the Second had certainly seen that Boros was well taken care of. The stone floor had a large, square carpet in the center depicting the Taros royal crest in red and gold. Several bookshelves sat about the room near an immense bed as well as near the wall where they had entered, shelves stacked with corked mason jars full of food and herbs. There was also a comfortable-looking armchair near a stone fireplace which was set into the left-hand wall. The only other exit to the room aside from the large, wooden door they had come through was another doorway on the right-hand wall. Boros carried Sigmund through it and into a smaller room that held a lavatory and a large, brass washing basin. Boros set Sigmund down in the basin and picked up a sizable brass kettle from the floor nearby.

“Need I remind you of what will happen should you attempt to escape?” Boros asked, the menace returning to his voice.

Sigmund shook his head. The sickening crunch of the bandit’s neck breaking in the beast’s bare hands still rang in his memory. Boros nodded and then smiled kindly at him before leaving the room. Sigmund craned his neck to watch the large, bull-man through the doorway as he placed the kettle on a hook above the fire. The soldier saw that Boros had a pudgy belly despite the thick muscles on his arms, shoulders, back, and chest. Sigmund guessed that the tribute kept the bull-man more than well-fed. Boros’s chest hair turned into a coarse trail that flowed over his gut and down under the waist of a pair of leather shorts that hugged the beast’s crotch, hips, and ass like Sigmund found himself wanting to. Boros’s legs were normal except for the brown fur that returned halfway down his shins and ended in a pair of black hooves. Sigmund’s cock twitched as he watched Boros’s striking figure disappear behind the door frame as he moved to the shelves full of jars.

Sigmund sat in the tub as he heard Boros clopping about in the other room. The sound of a grinding mortar and pestle also reached his ears and he clutched his knees to his chest, unsure of what to do with himself while he waited. Did Boros plan to keep him here forever? Sigmund knew nothing of the beast’s customs aside from the tribute, and while the prospect of sex with the beast was a tantalizing one, he didn’t exactly want to be held captive for the rest of his life. Boros returned with the steaming kettle and a bowl from which a delicious smell wafted.

“I hope this isn’t too hot,” Boros said as he poured some of the water into a small puddle at the other end of the tub.

Sigmund tested it with his foot. “Th-that’s actually perfect... thank you.”

Boros nodded and began filling the tub with the steaming water. Sigmund stretched out in the water, letting it peel the grime from his tired body. When the kettle ran out, Boros left the room again, leaving Sigmund only half submerged. It wasn’t long before the bull-man returned with another full kettle and filled the tub the rest of the way. Boros placed the kettle on the floor and then kneeled next to the basin, sprinkling the contents of the bowl over Sigmund as he did. He dipped one of his large hands into the water and poured some of it over Sigmund’s head. The soldier had to admit that being washed by the beast was very erotic, and he couldn’t help the stiffness that returned to his groin. The pain in his foot evaporated, and he floated contentedly in the warmth as Boros massaged the herbal mixture into his skin and tired muscles.

“Rinse,” Boros commanded.

Sigmund closed his eyes and slipped under the water. He heard the plug at the other end of the basin being pulled while he was submerged, and the water slowly drained away. Boros held a wool towel for him as he climbed out of the tub and the minotaur wrapped him up in it with vigorous rubbing. Boros's nose sniffed about Sigmund’s chest and shoulders as the towel dried him, and Sigmund began to feel slightly bolder.

“Why did you spare me?” He asked. “Is it only for your tribute?”

Boros chuckled. “In truth, your scent is familiar. You remind me of the way King Taros the Second smelled.”

“And the two of you were lovers, I presume,” Sigmund said.

The minotaur nodded. “Until the king’s death, yes.”

“Did the queen know?”

Boros shrugged as he tossed the damp towel on the floor and led Sigmund back out into the bedroom, gesturing encouragingly toward the bed. “If she did, I never heard of it.”

Sigmund watched as Boros tugged his leather shorts down his legs, and couldn’t help the quiet gasp that came from his mouth at the sight of the minotaur’s almost foot-long endowment. As Boros placed a hand on his shoulder, urging him onto the massive bed, Sigmund could see that monster cock start to thicken and grow even longer. It was flat at the tip and had a pulsing medial ring, much like the erections of horses that Sigmund had seen by chance when cleaning the stables during his soldier training. The thought of that thing being forced into him made his knees weak and his stomach rolled over in apprehension.

“A-are we really going to do this?” he asked.

“Get on the bed,” Boros commanded in that authoritative tone.

Sigmund gulped and slowly crawled up onto the animal-skin bedcovers. Boros followed and placed a firm hand on the soldier’s back when he tried to turn over. Sigmund’s heart pounded in his chest and his mouth quickly dried out. Boros would split him in half with that giant dick. There would be no recovering if the bull-man forced it inside of him. Sigmund heard a cork pop from a bottle and then gasped as cool liquid dribbled onto his skin. A pleasured groan escaped his lips as Boros’s meaty hands massaged the fragrant oil into his muscles. The minotaur made sure to cover every inch of Sigmund’s quivering body in the slick substance, his talented hands working over the soldier’s shoulders and then down over his back. His touch seemed to simultaneously electrify and relax Sigmund’s muscles, and the soldier’s senses reeled with newfound lust and need. His erection throbbed and stiffened under him while his head spun from the scent and the pleasure rolling through his body at the minotaur’s touch.

Boros panted above him, the scent clearly having an effect on him as well. His massaging hands grew firm and intense in their movements, making Sigmund moan with relief and need below. The minotaur’s thick erection pulsed as it drooled on and rested against Sigmund’s thigh. Once Boros was satisfied that the oil covered every inch of Sigmund’s backside, his powerful hands gripped the smaller human’s butt cheeks and rolled them, spreading them just enough with each movement for his bovine tongue to snake out and flick the quivering ring of muscle.

Sigmund gasped aloud as he felt the wetness of Boros's tongue invade him, his groaning voice rising to a crescendo as the oral muscle writhed and thickened as it sunk nearly six inches inside. Boros rubbed the soldier’s back gently as his tongue slithered in and out of Sigmund’s hole, huffing through his nose happily when the human began lifting his butt toward his snout with each thrust. Boros pulled his tongue free and Sigmund whimpered in disappointment.

“Roll over,” Boros said through panting breaths.

Sigmund did as he was told and the minotaur slathered more of the tantalizing oil onto his chest and stomach. The human didn’t know why, but the scent was driving him wild, filling his mind with unbridled lust, and making his cock harder than it had ever been in his life. Boros watched Sigmund’s throbbing, dripping shaft with much interest as he massaged his smaller lover’s muscles. As he moved his hands back up to Sigmund’s shoulders, his nose and tongue dragged along the soldier’s abs and up to his chest. Sigmund gripped Boros's mane and pulled the minotaur’s lips to his. Their mouths parted and each groaned in bliss as their tongues rolled about one another and Boros's heavy chest pressed into the smaller human’s. Their cocks throbbed next to each other, dripping their precum onto Sigmund’s abdomen as he and Boros tasted the heady oil and huffed with pleasure.

Boros broke the kiss, face and chest flushed with desire. He poured some of the oil onto his hand and gripped Sigmund’s dick with it, stroking the soldier slowly. Sigmund’s muscles immediately tensed from the sensation as it sent his whole body thrumming with intense heat. Boros released his shaft and then, before Sigmund could say or do anything, the minotaur crouched over him and sat on the human’s throbbing length.

The warm, tight, clenching passage enveloped Sigmund’s thick shaft like the human’s cock was meant to be there. Boros grunted in approval as he sunk to the base, panting and snorting through his nose. Sigmund marveled at the minotaur’s heaving chest, reaching up his hands to grip and rub Boros's pecs around the nearly two feet of bull-man dick throbbing inches from his face. When Boros lifted himself upward, a rush of heat and dizziness filled Sigmund’s head. It traveled downward through him as the minotaur sat back down, practically growling in pleasure. Sigmund’s balls churned. It hadn’t been long since he had cum in Boros's mouth, but his nuts already felt so damn full! He lifted his hips to meet the minotaur’s sitting rump, grunting as his nuts slapped Boros's beefy ass. The minotaur’s hefty sack never left Sigmund’s abs and the weight of it made Sigmund’s mouth water at the thought of how much delicious cum it held. The minotaur increased his speed, his hole squeezing and clenching around Sigmund’s throbbing shaft.

“Give me what I want,” he growled in that menacing, domineering voice as he reached down and gripped Sigmund’s shoulders tightly. “Cum, boy. Give me tribute.”

Boros glaring at him so sternly and the wonderful hole milking his cock made Sigmund moan aloud like a whore as his balls pulled up tightly to the base of his shaft and Boros grunted.

“Cum for me. Do it, soldier!” Boros growled.

“Y-yes, sir!” Sigmund cried as his nuts twitched and his shaft thickened. He let out a gasping grunt and erupted deep into Boros’s clenching asshole. The minotaur sat one final time and simply clenched his hole around the base of Sigmund’s cock as the smaller human shuddered and spurted thick, potent jizz into the eager bull-man.

“That’s it. Give me your essence!” Boros demanded as his asshole clenched rhythmically and his own cock throbbed and dripped onto Sigmund’s chest.

Sigmund panted as his orgasm slowed to oozing, and he lifted his head to lick at the slit of Boros’ monstrous manhood. A dollop of the minotaur’s precum hit his tongue as the mammoth shaft throbbed, and Sigmund swooned at the delectable taste. His tongue ran over the flat head and his hands stroked the veiny length, toying with the medial ring as Boros grunted and panted in response. His asshole clenched even tighter than before around Sigmund’s softening cock and without warning, the bull-man wrenched his meat away from the smaller human and pointed it to the right, bellowing as it erupted onto the floor next to the bed. Sigmund watched in awe as seventeen powerful spurts of minotaur semen splattered onto the stone, much of it landing several feet away. He rubbed Boros's shuddering muscles as the minotaur came. The smaller human kissed and licked the bull-man’s strong forearm as one massive hand held him down on the bed. Eventually, Boros's climax ended, leaving the minotaur shuddering and panting on top of Sigmund. The soldier’s cock had slipped out of the bull-man’s tightened hole and Boros gingerly laid himself down next to his human lover. Sigmund sighed as he basked in the afterglow and Boros placed a large, hairy arm over him possessively.

“Forgive my… eagerness,” the minotaur said. “I haven’t… had relief in a very long time.”

Sigmund idly rubbed Boros's pudgy belly. “I could tell.” He turned his head to look into the larger monster’s eyes and noticed that they were surprisingly human despite being set in such an animal face. “What happens now?”

Boros smiled at him. “You are free to go. The agreement has been satisfied.”

“So that’s it then?” Sigmund was unable to hide the indignation in his voice. “You’ll just use me like a dildo and then kick me out with not so much as a farewell, huh?”

Boros was clearly taken aback. His ears folded backward on his head in shame, and his face turned into a piteous mask of regret and bashfulness. “I… W-would you like to return someday?” His voice had become quiet and timid, in stark contrast to his formerly aggressive attitude. Sigmund couldn’t help but find it endearing.

A grin crept along the soldier’s face. “Believe me, I hope to return many times before the next pilgrimage.”

END