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Hello, all, and welcome to my first SoFurry submission. This one is relatively tame, all things considered, and includes curiously consensual intercourse between a human and minotaur. I hope you enjoy, and I am extremely open to feedback if you would like to message me. Otherwise, happy reading!

-------------------------------------------------------------INTO THE WOODS--------------------------------------------------------

One never ventures into the woods. Perhaps some woods, but certainly not these ones. Even though the path saves oneself a week off the journey between Goldfield and the capital city of Temorrah. Even though the more well-traveled path runs the risk of banditry, of harsher weathers, of the additional toils of lengthier travel, one never ventures into the woods. Tales abounded of what happened to those that traveled out of eyesight down that simple, dirt road and turned to where the brush obscured them from vision, but they never emerged from the other side. Of course, it had been many years since this was common knowledge, and although everyone knew someone who knew someone who had disappeared, the amount of secondhand accounts was actually quite few. But still. You never venture into the woods.

Which is precisely the conversation that Lina was overhearing now. Born to rather well-off parents, owners of a well-farmed estate that provided ample coin to support their lavish, yet less-than-royal lifestyle, the young, heiress-apparent to her family’s noblesse heritage could scarce believe her ears as she eavesdropped on the conversation happening in her family’s parlor. Though the whispered bits were hard to discern, she could very likely fill in the blanks.

An illness had been running rampant through the local village, one that the ever-creative villagers merely referred to as “the death”. It started calm enough, typical chills one experienced with the seasonal malaise that happened in the first frosts of early autumn, but grew rapidly into a fight for one’s life. Expelling blood in one’s sputum, the inability to palate even water or the most easy-to-stomach of foods, but the most tell-tale sign was a darkness that crept around the skin, starting from the eyes, until the whole of the individual’s face was as sootlike as an underelf. The shadow was easy to spot on Lina’s fair skin, a life of privilege preventing even the sun from oft gracing a gaze upon her features. Although the local apothecary supplied teas to try and ease the burdens of those afflicted, still the mortality of the disease too-often surpassed the benevolence of common herbalism. Nay, she needed a professional healer. One from the city is all that would do, and the only way to get her there before the disease had run its course on her fragile frame would be to eliminate the circumnavigation of those dark, mysterious woods.

Although her body felt weak and exhaustion had eked its way into every fiber of her being, she kept awake into the early parts of the morning, listening to her parents bicker back and forth about whether or not to attempt such a journey. Her father pressed for the adventure, her mother rebuked, but in the end, the head of the house had the final say. No sooner had she drifted off to sleep than her mother startled her awake by swirling into her room in a frenzy. Her bags were packed, the blonde waves of her hair were brushed nearly-straight. Although the weather was favorable enough for lighter attire, she was donned in her long, white, winter dress to help fight the chills in her bones, to try and return some semblance of color to her pallid, shadowy cheeks.

It almost felt like a dream as she was crammed into the cramped, harsh confines of her family’s carriage and she watched the fields of her family’s spring wheat roll past the small, tiny window in the carriage. The exhaustion in her body numbed her as a coughing fit suddenly overwhelmed her, and she barely noticed the spittle she expelled stain her satin gloves pink.

Her carriage was flanked by two of her father’s best guards atop two proven warsteeds, driven and co-driven by yet two more. Armed with fine steel spears and armor emblazoned with her family’s crest to bear, certainly a trip through the woods would harbor nothing that they couldn’t overpower if not outrun. At the very least, this was what the girl reasoned in her mind. She let the exhaustion finally overtake her as she closed her eyes, rather unsure of if she would open them again, though too tired to truly mind either way.

The rolling, golden hills of the countryside gave way to a final stretch of weeds and tall grass that foreshadowed the line of ancient trees on the horizon. The well-worn road grew rougher as the procession diverted away from the main path and, instead, turned towards the less-traveled one. Covered in leaves, overgrown with small amounts of brush, the heads of the local fieldworkers turned curiously, pausing for a brief moment in their toils to silently question the grand carriage that hurtled at full-gallop to its assured doom.

And into the woods it went. Although it was still early morning, the trees eclipsed the sun enough to give the illusion of late evening. The darkness settled, light-blue over the emerald foliage that should have long since turned yellow and red with the autumn’s chill. And yet… not even the ferocity of nature’s own seasons could break the strange hold that the forest had on its secrets, kept ever-shrouded amongst rich, dark-green leaves that prevented prying eyes from gaining purchase. Had the guards of the procession not been all-too-eager to be through this leg of their journey, they might’ve spared a pausing glance back at the last remnants of light, shining as if through a tunnel in the distance between the trees that framed that unkempt road.

At first, the seasoned guards had the naïve hope of thinking that perhaps the rumors of this forest were untrue. Birds sang, squirrels and rabbits scurried merrily in the undergrowth. Even the chill of the autumn air was halted and a pleasant, springlike warmth settled on their bearded cheeks as they galloped forth. But too soon did their minds start running. The trip should take no longer than a day, a simple passing between the two thinnest parts of this cursed wood, and yet within but an hour the singing of the birds grew distant, the humidity in the air grew thicker, and the pleasant warmth they’d experienced grew warmer and warmer until the heat was almost oppressive within the padded, iron cages they’d adorned their bodies with. Even the horses slowed in their gait, heaving to breathe the heavy, dank air of the deepwood. The procession’s eyes strained amidst what should’ve been the light of near-noon, natural instinct drawn to quick movements in the brush, just out of sight of the road. Their pace naturally slowed as the unsuredness of fear slowly began to creep up their spines and ooze from the pores at the back of their neck. Although they remained wordless in their vigil, the looks they exchanged confirmed that each of them thought they were being watched.

One never ventures into the woods. The words echoed in the steel helms that encased their fragile heads. They’d heard it over and over in the local taverns from superstitious villagefolk, and yet… here they were. One never ventures into the woods. But they were four! Surely four could venture into the woods.

Before they’d had the opportunity to regather their courage that had slipped their grasp, the horses all came to a grinding halt. Heels drove into the beasts’ flanks, willing the onwards, and yet still they kept in their stance, the only proof they’d not been wholly petrified being the panicked flicking of their ears. Their hooves clopped nervously in the dirt, the stink of bestial, primal fear rose from their bodies in a miasmatic mist. And there, in the darkness of that small clearing, did they realize why no one came into the woods.

A looming, silhouetted figure stood before them in the darkness, the unnatural reflection of its eyes the only thing that gave that immense shadow any shape. And yet how high those eyes sat. Nearly eight feet off the ground, they leered straight ahead at the mounted soldiers. A rustle in the bushes on either side of them drew attention, and more and more sets of those glistening eyes peered into view.

Atop a frozen mount, the most grizzled of the guards promptly dismounted, spear brandished threateningly as he stepped in front of the carriage. He shouted at the shadows, a brief phrase of bravery as he leveled the tapered tip of that steel towards the shadow. It was short-lived. That shadow stepped from the brush, towering. Part man, part beast. It walked on cloven hooves, legs double-jointed like the hindlegs of beasts of burden. Its face bore resemblance to both bulls and goats, though with sharp, carnivorous teeth jutting from its mouth in ominous fashion. Although its chest was bare, the rest of its body was draped in black feathers, forming a short kilt that protected its modesty, if truly a beast of such foul, twisted sorceries could even possess such a human trait. It strode forward, aided by an unnatural, twisted staff of living wood, blossoms of leaves sprouting from the head from which myriad feathers draped, as if he was the embodiment of feral nature itself. The other forms strode forward as well, and none less horrid than the last. Barely-clothed in animal furs, clutching crude blades shod from stone and wood, they encircled the procession like wolves upon a family of deer.

The first guard thrust his spear towards that encroaching beast, but no sooner had it approached the threshold of the monster than a wave of his foul, three-fingered hand caused it to disintegrate, spearhead and all, into dust, blown away by a non-existent wind like sand. The rest of the guards fared no better. Swords evaporated in their sheathes, spears blew away to join the oppressive air, and even the crossbow grasped by the co-driver rotted such that the string snapped. The rest of this monstrous host merely watched as their presumed leader strode forward, undaunted by a single strike from a gauntleted, human fist to his torso. As if he hadn’t felt the blow at all, he stepped past the guard, head tilted up until his upper lip furled to reveal more of those glistening, daggerlike teeth. Like a beast, he sniffed at the air, slow, deep inhales that filled his muscular frame with air. Suddenly, a growl broke the palpable silence of the woods. Deep, guttural, he strode unharried by the guards to the door of the carriage. Clearly alien to him, he struggled with the handle, unable to comprehend how to open the device. For a tense minute, the guards glanced from one another to this host of nearly twenty beasts gathered about as their leader tried to find a way to free their charge from this wooden prison and, finally, in a fit of frustration, the beastman merely waved his hand and the hinges of the carriage door melted, the door falling heavily to the ground, followed by the frail, pale frame of the barely-conscious Lina.

Lina had awoken at her guard’s sudden shouting, stirred by the sudden lack of movement and vibration keeping her pleasantly asleep. Yet she found that any strength she had diminished in the period of her brief slumber. The ache in her arms was too great, and as she stared into the darkness of the woods, she couldn’t even find the ability to recoil as she saw two feral eyes staring back at her through the glass, clawing to gain purchase on the wooden frame. When the door suddenly fell through, she, too, tumbled with it. Bracing as best she could before she hit the ground, she found the impact never came. Instead, her fall was halted almost immediately by two trunklike arms cushioning her. Her modesty was immediately violated by the owner of those arms, bestial muzzle crammed against her cheek as she felt cool air dragged past her porcelain flesh and exhaled again in warm humidity.

“Rot,” came the gravelly, deep, rumbling, singular word from the beast clutching her like some warprize, and in some strange part of her brain she understood his meaning. Her. She was rotting. Her chin was dribbled with blood from the exertions of her cough, her skin contrasted pale on her cheeks, fading to a dark gray rash around her ice-blue eyes, from which all life and light had since gone, only a candle’s flicker remaining to where once a roaring hearth once dwelt. The last bit of her consciousness faded as she saw the host of warriors closing in on her guards as her vision grew darker and darker, the feeling of leaves brushing her skin and twigs tearing at her finery as she was hauled away.

When yet again she roused, her environ had changed. Warm firelight filled a primitive tent consisted of leathers stretched between wooden spouts. Herbs, feathers, and fetishes hung from the ceiling, and the pungent scent of sage almost overwhelmed the girl as it focused her senses for the first time in days. It cleared the thick fog of fever, and almost felt as if she had awoken for a second time as she breathed in the heavy, herbal haze. She noted briefly that her finery was gone, her favorite winter dress no longer keeping the chill out and the fever in. Instead, she was merely wrapped, like a babe, in a thick, yet plush hide. Her breath suddenly caught in the back of her throat as her eyes fell upon the massive creature occupying the tent with her. No less was her own terror than that of the guards, though it was, perhaps, muted by the exhaustion in her body. She groaned once in fear as the furred beast approached her and expended the rest of her energy in a single movement to try and kick away from him, fruitless as she felt her bare heels slide across the dirt of the floor.

The beast leveled his hand towards her, and she recognized the gesture towards herself. He flicked his hand once for emphasis. “Rot,” again the word came from that inhuman muzzle. He drew ever closer, and her nose wrinkled as the pungence of that beast cut through even the thickness of the sage that burned from the corners of the tent. The hand that hadn’t been leveled at her brought forth a small, wooden cup, almost comically small in the monster’s massive digits, and pressed it to her lips. She attempted to resist, tilting her head, but quickly was corrected as her entire head was seized in his palm, thumb and one of his remaining two digits pressed against the corners of her jaw to force her mouth open. The pressure of his powerful grip briefly cut through the pain of her illness with its blunt brutality, and soon after she felt a near-scalding liquid poured into her mouth. Her instinct to spit, to resist was well-predicted, and as she attempted to sputter whatever vile brew he’d seared her tongue with, he sealed her mouth shut with a single one of his fingers.

The heat of the potion was only half as painful as what followed. As the brew rapidly cooled in her mouth, not even her burn-dulled tastebuds could protect her from the positively vile, wretched flavor that assaulted her. As if someone had taken a scoop of a pig pen, boiled it, and distilled the flavor of the vapors it gave off into the very essence of death. Her body, even in its weakness, protested. She gagged. She wretched. With the strength of the beast holding her mouth sealed, half the tincture was expelled from her nose while the other half was accidentally choked down as she coughed, gagged, and choked. The effort was all her body had left, and she could once again feel consciousness slipping from her grasp. This was how she died, she imagined, choking upon a thimbleful of some bestial tea, wrapped in the hide of a lowly beast. The edges of her vision clouded, and she awaited that haze to fully envelope her, to take her from this tent with the sweet release of death. And yet it didn’t come. After a few more weak coughs to clear her lungs, suppressed still by the finger sealing her mouth closed, her vision began to clear. The chills that had overtaken her form for days hence slowly began to ease and, for the first time in a week, she felt… warm. The hand that had forcibly closed her mouth was removed, and quickly another cup was brought to her lips. Slowly eased upwards, rather than forced, cool water dripped past her lips into her mouth, soothing the burning ache that had just passed.

And she drank. Greedily. She was certain she’d never tasted anything so incredible in her life as this cup of water, drank from a moss-covered, wooden mug. She gulped until the mug was empty and suddenly found the strength to reach out and seize the arm of that beast as he attempted to pull it away. He snorted at her attempt to stop him, pulling back only to refill the cup and bring it to her once more.

The second glass of water was no less amazing than the first, greedily consumed by the frail human. Each sip felt like her veins were filling once more, felt like her body refilling with vitality after having been wholly drained to the point of near-death. The fog that had clouded her brain for so long lifted, and she realized for the first time that this monster was helping her. The injustice of being force-fed the burning tincture faded to the graciousness, the elation of being better, of having feeling in her hands and feet, strength in her arms and legs. She was left with another glass of water, forcibly placed in her hand while the monster shuffled about to gather her a bowl of soup. No spoon was offered to assist her, but the sudden hunger that had reappeared in her stomach demanded she eat anyways, and without any of the grace of her noblesse heritage, she tilted the bowl back. It was bland, and likely the most flavorless thing she’d ever been fed—no more than mushrooms and squirrel meat boiled in water until both were tender—yet she’d never tasted anything more brilliant in her life. She consumed it much like the beast that offered it to her would, she presumed, not even ashamed to spill some of the watery broth onto herself as she greedily held out the emptied bowl in request of another. And it was given.

Years later, she would swear that she ate and drank nonstop for the entire night, but time ceased to have any meaning in the confines of the tent she recovered in. When she’d finally had her fill and could stomach no more, she leaned her head back, content, satiated, and reveling in the sensation of being alive, of healing, of that special sensation one gets when they’ve realized how good it feels to merely be well. With no more of her demands to fulfill, that monstrous beast merely sat down beside her, and with a delicate hand that belied his massive size and strength, turned her to lay across his lap. Although his eyes didn’t fall on her, instead directed to the farside of the tent where his gaze remained fixated, her own eyes could take in nothing but the massive form of him, and as her full stomach lulled her to sleep, she couldn’t help but feel completely surrounded by that beastman.

His frame occluded her vision in entirety, the outline of his teeth and animalistic muzzle blocking her view of the tent’s roof. His scent permeated everything around her in such close proximity, a predatorial, bestial musk that belied the more preylike visage of his ungulate face.

When she awoke, not a single thing had changed during her long, restful slumber. She felt almost completely whole as she stirred, memories of what had transpired the night before still swirling in her head. She opened her eyes to see the still-awake (or perhaps he’d slept at some point) beastman patiently guarding her, consoling her with gentle caresses over her flaxen-blonde hair. Her senses slowly returned to her as she stretched her arms and legs out, breaking the residual ache as a machine breaks rust after a long period of stagnancy. Despite existing in his scent the entire evening, it was still palpable. She could taste the beast’s body on the back of her tongue with every breath through her nose. Sweat, musk, earth and foliage. It clung to her tastebuds like sap to the bark of a tree. It stirred something within her, warmed her cheeks unnaturally.

The monstrous male cast his glance down at her as she stirred, and for a brief moment their eyes caught one another’s gaze. She could hear his breath, the breathing of a beast that heaved inwards and seethed outwards with the efforts of that massive, broad chest. Although she’d seen twenty summers, she’d never been much of a lustful girl, even when her hormones raged, but she felt something change in that moment, something stir within her that caused her legs to snake out to push her higher into his lap, like a feline vying for attention from its master. This movement drew his gaze again, and she seized the opportunity. Her hand reached upwards, gently caressing the frame of his bestial muzzle as if taking it to memory. It drew a low, guttural rumble from the beast, growl-like, but void of any hostility. Her hand traced further down his chest, where she could feel the ripple, the striation of obvious musculature even beneath the thick, oily hide that covered his torso.

Her mouth suddenly felt wet, and her tongue flicked over her lips to collect the moisture that had mysteriously gathered there. What was she doing? Her brain screamed at her to stop this madness—was this to be her legacy? Seducing some near-feral beastman in the forest? But the logic and intellect was muffled, silenced by primal urge, a biological need within her.

Those deep, brown eyes of the monster watched her every motion as she slowly clambered into his lap, the hide she’d been wrapped in falling away to leave her bare before him. She tried to rest a leg on either side of his legs, to straddle that beast, but the width of his frame kept her from doing so. She settled by seating herself on his thighs, facing him as her hands continued to explore his chest.

Those bestial nostrils of his flared as his breath grew deeper, stronger, faster. There was a gentle reluctance before she felt his rough, calloused palms finally settle on those slender, pale hips of hers. It caused her breath to hitch in her throat. She gulped softly as she directed her hands to his, setting atop them to reassure that beast that what he was doing was good. Was correct. She could feel warmth pooling between her legs and became acutely aware that it wasn’t merely her own warmth. A sudden presence drew her gaze, and she caught her first glimpse of her would-be-partner, rising from beneath the short, feathered loincloth. She couldn’t help but admire him. He was reminiscent of the horses she’d seen rut in the pens of her family’s stables, a round, blunted head, that blossomed out from a thick hole in the tip. He was mottled, brown and pink flesh mixing down the entirety of that flaccid, yet rapidly-swelling staff.

Suddenly, her breath hitched again in her throat as the scent of that male pierced her nose, caused her face to wrinkle and contort. Although at any point throughout her life, she would’ve called the deep, pungent musk of that unwashed beast ‘foul’, at this moment it was anything but. Instead, it was foreign, exotic. She felt herself drawn to the greasy, bodily-oiled surface as she leaned down to take another breath, a closer inhale of that male. She gulped once more as her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned down until she could feel the heat of that rising maleness impacting her lips through the brief space of air between them. Another deep breath, and she sealed his scent into her brain like the fondest of memories. Indeed, he reeked of unwashed beast, of oils, sweat, musk that had stagnated in the leathery sheathe that his shaft telescoped outwards from. Even the slight sourness of stale urine caught in her breath. And the weak screams of her more human-thinking mind tried fruitlessly to tell her to stop. She wasn’t sure if she closed the distance, or if he was, but suddenly she found her lips pressed against the meaty, doughy tip of that near-full manhood, and her hesitation vanished. She kissed him. Her first kiss with a male being to the shaft of this foul, unwashed monster who, as far as she knew, could only speak but a single word.

He growled above her, a deep, lustful sound as her warm, moist lips met with the sensitive tip of his maleness. A hand lightly rested at the back of her head, applying just enough pressure to indicate what he wanted: more. And she so readily complied. She kissed that flared tip again and again and again, stained her lips glossy with the residual oils that gathered over his tip. And finally, her short, slender tongue slipped from between her lips and dragged over him, tasting him, cleaning him where a bath had clearly failed to do so. The taste of that beast drove her wild—or perhaps, more wild than she already were—and she found herself needing to taste him more. Slowly, deliberately, she licked her way down his maleness, painting swaths of glistening saliva where only stale grease from his sheathe had been, and she lost herself to her lusts. If this had been all that mating was, she would have been beyond thrilled to accept it. In some strange way, she found herself, her purpose between that beast’s legs, tending to him, cleaning him, tasting him, and feeling the vibrations of his lustful growls all the way down in the thighs upon which she sat.

For a brief moment, the thought flitted through her mind of what anyone she knew would think. To find her pale, slender frame arched over the lap of this beast, tending to him as if it were the greatest joy in life, and a sharp pang of shame ran through her body. But it was silenced the second she felt one of his digits reach behind her, curl. It prodded clumsily at her backside, drawing a soft squeak from her throat as he first nudged the pad of that finger against her tailhole, then find it’s mark an inch further at her girlhood. She could hear the squelch as his finger touched the soaking moisture that had already formed between her legs, and she felt blood rush to her cheeks as this beast gently rubbed, smeared her own lust around her delicate lips in small circles. She could feel little electric jolts of pleasure firing up her spine as the beast lazily, slowly played around her nethers, smeared her slick with her own lusts, and she suppressed the soft, squeaking noises that naturally rose from her throat by returning to his maleness.

He had long since grown fully firm under her careful cleaning, her passionate, needy kisses to his unwashed beasthood, and that imposing, tall shaft was a frightening thing to behold in its entirety. Although he certainly resembled the horses she’d seen mating in shape, he was, at the very least, slightly less intimidating in size as his quadrupedal brethren. It was still a small consolation, however, as he finally grew tired of the foreplay. Bestial, primal, feral as he was, his patience for complete stimulation was lesser than that of humankind, and she suddenly found herself pulled away from him. With ease that sent a shudder down her spine, he lifted her up shuffled his legs out from under her, placing her back on the dirt floor on her knees. He drew up behind her, hands at her slender hips still as he nudged himself forward, guiding her hands down to the dirt.

She could feel herself presented fully for him, could feel the air gliding between her legs before suddenly being blocked off by that massive maleness. Her senses were all acutely aware of her surroundings—the primitive visage of the tent, the sound of his breath, the scent of his pungent, bestial stink, and she found herself reveling in it all. She was brought back to reality by the sudden feeling of that hot, meaty, blunt tip being pressed against her womanhood. He gave her no time as pressure was applied, and his neediness to be within her sent another little shudder of pleasure, of need down her spine. There was no thought to his action—just need, lust. She’d never felt desired nor needed to this level before in her life, merely a decoration to attend the parties and soirees that her parents would throw, advertising her to other noble families as being available. But here, in this tent… she was needed.

Her thoughts cleared with a sudden searing pain as that thick, rigid shaft finally found purchase. Aided by her own lusts and the slickness of her saliva on his bestial maleness, the pressure against her entrance immediately buried him entirely within her. Or at least as entirely as the physiology of her body could allow. Although he’d merely managed the few inches’ distance from her entrance to the back wall, where that strange, flared tip kissed against the muscled ring of her cervix, a glance between her legs informed her that she’d not even managed to take half the male inside of her body. There was a flicker of shame at that knowledge, being not-enough. But the male atop her didn’t seem to mind it in the least, nor did he try and force the issue to her discomfort. Instead, his hands left her hips and he hunched over her, encasing her in that furred frame as he began to slowly, gently piston back and forth within her.

He was much too large, of that she was certain. She could feel the burning pain of her body being stretched beyond what a human male could’ve ever provided her, and yet it was numbed by the fiery lust that flowed through her veins in a druglike fashion. So tight was their joining that she could feel the pulse of the beast’s heart echoed throughout her womanhood through the pillar he’d pressed within her. In and out, in and out, he slowly, lazily thrust into her body, touching every single one of her walls in a way that only he could. The pressure in her body was immense, obtuse, and yet so positively ecstatic. Her hips rolled with his thrusts, trying to find that angle that would allow him to get just a bit deeper as the beast above her heaved his hot, humid breath in such force that it stirred the dirt below her face.

It took her less time than him to reach the peak of ecstasy. Pent up from years of stifling overprotection, overwhelmed with the primal scents and hormones that flooded her body, no sooner had the beast started his rut than did his female’s fists clench tight into the dirt. Her body tensed, every muscle firing and seizing as she felt this crimson, glowing ember slowly swell to an absolutely roaring flame and wash over her with crimson, pleasured heat. Her lips parted and the sounds that came from it were nothing short of animalistic as she squealed her pleasure into the confines of the tent. Distracted by the shiver-inducing climax, the girl was only vaguely aware of the trickle of her nectar that oozed from her body, forced out by a mixture of that thick shaft and powerful contractions. Had she had more of her senses, she might’ve even found the gall to be embarrassed for that display, but she was lost. In the intense relaxation that followed her climax, she found that burning, stretching pain had all but evaporated and was replaced with the obtuse pleasure of the male within her. She closed her eyes, content to enjoy the sensation of him slowly, lazily taking her as his own.

But such was not to last long. He grew frustrated with the lack of stimulation, and suddenly rose up from all-fours until he was merely mounted behind her. He pressed forward firmly, sealing the tip of his manhood to the back of her wall before one of his hands grabbed the remaining length of his spear and began to stroke it. His free hand wrapped around her flanks, palm resting below her navel, and she became acutely aware that she was the target of some manner of spell. She felt something within her body shift, as if a serpent suddenly awoke within her womb and began to writhe about. It lasted only a moment before her focus was drawn, instead, back to the male as he let out a fierce, powerful roar that rattled the stakes of the primitive tent. She felt his maleness swell inside her, forcing more pressure against her inner walls. And then she felt it…

The first jet of his seed struck her with such intensity, she was certain she would’ve been expelled off of him had he not been holding onto her. She hadn’t a moment to ponder that sensation, however, as another and another and yet another filled her body. She gasped, clawed at the ground until her fingers had formed grooves in the dirt as this male emptied himself inside of her body. The sudden loud spatter from their joining indicated that she hadn’t the capacity to contain his essence, and she dropped her head to watch in lustful wonder as copious amounts of his off-white seed poured from their joining, oozing in long, clumpy ropes to the dirt ground beneath them. She was certain she’d never felt so full in her life, and she relaxed into that warm, heated sensation of being mated. Her face took on a serene appearance, lips tilted upwards in pure bliss as she was claimed by this male.

And just as quickly as his climax had started, it was over. He pulled from her body all too soon, leaving her feeling no less than empty within as her body dumped what must’ve been an entire mugful of his thick, sloppy seed onto the ground. The beast, however, did something she’d not expected at that point, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her to his chest in an embrace as his muzzle pressed into the nape of her neck, licked the sweat from her pale flesh.

His deep guttural voice broke the wordless treaty that they’d formed between them, “You go home. Return with my calf,” he spoke with eloquence that she’d certainly not expected. She could only respond in her post-rut haze with a flurry of nods.

She spent some time cleaning herself up, washing herself, and sharing another bowl of soup with her mate before donning her now-frayed winter dress and being escorted from the tent. Her host of guards, though caged, looked no-worse-for-wear as they were freed and escorted back to their carriage by the beastmen. Even their horses had only strayed mere feet in the day that they’d been absent, kept in place by whatever foul sorcery inhabited this forest. As she gazed out at the passing trees through the hole left in the carriage from the absent door, she finally felt the shame of what she’d done creep into her mind. A proper lady, taken, claimed, possible seeded by this strange, tribal brute? How had she been so improper, given herself over to such lusts?

She settled into her normal life for a month, hoping at first that she truly wasn’t with calf. It didn’t take long to be reminded of the monotony of nobility, however, and as she spent long days within her room, gazing out at the verdant outline of the trees, she began to long for them once more. A consistent bout of nausea in the morning sealed her fate, and late one evening she snuck from her room and out to the dirt road. The clouds blocked the moon from revealing her escape, and throughout the night she made her way at a hurried walk down the road to the forest. Although none of the fieldhands were out to spy her as she disappeared amidst the brush, everyone knew someone who knew someone who had seen the last gazes of Lina as she disappeared into the trees.

And to this day, no one ever ventures into the woods.