FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

“Faster! Faster, dumb Bull! The faster we get out of that damned Jungle, the faster you'll get paid!"

Amidst the lush jungle, the sudden outburst stopped all the chants and the calls riddling the undergrowth. The predators prowled away, the prey fled, even the little critters as one stopped after another. The Ursine progressed through the Jungle, wielding his machete like a vulgar table knife. He cut vines on his way, but only with enough space for him to pass through as he left his employee lagging behind.

“Faster I said!"

“We should take a break; it is almost nighttime," answered the other voice, lower and gruffer. One of reason as the sun was setting beyond the mountains bordering the jungle. Already were the shadows growing larger, more threatening, and the Ursine's cries would not be enough to deter the beasts all night long.

No, it was with a powerful arm the large and gray-furred Minotaur ripped away the vines holding him back. His scars-covered hands moved at once to remove the branches, too, as he dragged behind him a cart full of clothes, chests, supplies, and everything else his Employer had deemed worthy.

“Fine! Set up the camp while I note our progress."

Without a stop, the Minotaur rolled his eyes but followed the order dutifully. His calloused fingers released the cart, and without even touching the spot where the coffers and other chests were, he recovered the flint and dry wood that had been taken for travel… Because green wood produced smoke, and it was bad for the Ursine's throat.

“Hey! Watch the chest! I don't want to see anything damaged when I'm back home!" shouted the Ursine, sitting on a toppled tree, rightfully selecting where they would camp. The clearing was awfully small, the tents would be cramped. Still, the Minotaur obliged and placed the logs in a careful order, then the starter, before he lit it. It would take a few mi-

“Isn't it done already? Fucking servant," growled the Ursine, still shaking his head.

Lord Breynor. Adventurer, merchant, City lord, King counselor… Every title, he had them. Every trinket, he possessed them. Still, he was that kind of extravagant man who felt untouchable on every occasion. Crimes and insults were paid in gold or favor for the man, that was said.

Even among the Minotaur community of Rasgbourgh, people did not take a liking to the Lord despite living on the other side of the country. Nevertheless, that was how the Bear presented himself at the Jungle's entrance, at the very last city marking the frontier with the wilderness. Clad in gold and silk, he offered a large sum to anyone willing to guide him and carry his cart through the Jungle on a quest for a “powerful" and “dangerous" artifact.

The jungle alone deterred many… But much snuck away to avoid the Lord's gaze at the mention of Dangerous. Alas, Mirion was not one who had any reasons to refuse.

His late mother was sick, his father depended on him, and he had a house to repair. Even if he disappeared, his brother and sisters could help and pinch in. But if he returned with the promised riches…

“It's almost done," mumbled the Minotaur, solemn and burrowing his anger away.

It was better not to anger him. Even if the brown-coated Ursine was a pudgy and almost childish male around his fifties, he wielded a power capable of leveling a portion of the forest. And yet, he was incapable of acting with the barest of respect.

For all their travel to the depths, Mirion had been berated, called slow, and everything; even when they arrived at the temple four days ago.

No… He even berated Mirion as they got the artifact Breynor wanted. A little figurine of an Ursine with a crown atop of it, stylized to have… Forms. A statuette Breynor lifted like it was the most prized item that existed in the world. One he was keeping in a chest like the other golden trinkets he kept around.

“The fire is ready. Do you prefer if I do the tent or your meal first?" asked Mirion, standing up and rubbing his back, sore from dragging so much weight.

“Pfuh. You cannot do both at the same time, dumb Bull?" answered the Ursine, his green eyes almost fiery before he rolled them and returned to his notebook, writing on it… Or rather watching the plume write on it while he did nothing. He was not even holding the notebook. He merely maintained them flying through a spell. “Well. If you can't do your job properly, start with the meal. Now. And get that loincloth away."

Another berating.

Still, Mirion turned his head away and rolled his eyes, scratching his exposed torso. Compared to the golden clown that was the Ursine, the Minotaur wore the minimum. It was not like he needed much with his fur and thick hide, but it still stung when the Ursine commented on his Loincloth lately.

Well, he had never made any comment about it before the temple, and it was only recently that he called it unsightly.

Still, for the price Breynor would pay, the Bull untied his loincloth and threw it on a branch nearby as he reached for the precious supplies: only the finest dry meat, magically-conserved meals, and such were to be consumed. Even the fruits stored in jars were from the other side of the country.

Sighing, the Bull took one of the boxes containing today's meal for Breynor. A red box, because it was a Thursday. However… As he stood naked, working and handling the cart carefully, Mirion felt… Something in the back of his neck.

Enough for him to grumble as he smacked a mosquito about to bite his nape… And to scowl as he approached the box to the campfire, setting it atop the fire so it would heat and the enchant dispel.

But… Breynor was looking at him.

The Ursine was no longer checking his notes or mindlessly writing, doodling. No, he was looking at the kneeling Mirion, who glanced back.

“Tonight, it'll be the chicken roast. Like you want," said Mirion, cocking an eyebrow at the slightly glazed-over gaze Breynor had before the Ursine frowned and shook his head.

“That's fine. I'll watch the fire. The tent, now."

“I don't have to-… Fine," grumbled the Minotaur. If the meal burnt, it was no longer his problem then. And so, he returned to the cart but still felt something in the back of his neck. But no buzzing, no mosquitoes. His ears flapped, his nostrils dilated… And he turned.

“What? What's the problem?" he snapped at the Ursine, who was still frowning and watching him. Those green eyes were going from bottom to top and then back, though there was a moment when the Ursine squinted and frowned the more.

“What?"

“You… Your… Privates."

Mirion frowned, too. Then he gritted his teeth, then slammed his hand against his face. This…

He was naked. In a jungle. Where there was no one but the Ursine. They were alone, nobody could see this. Nobody could notice the oblong and weighty testicles in the furry gray scrotum, or the tufty end of the raphe… Or the leathery sheath, black as night, on top of it. Or the reddish flare poking from it. Or even the small wrinkles the skin formed as it folded on itself near the sheath. This was absurd to comment on it, and the Bull exhaled through his nose.

“Yes! My privates! My nethers! My cock! My balls! You see them like you asked! Is that a problem?"

This time, Mirion did not mince his words. He would not try to hide like a little prudish girl because the Ursine was too bothered for him to provide clothes, or to let him wear his loincloth, or to let him bareass. It was enough.

“N-No," mumbled the Ursine, gulping loudly as his levitating spell seemed to falter, and his eyes went to the Bull… To the Minotaur with his rough features, to that nose uncovered with fur, to that scar right atop the right blue eye, to the broken left horn… Then, he gulped again.

“I… Could you flex for me?"

The tone, the shyness, even the volume of the question was a surprise from the boastful Bear. He seemed almost demure in the question, and it was… A surprise. Enough for the Bull to blink but follow, used to the strange requests. Not that he flexed his whole body, but he lifted his left arm and flexed, making his biceps bulge while his torso tensed, exposing his muscular and fat-less belly.

A movement that made the Ursine's eyes widen in surprise and his mouth open, slightly.

“Is that enough? I can get back to the tent?" growled Mirion, his arms dropping a second after… If not for the Ursine's cries.

“No! Don't! Do- Stay like this!" begged the Ursine, pleading and gulping.

“What's the problem? I can't do your tent and your meal if I'm flexing!"

“It- It doesn't matter!"

“It doesn't matter?" asked Mirion, cocking an eyebrow at the affirmation. For someone so meticulous.

“Yes! Ke-Keep flexing!"

The Minotaur inhaled, felt his chest strain, then exhaled. His eyes rolled, but still, he flexed. First was his arms, showing off his biceps like before. The muscles coiled and bulged, forming a noticeable bump where they were the bulkiest. Then, it was his back, presenting it as he slightly turned his waist and had his legs partially twisted. His hooves stomped, and he had to readjust, trying to follow with what he remembered of humans showing off their bodies. And he did the same, presenting the straining and powerful back muscles, the different lines traced by their bulges. A map of his muscles that elicited gasps and surprised groans from the Ursine.

“Enough?"

“K-Keep going," mumbled the Bear, his voice trembling and his hands definitely going over his bulge.

And so, with his eyes rolling further, Mirion followed. Guide, Cook, Handler… Being a subject of the Bear's fantasies was… Nothing when compared to the constant berating. Plus, he might get a bonus pay. And so, he turned, taking a deep breath. He puffed up his chest, placed his fists on his side as he put his best hoof forward. His abdominal waist was immaculate. His legs were powerful and enough to carry the cart. And yes, the Ursine's eyes were all over him, all over his groin, all over his face while those tiny furred hands were squeezing and massaging his bulge.

“Hhh-… Y-Yes. That's… That's good," moaned Breynor, unashamed of wetting his pants' front.

“Will you pay me more if I continue?" asked Mirion, glancing at the meal heating up and steaming.

“I- I… Urf… Yes. I cou-ld pay you more."

“Could pay me more?"

“Allow… Allow me to touch."

Now, this was getting out of hand. The Bear stood up and began to stroll, or rather amble, towards the Bull. His eyes were slightly glazed over, the nostrils dilated, the fur damp with sweat. If he had been excited and odd before, that sudden rush was abnormal… At least. An abnormality which led Mirion to recoil, one hand extending forward.

“What are you doing?!" he asked, surprised. And then, his eyes widened. He saw the Ursine's hand extend onward, and his lips move without a sound. He was casting something, a spell. Whatever it was, it would be a danger. A fireball? No. A constraining spell? Or maybe a memory-altering cast?

Whatever that was, Mirion lifted his arm to protect his face in reflex and…

Nothing.

Nothing appeared. The Bear's lips stopped moving while his face contorted in fear, anger, and frustration. Those eyes sunk, so followed his mouth. His eyebrows dropped, the forehead bore wrinkles even visible under the fur. Even those ears were down.

“W-Why?" he asked, spouting that word with desperation as his hands dropped.

“Wh-what, why? You were casting a spell on me!"

“Why can I can't cast anything on you? What is happening to me?!"

Breynor's face continued to contort and his eyes to water. Yet, even with tearworks, it didn't not stop Mirion from being cautious. Especially when the Ursine's hands were all over his groin, massaging and squeezing it. Shameless… All too shameless and yet crying, gargling, and snorting.

“You tried to cast a spell! On me! What is wrong with you?!"

“I- I don't know! This is that stupid… Stupid trinket! And… That tattoo!"

Lowering his arm, Mirion was disarmed by Breynor's sudden outburst. Never before had the Bear looked so uncertain and unstable. And this thought was confirmed when the Bruin rushed onward to press his paws on the Minotaur's chest, showing a nimbleness borne from fear.

“Let me! Let me worship you! Let me taste you! I'll pay you twice! Thrice! I'll do anything!"

“Get off me!"

Mirion roared and pushed the Bruin away, pushing with the palm of his hand until he heard a huff and the rich Lord drop on his posterior, his legs and arms spread to recover. But here, it was clear he was… Not all in there. His pants were damp. Fluid dribbled from the stain over the ground as if he was pissing himself or something. And the Minotaur watched over, huffing.

“Don't. Move."

“Please. Please, Bull. I- I need it. I know I need it. That's what the curse tells me! I have to worship you! I tried not to! I tried dispelling it, but I couldn't. I must… I must answer its orders, or it'll drive me insane!"

“Do you know how crazy you sound?" answered Mirion.

Still, he watched the Bear going at it with his clothes, reaching for his vest he removed. Not unbuttoned, no… Removed by pulling and shredding the buttons. Then, there was his ample white shirt he tore off around the belly. It was less an act of stripping but attempting to uncover his belly, his ample paunch belly covered with that same brown fur.

And… Purple fur? Luminescent, refulgent purple fur whose color cut through the growing night. Swirls and twists, knots and burls formed a sort of horseshoe-shaped symbol with a vine-like form. From it, painted roots sprouted to the inside, swirled, and twisted counter-clockwise around a sphere, pure and ungnarled, bearing a heart at its center. It was a strange imagery, something that oozed with malevolence and perversion, even for an untried Minotaur. He had no experience with magic, but even then, the mere vision of that brand forced Mirion to shudder and growl.

Then, it disappeared underneath the shirt the Bruin used to cover himself.

“See! I'm… I'm not crazy! It's… It's normal! I must! I must worship you!"

“Where… Where have… You gotten that?"

Mirion asked, but the Bruin's face contorted and then closed, his eyes lowering for once. His lustful expression even dissipated as his legs closed.

“I-… The figurine. I felt it. Ever since I touched it."

“Is it contagious?"

“What?" blinked Breynor, surprised and raising his gaze. He opened his mouth to talk but froze. One second, two… Saliva coalesced at his lips before he blinked and shook his head. “No! It's… no! It was made for a mage. Like me. I- Pretty please. Bull. Help me! Give it to me! I… I will do everything!"

“Everything?"

“Everything! Whatever you ask! Anything!" nodded the Bruin, desperate and pleading. Begging and joining his hands, though he had the intelligence not to look in Mirion's direction. It was pathetic, but entertaining. And Mirion…

“I'll see. But you can… Touch it. As long as you don't hurt me."

“I won't!"

The clarity and joy in Breynor's voice was enough to drive more shudders from Mirion, but this time, he stood still when the Bruin turned his head towards him. His expression, once more, melted and became one of thorough bliss when those eyes went over the Minotaur's body.

The fat Bruin stood up and ambled closer, his pants dribbling with fluids. Then, his hands landed on Mirion's pectorals. The claws were trimmed, but they still managed to press on the hide beneath the fur. The Bruin remained a predator… But that Predator huffed the Minotaur's body while his palms massaged the Bovine's pectoral muscles, pressing against them.

“Gods… This is… Oh gods. Spirits. Angels. Good," moaned the Bear, his voice slurring as he pressed his muzzle in the breasts' cleavage, his cold nose nudged between them to inhale. By now, without having taken a bath recently, the Bull's stench was potent to the nose. It was a mix of sweltering sweat, fur, smoke, and cut grass. The scent was a pungent mix, one that took many ablutions to dissipate whenever it was bath day. One the Bear often commented on.

At that moment? Breynor's eyes were rolling and bloodshot while he huffed the perfume loudly. It was not pretty, not beautiful. The man was taking shallow huffs, as if to impregnate his nose with the aroma. His palms pressed hard on the furred pectorals as if to knead them, and… The mouth opened.

“Good," moaned the Bear, though Mirion felt nothing but the need to push the Bear away, shove him.

Still, with his arms raised, he remained still and looked aside. The Bear was a man of words, and even in that state, he could follow up on his requests. Maybe… Maybe it would be possible to help his family or friends with a bigger sum.

Hence, he looked away as he heard the snarling, gurgling, and… Gritted his teeth when the rough tongue licked his cleavage, slipped against his sweat-caked fur to collect the sweat sticking to it.

“So… Good. Mo...Re," groaned the Bruin, his tongue growing ravenous.

Ravenous and extending in all directions, guided by a nose that was huffing and pointing left and right as if to search for something. The palms were still on the pectorals, but the muzzle pointed to where the nose guided it. Sometimes low, sometimes his neck… Then… No. Not his neck, not his belly, not his pectoral. The muzzle pointed in a new direction, and the cold nose, growing lukewarm through the constant rubbing, slipped against the Minotaur's arm.

“Lift it."

Mirion grunted, especially from the Bruin's insistence. He growled, but he gave in. His arm lifted, and so… So the nose plunged beneath, taking a whiff directly from where the sweat had accumulated after a day of dragging the cart. It was also slightly warm from the constant rubbing and the tuft of hair he had let grow on his way here.

Nevertheless, Breynor seemed quite satisfied by the view as his mouth rushed to give it a lick. No, he lapped it, lapped the fur caked with sweat without any shame. His tongue danced on the fur, pulled on it, stretched it with the little spines on it. Then, as the strands were bereft of sweat and bestowed of spit, the tongue moved to a different spot. It was… Well, odd. But the entire situation was odd, and the Minotaur tried to muzzle down his fears and worries.

Especially as two matters came to his mind: the Bear's left hand was drifting apart from its twin. Away from his pectorals, and lower. Down, tracing the way on his muscular and fit abdomen. A path so obvious Mirion had no need to express his frustration and disappointment at the Bruin's act. He huffed, but the Bear followed the same line of tufty bush starting beneath the pectorals' cleavage and down, over the belly button. And onto the Minotaur's sheath, finding the wrinkled skin under his touch. Again, right under the trimmed claws.

“It… It is not what we convened," mumbled Mirion, feeling at a loss as the Bruin was eagerly and loudly slurping on his fuzzy armpit. He was even returning to the first spot as the Jungle's sweltering atmosphere drew more sweat from the Bull's glands.

“You enjoy it, too."

That was the second matter. Where the hand touched and reached, explored even, Mirion felt blood rush and flesh stir. His body answered to the primal need to breed, and it was as shameful as exciting. His body was needs and desires, and the tongue's touch had elicited, awakened something deep inside the Bovine. His mouth opened, his warm breath escaped his lips. And the Bruin's hands found reach, touch, contact, right against his half-erect mast. His cock was wide, capable of filling the Bruin's palm, hefting against it. It was a weight, a warm weight that pressed on the palm and guided the mage to lift it and estimate it.

“I… I need more," groaned Breynor, even though more meant for him to exchange hands and for his mouth to find another armpit to worship, lick, clean, coat with his saliva. Addicted to the fluids as he was, he snorted the sweat drops landing in his nostrils, and each long inhalation was followed by a deep and genuine sigh, of relief.

“You're… Going on a dangerous territory. I could… Enter a rut," grunted Mirion, feeling the blood engorge his shaft while his heartbeat pumped faster. He was-

“Yes… Please! Rut me!"

Mirion blinked at the remark. But still, he watched and noted the Bruin pulling from his armpit. The respectable and well-dressed Breynor was now a sweat-covered mess with strands sticking to his eyes, nostrils, cheeks, jaws. His fur that gave him a rotund face was dropping, giving him the look of a recently-bathed beast, even though he reeked like one that had not.

Like a beast in heat who didn't even think twice about using both hands to reach for Mirion's genitals while placing his chin between the Bull's pecs. His hands, soft from the lack of physical work, were delicate in handling his pumped mast, in reaching and massaging his testicles.

Beyond that, even the trimmed claws were used to poke at the leathery scrotum without breaking or maiming the leathery hide.

“You'll regret it. You'll regret it entirely. When we rut someone, it's-"

“It's definitive," mumbled the Bruin, his voice excited. Yet, he blinked as if he could recover his composure. “I- The curse. It is too much to bear without. I- I know I need it."

Mirion took a deep breath. He pondered.

Pondered how the Bruin had been such a cunt for all the journey. How he had been such a bastard. But how, now, he was not only willing but malleable like clay. His eyes were so driven, so needy. That mouth contorted in a way that was both lamentable and endearing. It would be wrong to abuse it, but so far… The Bear had been such an ass, he deserved a lesson on how to handle those working below him. A lesson Mirion would… Give him as he reached for that mouth, slipping a callous thumb between those lips and pulling on the cheeks from within.

Even then, the Bear did nothing but give the finger a lick. Mirion huffed.

“Strip. No clothes."

At those words, the Minotaur felt the rush of satisfaction in his brain. It was just as wrong, but the satisfaction told him all he needed to know: he had been pushing down his emotions, bottling them up. Now, he was releasing all that pent-up anger. He watched the Bruin gasp, even with the finger in his mouth. For a moment, Mirion even assumed Breynor had recovered from the rush of adrenaline. But no, his lips closed on the finger to slurp on it while his fingers rose to remove what remained of his shredded shirt. The white fabric was already in tatters, and removing it, no… Cutting it was nothing.

Though Mirion gritted his teeth a second when his eyes met with the mark on Breynor's belly.

But he sighed. This… Was for the best.

It was better not to concern himself with it as he saw the Bear kicking his shoes off and even bending to get his socks off. Through the action, Mirion's hand followed so the Bear could keep sucking and licking that fat finger, hooked on the Bull's presence while his belt landed on the dirty ground, then his pants… Then… His hands froze on the underwear, entirely damp with fluids.

His face grimaced, his unmistakable smile started to wear off, and his lips were not sucking as much. Even his tongue slowed down as his eyes darted.

“Strip," continued Mirion, shaking his head. He would rather not have that damp cotton on the way if he was to rut.

Again, the Bear froze. He blinked some more, his ears wiggled a bit. But then… He nodded, and his fingers dragged down the underwear to reveal… His cock.

If Mirion was average, right in the middle for his kind, but enough to offer a daunting challenge… Well, Breynor was. Small.

Small, extremely so. It was thanks to the piss and precum sticking to the fur, caking and making it cling to the skin, that it was possible to see the base covered with dark skin. However, through the length was pointing up and onward, it was… Tiny. So tiny, it would be fair to compare it to a cocklet or a clitoris.

“You are so small," commented Mirion. “What has happened to it?"

“N-Nothing," sputtered Breynor once the thumb slipped from his mouth, coated with saliva.

“It was always so small? … And those?" asked Mirion, slipping his fingers between the Bruin's legs to poke the raisins-sized nuts. So little, he could… Crush them between his fingers like ripe fruits.

“Y-Yes."

Still, the tiny nub throbbed, and a tiny bead of precum accumulated at the meatus, right on the reddish entrance of the urethra before it dropped down.

“It is smaller… Than my little finger. You see that?" commented Mirion, raising his little finger to have it pressed against the Bear's cock. And it was a landslide in favor of Mirion.

“Yes. I- I see that well. It's smaller than your finger."

Still, as Breynor said it, his cock throbbed again, and he licked his lips. He was ashamed, oh so obviously. But the mere admission sent shivers of pleasure through the barely-endowed Bear.

Again, the Bull poked at the testicles while his other hand went on his cock. With the blood rushing to it, his shaft had reached full length. His median ring was fully engorged and swollen, his flair was perfectly exposed and reddish. The air itself was tingling his cock with a soft breeze. And the excitation was palpable as the Bovine continued to poke.

“Are you compensating for this?" he asked, glancing at the underwear and noting a sort of pad on the front.

“Y-Yes," confirmed Breynor, his head low. “I use…. Cotton to make it look bigger. And sometimes I add a sausage to make it seem like I'm… Erect."

“But whenever someone sees it, they're mocking you. You never had any intimate relations with females, had you?"

“No," grumbled the Bear though he did not resist as the Bull's hands went over his waist. The rough fingers danced on the brown fur.

They pressed on the thighs, giving the fat and ample waist a feel. And then, they went on those plump cheeks, fattened and slightly sagging from the lack of exercise. Even then, they were plump and generous cushions the Minotaur explored with his digits. He smiled, slipping a finger inside to find the place swamped with sweat but clean, not even bearing strands that could form knots. No, the Bear was proper and clean…

And ashamed when Mirion pressed his cock against the Bruin's groin, joined… Or rather made their cocks touch.

“Are you virgin? You never had any experience with anyone?"

“… Whores. They wouldn't mind…"

“Wouldn't mind your tiny size?" chuckled Mirion, slipping his index finger against the Bear's entrance, finding it warm and wanting, clenching at first, and then gaping the second later.

“Yes… I fucked whores."

“No," scoffed Mirion, suddenly grabbing the Bear's waist to force him to turn. He abandoned that asshole for a moment as he instead pressed his belly against that furry back, and had his lower belly pressed on that lower back.

With the size difference, it would be… Tedious. But then, Mirion grabbed the Bear and led him back to the log he had been on. Carnet, notes, ink, everything was thrown aside as the Bull sat and placed Breynor on his lap. So his cock would be between the Bear's thighs, poking through like a full mast.

“No… Whoever you paid," grunted Mirion, his voice raspy as he reached for the Bear's thighs, closing them. “They faked it."

“They… Did," confirmed Breynor, ashamed.

“They faked it so you would pay more. But what you had… It could never please anyone. Man. Woman. It is too small, too puny. It is no wonder you are so… Frustrated. And frustrating," said Mirion.

Yes. It all made sense why the Bear was such a cunt in general. He was an overcompensating Mage who had never been given much in life. He had wits, but his body? The bear was flabby, small, with dropping shoulders. His curves were more fitting for a female. With the legs firmly closed, the Minotaur then kneaded the thighs… And held them tightly.

“I-"

“Shhh. You will feel the real thing," mocked Mirion, knowing he had hit the Bear's nerves as his eyes were frowning. But it was not like Breynor could refute, not in this state. So, he lifted the Bear. He lifted him as he kept those thighs closed. Close enough for the fur to brush against Mirion's sensitive skin. Close enough for the skin flab to form a delicious rubbing presence against his flare as he was lifting Breynor to the limit, to where the shaft would slip away. And for a moment, the Minotaur felt the throbbing nub rubbing against his flare…

Before he pulled the Bear down. And grunted.

His entire body tensed up, hefting the Bear and yet not relinquishing those soft and wondrous thighs as they pressed on either side of his cock. The sensation was like brushes, pressed on either side. Rough, less soft than expected… But at the same time tempting as Mirion's breath heightened and his nostrils dilated. He exhaled, feeling the Bruin's cocklet throb against his cock. He grumbled, feeling the paunch's bear reclining against his chest, adding that weight while the Mage was trying to hang onto something, hold onto something. Then… It was around the Bull's neck, wrapping his arms and joining his hands behind the nape.

“Hhh! Slo-Slower!" cried the Beard, suddenly caught off guard by the sensation. His body quivered and trembled, his ass even tensed against the Minotaur's belly… But then, there was a tremor from the Bear and a liquid dripping between the thighs.

A liquid that was adding to the precum and sweat sticking to Mirion's cock as he lifted the Bear again, forcing his back to arch… Before he lowered him, smacked those plump thighs against his generous nuts. And then again, as he lifted and forced the Bear to keep those legs locked.

Breynor tried to open them, forced back, but his strength could not permit it: his body was not made for battle. He was more adapted to sitting all day long on something. And today, it would be on Mirion's lap as the Bull breathed on the Bear's ears.

“I won't slow down. I want to cum," stated the Minotaur, gruff.

“I… I-… Hh! I- I- came!" groaned Breynor.

A glance and Mirion saw it, the tiny droplets of white liquid. And somehow, it felt like that tiny cock was even less imposing as Mirion chuckled. He chuckled but did not pry his fingers away from the thighs. Instead, he continued. Lifting, releasing, pulling down. In that constant movement, there was the pressure on his cock lowering and heightening, whether it went up his flare or down his base.

In this, the rough fur was perfect for scratching his leathery skin. Perfect when it came to pulling on the wrinkles. Perfect when it was to massage, and have that fat roll against his length, shifting the movements and touch with each back and forth.

With each pump, Mirion felt his groin heating up. His groin. His cocktip. His flare. He was not far from cumming, too. Though it was not like Breynor, who had cum in the first instant from having his cock grinding against someone else's. Still, the Bull bit his lips and huffed, trying to silence the rising orgasm, the rising tension. He wanted to savor the moment, the instant.

He wanted to enjoy holding Breynor, holding the Bear's fate in his arms as he pulled him down, smacked that plump ass against his testicles. As he felt the legs suddenly close, and the knees hit when the Mage was again cumming his brain out. Whatever the curse was in reality, it got him hooked on pleasures and sensations. Something Mirion admired, grinning ears to ears while he felt blood rush to his groin. He was almost feeling light-headed, no different than drunk.

But drunk on lust, on desires… And on something. Something he was relishing as the idea was slowly rising to the forefront: Revenge. For the Bastard's poor behavior.

His grip on the thighs reinforced as a tremor shook his groin. As a shock hit his prostate… Then another. He felt it, the muscles attempting to push outward, to release, to spew what cum he had not released in the last few days. And… He grumbled, bending over… Bending and squeezing Breynor in between. The Bear cried and grumbled, but the sound came muffled to the Bovine's ears.

There was only the drum of his heartbeat. There was only the throb inside his cock. There was only the pressure around his cock.

Up… Down… Up… Down.

Waning. Waxing. Ebb. Flow. Peak. Valley.

His fingers were even trembling, sometimes clenching and sometimes nearly slipping. But that fat Bear's ass kept bouncing on his lap, on his testicles. And… And he could not resist.

Mirion huffed and then… Within one moment, he pushed the Bear up. Up until his flare was about to slip from underneath, slip and reach for the Bear's ass, to fuck him, to take that hole, to ruin that orifice. But he lowered him.

The cock didn't slip. It remained in between. Turgid. Engorged. Hard. Stiff. Pointing up as those thighs dropped down. It throbbed. It spewed. It shot.

One first jet followed Mirion's loud huff. Then, another. Then, a third. Then, more.

More as he extended his neck up and sighed, feeling good and rested. Feeling satisfied his scrotum contracted underneath the Bear, lifted by the muscles, while his prostate clenched. And cum… Cum followed, cum flew. Cum shot across the air… And landed on the Bear's fur.

Lines were drawn onto the brown fur, leaving a sticky mess of fluids slowly seeping inside and sticking everything together. Cum that hit across the Bear's face, hit one of his eyes he kept closed while the rest of his mouth was left hit and coated, even his forehead.

For a moment, there was only the audible ejaculation, the crepitation from the fire, the huffs, the gruff inspirations… The whines as Breynor was a mess, a sticky mess moaning against the Minotaur's torso.

“hh… no… More," begged the Bear with a raspy voice as his thighs were hurting and finally easing, opening to reveal the mess of matted fur that was in between and the semen sticking to it. His breath was ragged, and his cock… His tiny cock had been dribbling through the impromptu masturbation. He was parched, exhausted, sweat-covered. His only reaction was to reach for his vest, to reach for something to cover himself as he stood up and ambled towards his clothes.

Only then to see, to watch, a massive gray hand sweeping the clothes from underneath and throwing them aside. To the fire.

Even in his state, even in his situation as the Tattoo was afire and burning bright, and purple… Even in that state, the Bear's eyes drifted from his clothes onto the hand as fury took him over. He shouted.

“What have you done?" shouted Breynor, pursing his lips and showing his teeth as he turned towards Mirion as he was about and on his hooves… And still stiff, still erect despite his previous ejaculation. The same ejaculation that was still dripping all over the Bear's appalled face.

“I am not done rutting you. Just like you asked," said the Minotaur, reaching for the top of the Bear's head to grip him.

Again, Breynor mumbled and pointed his fingers at the Minotaur only for his words to stop when no spell, no fire, no effect appeared. Nothing to defend him as he felt those gruff hands slip around his posterior to hold him tight… To approach him from that massive and musky cock pointing between Mirion's legs. From so close, the scent was again… Mind-numbing. Corrupting. And his mind… His will was eroding in its presence.

“I will show you why we don't ask a Minotaur for a rut."

-

Breynor huffed.

He huffed as he felt another ejaculation take him. As he felt his prostate ground and abused, pummeled so much his tiny nub, his little cock, shot. From the outside, it was like a watery jet suddenly spewed from his furry groin above his nuts and nothing more. Yet, he felt the heat, the burn, the sensation as his tiny cock was burning brighter…. So much brighter now, as if something was piercing it with a branded iron whenever he came.

Only a few more shots…. And the Bear was afraid of losing it. Of losing what he had before. Even then, he gasped and braced as he felt another hit on his prostate. Another hit as his body jostled and his hands weakly grasped the air, his toes curled.

He had ejaculated, but his pleasure was still there. In the rush of colder air against his fur after days in the jungle, in the sweltering humid air. In the sloshing noise from his guts. In the tension with his legs. In the pressure from the chains holding him tightly. In his entire body as he felt the weight it was as he was hanging from his limbs, solely retained by the chains… Against Mirion's chest.

“We are almost home, Breynor."

“That's… Great," moaned the Bear, mindlessly as he smiled before him.

The road ahead appeared, with more stones cropping up until the path back to the city was traced and welcomed the two as they crossed the hills. One step, one movement higher, one leg lifting higher than before… And Breynor huffed, feeling the cock pushing deeper within his guts, against his prostate.

He should have grown used to it by now… But no. His body still answered to the sensations with the same intensity as before, if not more. If not increased. The curse was too strong. He could not dispel it alone, but who could do it for him? And what… Would he gain?

His asshole closed on the throbbing cock, eagerly holding it tightly and massaging the veiny length inside. A warm presence keeping his donuthole warm and needy, and drippy as more cum oozed from it, added by another of the Minotaur's ejaculation. One of the many forming Breynor's swollen cumgut he bore. One onto which the cursed brand seemed to grow and trace lines, drawing more esoteric symbols he barely understood. Sometimes, they spoke of retribution or rightful belonging.

Nevertheless, he had little time to observe or decipher what they meant.

“My family and friends will love you."

“Y-Yes," mumbled Breynor, his voice almost extinct although, he felt so many conflicting emotions at once. Whether it was fear, apprehension, desire, outrage, lust, n-. One hoof was lifted higher, and there was another hit to his prostate, smacking it directly and high.

He felt himself slipping again as one more shot escaped him and landed on the stone ground. There were voices.

“Disgusting."

“Perverted."

Breynor gulped, but locked his eyes down, watching his bloating belly rolling back and forth, sometimes observing the flare cockhead bulge from beneath his fur and then disappearing. The scent of cum, of sex… It was still strong, but he smelled the one of manure, of horses, of beasts, of mood, of freshly extracted iron. He swallowed hard, tasting only the cum that was in his breath and mixed with his saliva.

What else could it be? What else could it be besides cum or the Minotaur's saliva? Or even his piss? He gulped the mix down, feeling a tingle in his stomach and a slight appeasement, though it was only an illusion. He was replete, so full, he did not need to eat anymore. But he felt the need as he darted a look up.

Many citizens were looking up at him. Men, women. Rich or poor. He felt and experienced their disgusted gaze as he kept dangling from Mirion's chains, feeling the Minotaur's hulking back pressed against his.

“What's this? A criminal? You know the rules, Mirion."

That voice. Was it? Breynor felt like he remembered it, but as he looked up. There was another Minotaur. One clad in steel and iron, holding a spear. Maybe he could say something; maybe he could free himself.

“Help me! I must- I must… I must suck your cock!" roared Breynor, his eyes instantly widening when those words escaped his mouth. Around, there were grunts of disdain, and people were gladly slinking away from the three. There was no love or pity for Breynor, only scowls.

“Haha! Okay, that's an eager slut. Where did you find it, Mirion? You were not outside with a busybody?"

“Heh, I was outside in the jungle, guiding my client," pointed Mirion, then down at Breynor. “But he had a change of heart. I'll tell you more tonight."

“Sure! Could I use him, then?"

Use him? Like a vulgar… Toy? A vulgar… puppet? Breynor swallowed his saliva, feeling the tingling in his stomach. Beyond the knots out of fear and shame, there was… Well, the pleasure of being used and abused like so. He snorted, loud enough to get the two's attention.

“This… is… W-… Wr-… Wrong," articulated Breynor, trying to fight as he sensed that cock suddenly throb against his prostate. Each time, the spark, the sensation, it hit him. “I-… I-… Want- to- to…. Be- Rel- Used! Used now!"

Breynor shouted out of a sudden, despite the grimace across his face, despite the tension in his legs and arms. He gripped the air but could not release himself, his power unable to activate unless… Unless Mirion asked him to.

“See! He's eager! But we'll do it tonight. I don't want to get on your way!"

Still, the Guard was happily massaging his groin underneath his loincloth, and Breynor drooled at the sight. He drooled like a mindless beast while the two Minotaur spoke over him and then exchanged shoulder pats. They were so close… The Guard was so close, Breynor could almost huff his musk from there. And he did.

“Eww."

The sound had been distant, and the Minotaurs didn't seem to have noticed. But Breynor heard it and closed his jaw. He stopped his loud huffs and swallowed his saliva again. More tingling. More sloshing as Mirion finally entered the city, dragging the cart with him.

“Welcome home, Breynor."

“Th-anks," mumbled the Bruin back, snorting and clenching his eyelids to wipe the tears off.

“You'll learn to like it. Just like every inch of me," said Mirion, reaching to tussle the Bear's hair, rubbing between the ears.

“That's… Great," mumbled Breynor again, driven by the curse.

“You'll love my Father. My brother. My friends. They'll love having you around."

“Is this…. True?"

No… Breynor felt it would be right. Knew it would be right. He would be appreciated, but for the wrong reasons.

“Yes. They'll love a breeding mount in our community. You'll be perfect!"

Perfect… Breynor felt like he was the perfect representation of decadence. He looked down at himself and grimaced. His belly… It was so taught with fluids, he was afraid he would explode in a moment. His cock… he could not see it. And his limbs, they were so exhausted he was worried he would drop.

Still, he could feel them. He could feel the soreness within them, the pain in his aching limbs… More than that, he felt it when the Minotaur finally untied the chains with one hand and pressed a hand on his chest to keep him still. In that precarious balance, only Mirion's hands, chest, and his cock were keeping Breynor from falling. And it was the cock that was the firmest and the most brutal reminder… A pulsating rod wedged deep within.

The Bear gargled and exhaled, felt his body tense when that cock was slipping away. But in that movement, the flare brushed… Everything. The abused muscles, the ruined prostate, the stretched rim until there was a plop… And the cum rushed free.

Cum rushed free from the Bear's hole, releasing a steamy cloud as that rich Minotaur cum splattered on the stone. There was so much cum, so much the Bear was quivering as if afraid his guts were ruined. And they were… Even with the cum dripping, and his belly deflating… The skin remained stretched and flabby as it dropped slightly, and his cumgut lost in volume. Still, even with that loss, it was impossible for the Bear to observe his own cock. His cock that burned so bright, it was a torture. A torture he bore as he took one wobbly step, once released on the ground. But Mirion's hands held him close and by.

“Let's present your cunt to my coworkers. They must be bathing at this hour," said Mirion. He no longer had the cart behind him, it had disappeared. Instead, the poor Bear looked as he was surrounded by… Minotaurs. They were in a slum, the habitations were poorly made. Some females were hanging around, glancing at him. A few workers were running around. And everyone had his eyes on him as he was forced to amble toward a larger building behind it all.

In his path, there was cum… Cum as his asshole vainly tried to close up, but that gape could not disappear. His asshole was definitely ruined, he could not deny it. And as cold air rushed to it, there was a tingling that continued to torment the bear as they entered the stone building.

More well-made, the place was… Reeking. And warm. Steamy even as the Bear found he was in a sort of bathhouse.

The musky scent of Minotaurs seared his nose as he was guided, led further into the place with the heated pools around. Some were used by Males looking back at him. Some were empty. But there was a tension as the men were noticing him and some… Even stroked themselves, stroked their sheath stirring with blood and life, and lust.

Breynor gulped, though there was no tingling. Only hunger as he saw those cocks slowly slip from their sheaths, as he saw those balls dangling heavily from their groins.

And then, there was Mirion's hands stroking his head, guiding him to squat, to show himself while the Minotaur sat on a bench aside. The Minotaurs were coming closer, their hooves stomping as they reeked of coal, of wood, of blood. They were working men, lower-class men. And their cocks were pointing at Breynor, at his mouth that opened instantly when one presented itself. When a hand brushed his plump posterior and tufty tail.

“Breynor has decided to gift his entire fortune to us… And dedicate himself to becoming our bath cumdump. Should we throw him a welcome party?" asked Mirion, chuckling as Breynor felt that reeking and massive cock slip between his lips… And his mind away.