Batterhoof withdrew his spunky fuckrod, smearing the last wobbling gobs across Kala's coated lips and leaving the moaning princess face-basted and struggling to breathe. She let the salty juice fall from her mouth and drip onto the ground.
"My seed rises," spoke Ironhorn into her head. "Beg for it. Beg for me to plant my seed in your fertile cove."
Yes. Yes! Master, I crave it. I yearn for your cum. I want your forbidden lust to fill my womb and brand me with your cock.
"AAaaaaaaaahhhh!" bellowed the snorting minotaur.
The breeding stand felt as if it might collapse beneath the force of his strokes. They slowed, but become much more powerful as what felt like most of the huge minotaur's weight bore down on Kala's cervix. His cock throbbed in the taut sleeve of her cunt and it felt as if her body flexed around him. Another flex and the tight stones of his bollocks released their payload and a wash of his seed flooded into the princess's fertile womb.
She came again in sympathy. Her head was thrown back, her cum-dripping mouth hanging open to give a wordless voice to her pleasure. She sang the single note of her orgasm into the night as her minotaur master bred her. She knew, from the summit of her ecstasy, that she would bear Ironhorn a bull and he would grow to become a great warrior of the herd.
Epilogue
It resembled the platform and padded bench of a breeding stand in form, though without the angling to make it easier for the woman to be mounted. Kala noted that the well-worn piece of furniture was of finer construction than the breeding stands she had used. The padding was stuffed with goose feathers instead of straw and the leather was fastened with furniture tacks rather than nails.
She stepped onto the platform and let her body slip easily forward onto the cushion. It was quite comfortable despite lingering soreness in her belly. The bench creaked lightly beneath her weight and the angled scoop caught her breasts and laid them against the tin funnel. Gullis smiled and stepped onto the platform beside Kala. The princess always enjoyed when it was Gullis who helped her.
"Are you well today?" asked the fair-haired slavegirl. "You have lost your weight quickly. It always sticks to my hips."
"Quiet," scolded Kala with mock anger. "You are beautiful, and the bulls appreciate a human with some extra padding."
"They appreciate you," said Gullis. "You should hear Batterhoof. He relives that night you gave him your mouth...oh...at least twice a moon."
Gullis reached into the funnel and began to massage Kala's breasts. The princess moaned. Her breasts were swollen, red, and heavy with milk. The white spurted from her nipples and rattled against the sides of the funnel. Gullis's thumb dragged over the princess's nipple and Kala let out a louder moan.
"Did that hurt?" asked Gullis.
"The opposite."
"Ah."
Gullis grinned and dragged her thumb over Kala's engorged nipples again. The princess hissed through her teeth. Milk flowed freely out of her swollen breasts as Gullis continued to massage them. Each time the slavegirl tweaked the princess's nipples Kala felt a shock reaching deep into her body. Before long, the combination of the stimulation and the relief of the flowing milk had her cunt aching to be touched.
"I can tell by the way you're squirming in the milking stand that you need another kind of help," said Gullis. "Would you like me to show you what I learned when I was in Gorehorn's harem?"
"Not. To. Day." The deep bass of Ironhorn's voice sent a tingle from Kala's leaking nipples to her swollen clit. She lifted her head and looked at her mate standing behind her. "I take over. You go. Gull Is."
Batterhoof's breeding slave bowed her head and exited the tent.
"Your words are getting very good, master," said Kala.
"Good teacher," said the minotaur.
The princess stood up, her breasts still leaking warm trickles of milk onto her belly. She had lost much of the weight from last week's birthing of her second child, but her belly was still plump no matter what Gullis said.
Ironhorn did not care. He embraced his mate and ran his rough hands up to her breasts. He leaned his face down and squeezed her milky tits, lashing his pink tongue with her fresh cream. He dragged his tongue across her nipples.
"Oh, master, I thought you were still with the scouts."
Kala stroked her mate's war-painted horns. He lifted his face from her breasts and snorted, his hot breath blowing back her hair. She felt his cock against her belly, twitching and lowering from his sheath.
"The battle is done," he said, speaking into Kala's mind. "The last of the Kornasi are under our hoof. Tomorrow I will give all the prisoners a choice: join us or be expelled to the desert. The steppes belong to the minotaurs."
I can't believe you are the herd master now, thought Kala. She knew it to be true. She had stood beside her mate as Gorehorn's body had been burned. The herd master had fallen in battle. He had named Ironhorn his successor while he lay dying.
"It is a great responsibility to the herd and a great opportunity to restore the glory of the minotaurs." He lifted her off the milking stand and set her down at his feet. "It is only with you that this is possible. You are more than a breeding mare to me, my love."
"You are more than herd master to me," she whispered. You are my husband.
There was not a word for husband or wife in the language of the minotaurs, but Ironhorn knew its meaning from Kala's mind. He held her tightly.
"Must. Return. To. Herd."
Kala smiled up at him and took hold of his hard cock with both hands.
"I think you can wait a bit longer," she bent down and gave his musky cockhead a kiss, "master."
There was no way the minotaur could resist Kala as she wrapped her milky breasts around his cock and gently stroked his rigid length. Before long, a heavy load of his cum was surging into her cunt, and Kala was dreaming of names she might give to their next child. Whatever name they chose, she was sure the child, like all of her children with Ironhorn, was destined for great things.
Book 5 - Filthy Wizards
Apprentices of the Black Tower were issued a simple, hooded robe of gray linen worn with a black vestment hung around the neck. It was an unflattering garment designed to make the apprentice disappear into the background of a workshop, a laboratory or the endless shelves of the Tower's library.
Somehow, Yvette Chevalier had discovered a way to wear her apprentice's robe in a manner that flattered her body. The robe hugged tight around her wide hips and shapely bottom, clung to her ample breasts, and gathered almost obscenely against her thighs. With her crystal blue eyes, flawless skin, and platinum blond hair, she was certainly the most striking student training at the Black Tower.
She was also a princess. Technically, not so long as she was training to become a mage, for all who sought certification had to temporarily renounce their authority beyond the tower. She was just an apprentice, like the fifteen other young men and women who had become apprentices at the same time. Yvette was keenly aware that of her class of sixteen, she was the only one that had not yet advanced to journeyman.
"You may enter, apprentice!" called the voice.
Yvette hastened to her feet and through the door into Uvana Kelsey's classroom. She tried to still her trembling and remember the words of all her teachers over the past months. For the third time, she had made nearly a perfect grade on her written exams. All she had to do was perform whatever simple cantrip Instructor Kelsey asked of her and she would at last advance to journeyman.
"Good to see you, apprentice," said Kelsey.
The instructor was a woman of middle age with pale skin and ruddy cheeks. She possessed the large, dark eyes and curly black hair that marked her as either a Carpath or of the Rama. Her red instructor's robe was a bit tight around her hips and when she stood it revealed the crescent of her buttocks and the shape of her breasts.
"Congratulations once again on your excellent examination scores. Now let us see if all that knowledge can be put into practice." Kelsey waved her hand in the
air of the classroom. "Serpentum Falsum!"
Green light flared from Kelsey's fingertips and began to flow outward in a shower of magical sparks. The sparks coalesced atop one of the classroom's study desks, forming rapidly into the shape of a snake. It only took a moment for the vague shape to become solid. The light died, leaving behind what appeared to be a green snake as real as the desk.
The snake lifted its head and hissed at Yvette. She drew back her hand, though she knew the snake was only an illusion. The snake hissed again and then disappeared with a wave of Kelsey's hand.
It wasn't a fear of snakes that sent terror racing up Yvette's back. False Snake was one of the most difficult cantrips Kelsey could have chosen. It required clear concentration and an understanding of illusion magic to weave such a deceptively complex spell. In all her practice sessions, Yvette had never managed to successfully cast the cantrip.
"You have until the sand runs out," said Kelsey.
The instructor turned over a sand timer. She leaned her plump bottom against her desk and crossed her arms over her breasts as she waited.
It was sabotage! Yvette wanted to accuse Kelsey of trying to ruin her. The middle aged instructor was holding something, perhaps Yvette's royal heritage or her beauty, against Yvette. Why else would Kelsey choose a difficult cantrip? Yvette stole a glance at the instructor. Kelsey was watching with a smile on her plump lips.
Yvette tried to push away her emotions and focus on the magic in her head. She shook the wrist of her robe and raised her hand. She struggled to get her fingers into the right position. Mattius, the posture instructor, always said that when you had the right finger positioning you would feel the arcane energy like you were holding a huge tuning fork. Yvette hardly felt a buzz in her fingertips.
She focused her inner eye on a snake. There was a snake they kept in the bestiary, red with black patterns down its length. She focused on its yellow underside. On its black eyes and the flick of its tongue. Time seemed to slow as she entered her casting state. The sands almost stopped falling through the sand timer, yet all the same, her time was running out.
"Serpentum Falsum!"
Red light burst from Yvette's hand. A shower of flickering embers spun out of each fingertip and whirled into the air. These burning sparks fell upon the desk, spilled over the top, and bounced along the floor. The image of the snake flashed for a moment, quivered, and then disappeared. Static crackled in the air.
The spell had fizzled.
"I've failed," moaned Yvette as she held back the tears and sagged against the nearest study desk.
Kelsey's brow knit sympathetically. The instructor crossed the room and put a comforting arm around Yvette's shoulders.
"Perhaps it's time to consider other options," said Kelsey. "There is no dishonor in becoming a scribe or a researcher. You could work in the library--"
"No!" snapped Yvette. "I'm sorry, instructor. I...I can't go home to my father as a librarian. He didn't want me to come. He said marriage was...I have to make journeyman."
Kelsey rubber her hand between Yvette's shoulders.
"There are other ways forward," said Kelsey.
"What other ways?"
Kelsey's smile was mysterious, but her hand was not. It crept down the back of Yvette's robe. The instructor's fingertips brushed against the curve of Yvette's bottom.
"Come to my study tonight," said Kelsey, her voice barely a whisper. "We will pore over the texts one last time. Perhaps in a more...intimate...setting you will find your magic."
Yvette was shocked by the suggestion. She had certainly had unwanted attention from instructors before, but they had all been men and she had rebuffed their advances. Now, she needed Kelsey's help to pass and Kelsey was offering it with one unexpected condition. Yvette's tummy twisted in a knot. She couldn't. Even if she desired Kelsey, a woman was forbidden by Tevos to lie down with a woman.
But the ways were different within the Black Tower. The mages did not seem to hold the gods, even Tevos, in particular favor. The mages considered themselves enlightened. The priests considered them one step away from chaos demons.
"She don't look like a demon," murmured Yvette.
"What's that?"
"I can't," said Yvette. "I can't do it...I..."
Kelsey took Yvette's hands. "Don't rush to your decision. Let me be a doorway to your future, Yvette. I will show you the way forward."
Yvette pulled away and turned towards the door. Her face was burning with shame and she was afraid of the strange feelings in her belly.
"I will be in my study until the high moon," called Kelsey. "Come and see me."
The young apprentice gasped as she escaped into the hall and the door closed behind her. She could no longer fight back the shaking. As she hurried away from Uvana Kelsey's classroom, she could hardly hold back the dears.
"I can't do it," she cried. "This isn't for me. I'll go home and...and...I'll be a wife to someone...some prince...I'll--"
She collided headlong with a towheaded errand boy in a work frock. He sprawled onto the floor.
"Stupid boy!" cried Yvette.
"Excuse me, miss," he said, without getting up, "I'm lookin' fer Yuh-vette Chevalier. Do you know her?"
"What do you want with me?"
"Aahhh!" He hopped to his feet. With a flourish he retrieved a scroll from a pouch on his belt. He passed it to her. "Message delivered, miss."
Yvette snatched the message from the boy's hand. She was not at all glad to see that the wax seal bore the golden lion sigil from her father's ring. She had no coin to tip the errand boy and no thank you for the unwanted message. He scowled at her as she retreated to her room and barred the door behind her.
The apprentice's cell was hardly bigger than a spice closet and crowded with the meager possessions she was allowed to bring with her into the Black Tower. She lit a pair of fat candles and sat at her desk in the dim light they provided.
Yvette did not want to think of returning home to her mother and father as a failed mage. She had believed she was destined for more than marriage.
"Dearest daughter," began the letter, penned in her mother's hand, "it is with gladness that I report that your sister, Claudette, has smote a fiendish creature that was preying upon the helpless women of Normont, at the edge of our lands. She has returned to us unharmed and your father plans to award her heroic deeds with the full title and lands of a knight. The kingdom is celebrating and you are invited to join us, if you can take leave from the Black Tower, for her ceremonial knighting."
There was much more to the letter, a great deal of detail and gossip, but Yvette had lost any shred of interest in reading. She was furious. Claudette, her younger sister, had managed to secure a title! Precocious Claudette was always Father's favorite. She had been allowed to pursue her fantasies of heroic deeds only because Yvette had argued and fought for her own freedom to avoid the shackles of marriage.
"I cannot return to them like this!" cried Yvette. "Not now! Thrown out of the Black Tower no better than a farm girl while my sister conquers the world with her damned sword!"
Yvette's jaw tightened. Her despair was reborn as determination. Yvette refused to accept that she was destined to be a bride and her sister was destined for greatness. She refused to give up.
She poured a goblet full from her hidden bottle of Iron Coast port wine and soaked her voluptuous body in one of the magic baths in the hot spring beneath the tower. She luxuriated in the rejuvenating waters, her hair piled atop her head and her glistening breasts like twin islands in the milky pool. She wanted to run her fingers through the submerged thatch of her hair and feel her sex.
Instead, Yvette played with her finger positioning. She searched for the unseen conduits until she could feel the faint buzz of her arcane power. That faint buzz was as close as she could get to the power.
"The wine is stronger than my magic." Yvette raised the sloshing goblet of port. "Here's to you, little sister. May your sword be mighty and true, in the name of
the golden lion."
She drained the last of the wine, letting the red liquid spill down her chin and over her breasts.
"I'll show all of them. My will is stronger than her sword."
She toweled off her ample curves and applied to her smooth skin a warming oil with the scent of honeysuckle. She might have dressed in something fancy or elegant to impress Uvana Kelsey, but she only had her apprentice's robe. Yvette fussed in the mirror, tightening the cord around her shapely hips and adjusting the fit of her undergarment until her breasts seemed to be fruits ripe to the point of bursting through her robe. She wondered, for a moment, what it would feel like to betray Tevos. Would he take notice of what she did with Uvana Kelsey?
Yvette felt as if she was in a dream as she walked the quiet off-season halls of the Black Tower. The apprentices were back home for leave, being congratulated for graduation and preparing to advance to their new lives as journeymen. Many of the instructors had gone away to see the countryside or to replenish their stocks of reagents. Only the researchers, practical mages, and Uvana Kelsey remained behind.
Yvette drew a quivering breath and raised her hand to rap at the door to Kelsey's study. Before she could knock, the door swung silently open. She entered the room and the door closed behind her.
She had never been permitted into the study of a mage. She had imagined their studies would be like their workshops; crammed full of scrolls and reagents and stacks of moldering books. Instead, the room was warmly lit by a crackling hearth fire. Animal furs decorated the floor and a multi-paned window looked out upon the night sky and the moonlit river Sholosh far below the tower.
"I am glad you came, apprentice."
Kelsey seemed to slip out of the shadows beside the hearth. Yvette was shocked by her appearance. The plump instructor had pulled the dark coils of her hair back from her shoulders and face and tied them behind her head with a length of white ribbon.
Princess to Pleasure Slave Collection: The Forbidden Book of Monstrous Pleasures Page 16
