Written by J-Cal

Vil was giddy even before she roused to full consciousness, her dreams vivid and delightful, and she woke with a genuine desire to get started with the day’s labours. The joy she had felt the evening before when her mother and Varayen had surprised her by bringing home a new bull to the farm had made it difficult for the young Kazdruk to sufficiently quell her thoughts, to let her drift to sleep.

The bull – a human, she had never seen a real human before – that Mother and Zarena had brought to their home world from one of the uncountable different worlds reachable only through powerful, planar magic was an adorable specimen, if a lot smaller than previous bulls they had owned.

That he was nearly half a head taller than Vil was not a counter-argument for his lack of stature, for Vil was painfully aware she was small for a Kazdruk. Even though she was still very young, she had long ago stopped wishing she’d grow immense like her sisters, and had made peace with the very likely fact that the top of her head, now barely able to brush the bottom slopes of her mother’s tits when they were contained inside a top, would never reach higher.

Vil sat up in her bed, the thin, smooth blanket sliding off her bare body to pool in her lap. The young girl stretched her hands high, feeling the muscles in her back stretch with them as she let out a long yawn. Letting her hands plop down on her thighs, she looked down to notice her nipples were already scrunched up, having reacted to the excitable state of her mind.

With a close-lipped, sideways smile, Vil blindly reached out onto the wooden surface of her nightstand and grabbed her jewellery, scraping the pieces together with her fingertips and gathering them up in her palm. She didn’t really like to sleep with any of it on, and despite it taking a moment, she didn’t mind taking them off every evening and then back on every morning. In a choreographed routine of her hands and fingers, not really paying attention to what she was doing as her mind raced ahead, she slipped the big metal hoops in her ears, the smaller metal hoops in her nipples, and the delicate silver stud and chain in her belly button.

Smacking her lush lips to dispel some of the night’s dryness, she absent-mindedly reached back behind her head to grab the two braids of dark brown hair, pulling them forward until their full length slid up over her shoulders to hang down her front, the tassel ends resting on the blanket in her lap.

She bit her lip at recalling the bull’s muffled scream when Mama had pressed the white-hot branding iron against his right chest, forever searing their clan’s emblem onto his skin and thus marking him as their property. Unbidden to her mind came the reminder that the human’s name was Brayton, but as bulls didn’t really need names, she dismissed the memory as soon as it surfaced. He was their bull; nothing more.

Vil pulled her shapely legs out of the blanket’s comforting embrace and slung them over the edge of the bed, resting her tippy toes against the cool wood surface underneath. She reached for her leather collar from the nightstand, putting it on. Unlike the collars worn by their livestock that were worn around the throat, Vil’s was more like a necklace, the leather straps draping over the uppermost part of her shoulder and clasped at the nape of the neck, the metal ring on the front resting just beneath her collarbone like a precious gem. 

Looking out the window now directly opposite her in the small bedroom, she could see the leaden overcast take on a gorgeous orange hue of as Prime Sun had just cleared the distant horizon, backlighting the black range of squat mountains separating their sizable lands from the regional capital on the other side. Once Second Sun followed suit further to the east in an hour’s time, the perpetual cloudy skies with mix orange with violet, tinting the brooding clouds a reddish brown from which incremental breaks in the cloud cover would send spears of pure sunslight to the ground. If they were lucky, one such shaft of light would pass over their farm at some point during the day.

Hungry and eager, Vil wasted no more time in bed. She pulled on her tan stockings, the tight ends of which pressed deliciously around her meaty thighs once she had pulled them all the way up. She opened the top drawer of her nightstand and pulled out a fresh pair of black panties with two pairs of elastic bands, one meant to run above her hip bones and the other beneath. Slipping her feet into her waiting, heavy leather boots that nearly reached to her knees, she decided that would do for today. It felt like it would be another warm day, so she preferred not to stuff her sizable tits into a top, opting instead to let them be free. Despite their weight, Vil’s tits kept their shape beautifully when uncontained, like all the women in her clan.

Trotting out of her bedroom and closing the door behind her, Vil descended the wide stairway from her room on the top floor all the way down, her boobs jiggling with her strides, passing unlit lanterns and once again paying little heed to the fact that the master farmhouse had practically nothing in terms of decorations breaking up the featurelessness of the dark wooden walls.

Crossing the landing at the bottom of the steps, natural light spilling in from the many windows flanking the main entrance, Vil turned a corner and entered the kitchen, finding her mother standing before a window with a mug of tea in her large hand, surveying the expanse of fields outside.

Zarena stood with her back to Vil, the light coming in from the windows making art of her broad back, casting the recesses between muscles in darker red hues, telling tales of her mother’s many years of faithful, violent service in the cause of Kazdruk supremacy as the warrior-general she had been. While Zarena’s muscles weren’t as taut or defined anymore like those of her eldest daughters, Luzella and Wulfshn, they retained their volume and bulk, saying without words that this was a woman who could and sometimes would snap an adversary in twain given sufficient provocation.

Zarena wore only a pair of black panties, the single thread dividing her shapely ass vanishing between the cheeks. Like her two elder offspring, Zarena’s feet terminated in cloven hoofs, so she never donned footwear.

Vil’s feet and toes were traits she had inherited from her father, but one of many prisoners her mother had had her fun with back in her ravaging days, but the physical differences sadly did not end there, her comparably stunted growth being but one of them. Whilst her ears were pointy and slightly elongated like the other women of her clan, they didn’t stand erect. Rather, they drooped to the sides of Vil’s – admittedly gorgeous – face, giving her something of a bovine appearance. As did her horns, which were thin, only slightly curved and spurting from her forehead above her red eyes. In fact, it was not inherently incorrect for others to assume Vil was the child of Varayen; Vil was shorter than the sorceress, her horns were slender, and she also lacked a tail and walked on feet.

Unlike her unintended, youngest progeny, Mama bore the physical characteristics of her ancestors beautifully. She was large and imposing, mighty in both stature and presence, with long and straight black hair cascading to her lower back, the bottom half of the strands coloured a rich crimson, harking back to her warrior days when her entire unit ritually dyed their hair in the blood of their victims. Mama’s horns were as impressive as the rest of her, the nearly pitch-black, ridged horns corkscrewing out from her temples, the ends pointy enough to gore someone, as indeed they had on occasion. The dark horns had silver bands wrapped close to the tapering tips, adding a touch of femininity to them. Zarena’s tail swished lazily behind her; yet another trait Vil lacked and envied.

Vil’s boots clacked on the worn wooden floor as she entered the kitchen, prompting her mouther to turn to face the source of the noise.

“Good morning, Vilxani, dear. Did you sleep well?”

It was difficult not to think of Mama as an impossibly attractive woman. As she turned, her massive mammaries seemed to fill the expanse of the wide kitchen between her and Vil, the rings piercing the nipples both wider and heavier than the ones in her own. A fine chain with a precious gem drooped from Zarena’s navel, crowning her athletic stomach. Bone earrings accented her pretty face, and a black choker with a silver disc emblazoned with their clan sigil rested just above her cleavage. Completing her embellishments were a pair of studded leather wristbands, something she had made herself out of the hide of the farm’s previous bull. Not because she was sentimental, but because in the end his hide had turned out to be worth more than his product, prompting Zarena to wear the wristbands to remind herself of the cost of poor investments.

Zarena had a tattooed band of jagged lines adorning her left upper arm, the very same design sported by her older, full-blooded daughters. While the middle child, Wulfshn, had the same tattoo on the same spot, Luzella had opted to place the marking on her massive left thigh, the act necessitating the tattoo being larger in surface area than on the other two, and Vil had always suspected it had been a deliberate act of defiance, meant to illustrate her prowess as being the greater. Herself, Vil had chosen to place the same band on her left lower arm; same arm as Mama, but indicative of the different choices she had made in life.

Though even Vil knew Luzella had a very long way to go before she could even call herself an equal of Zarena, from what Vil had read and heard, she was certainly well on her way to carve out a legacy of her own that would, at the very least, come close to rival that of her mother given enough time.

Vil stepped spiritedly over to her mother and cast her arms around her, pressing her cheek against Zarena’s warm, hard upper belly. “Good morning, Mama. I slept wonderfully.”

With a sigh of half affection, half exasperation, Zarena circled her free hand around Vil’s shoulders, pulling her tight, light from outside glinting against the smooth surface of the stud in her left nostril. Vil was well aware there was a part of Zarena that was disappointed that her youngest was so small, was not interested in becoming a warrior, was so clingy and at times so childlike in her demeanour, but Vil also knew – and chose to focus on – that Mama had come to respect Vil’s character; after she decided to retire from the fighting lifestyle and settle down on the old farm, Zarena appreciated having a daughter to help with the labours, not to mention having a daughter who, unlike the other two, would enjoy taking the farm over when that time came.

Vil harboured no illusions about herself. She was a farmer, through and through. She no longer compared herself with her elder sisters who, after all, had decided to follow in their mother’s other footsteps. Running the farm had never been in their interest, and Vil couldn’t imagine it would ever be. Both Luzella and Wulfshn were more likely to torch the place were Zarena to indicate either one of them had to contribute to its continued function.

Vil pulled away from Zarena but kept her hands on her hips, adoring to have her back, even if her visit to see Luzella and Wulfshn had been short. “Although, I had trouble actually falling asleep. I want to get to work on the bull!”

Zarena took a sip of her steaming mug, placing her large hand atop Vil’s head as their eyes took one another in. “Soon, dear, Varayen will do the final work with his processing, then we will meet her in his stall after Second Sun rises.”

Grinning wickedly up at her mother, Vil was hungry for so much more than just breakfast.

Varayen had been up before Zarena, close to a full hour before Prime Sun began sending its bright tendrils into the inky darkness to the north. Slipping out of their bed, nimbly and cat-like so as not to wake Zarena, the sorceress stuck her hand into her boots, thumb in one and fingers in the other, pressing them together and lifting them stealthily from the floor as her other hand grabbed the fresh pair of double-lined black panties she had put on the nightstand when she had retired the evening before.

Stalking on the balls of her feet out of the room, her curvaceous yet slender frame allowing her to quietly depart without waking the mistress of the farm, Varayen was careful not to rustle the silver chain bridging the studs in her nipples to the diamonds hanging from her black choker, and she didn’t stop until she was downstairs in the dining room before she dressed. Sliding the panties up her meaty thighs, ensuring the two elastic strings hugged her above and below the hip, she put on the shin-height, dark leather boots and, taking a moment to stretch and yawn, walked over to the full-figure, ornamental mirror in the corner.

Well, full-figure to her. Even though she was small of physique, she was a full-blooded Kazdruk, half a head taller than their new human bull, yet the top of her head was only level with Zarena’s upper triceps. Accounting for her long, black slender horns which speared up in gentle curves from the middle sides of her head, she could argue her full height was in fact level with the top of Zarena’s shoulders.

She stepped close to the brass-edged mirror, taking a good look at herself. She thought she could see the fatigue in her gold, slit eyes of the past day’s labours. Using spells to connect one world to another, passing between them, and doing it more than once per day was more taxing than she would ever admit to anyone – even Zarena – and she hadn’t rested as well as she had hoped she would, her mind a torrent of all the things that yet needed to be done.

This whole debacle with Luzella and Wulfshn was as annoying as it was disturbing, and her and Zarena’s absence had cost the farm nearly three full days of their attention. She had told Zarena she was too lenient with her daughters when they brought her shame, and reminded her lifelong companion that Varayen had been content to leave her own daughter in the tentacle hell she had gotten herself trapped in for a full year before deigning to bring her back. Severe and intense punishment was the only thing that might indemnify against future idiocy. For all her brusqueness, Zarena had nonetheless opted to come to her offsprings’ rescue, arguing it was a greater disservice to Yuldasha to allow Luzella and Wulfshn to be indisposed, unable to do the Arch Demoness’ bidding.

Varayen had not argued further, having a feeling that deep down Zarena agreed, but Zarena was also honour-bound to Yuldasha. Besides, it was not like Zarena was terribly pleased with her daughters’ folly and had told them as much, having them swear to exact revenge of their trespassers for fooling them into entrapment. Then, to make a point, she had taken Brayton – the bull – from them, an act that had seemed a whim meant to scorn her daughters, but which could potentially be profitable for the farm.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh, near-morning air streaming in through the open windows, Varayen snapped her fingers, blazing the wicks of the two dozen candles on the two standing iron candelabra flanking the mirror, revealing her fair crimson skin in the sudden, soft illumination.

The three thick lines of tattoos on her chin – one directly beneath her mouth, terminating just shy of touching her luscious purple lower lip, the other two flanking the central one, the tapering tips reaching up just past the corners of her mouth – glowed like beacons against her darker skin, and the candlelight winked in the dark gemstone hanging from its delicate chain across her forehead.

She worked her fingers into her hair, lifting the strands, inspecting, brushing them behind her pointy, ring-adorned ears and letting the hair fall down as it would, the bottommost tips spilling over her shoulders down to the upper slopes of her breasts and just past her shoulder blades. Opening the top drawer of the elaborate, carved wooden cabinet to the side past the candelabra on the mirror’s right, Varayen retrieved her brush and set to work, not satisfied until her dark hair lay smooth and orderly, their shine and volume seeming to come awake with each stroke of the brush. Putting it down, feeling a bit more awake herself now that she recognized the ancient – yet eternally young of appearance – woman in the mirror, the sorceress made a cutting gesture with an arm, snuffing out the candles which now had to content themselves by spreading wispy tendrils into the air.

Turning on her heels, Varayen marched out of the dining room and out of the house, foregoing additional clothing as the temperature was agreeable even as the first rays of dawn began brightening the vast fields of crops surrounding the ten clustered structures of the farmstead.

A refreshing breeze softly jingled her nipple-chains as she cleared the front porch, stepping onto the flagstone path slashing between the buildings atop the soft, tan soil. Light was blossoming behind the peaks of the northern ranges, though the perpetual storm clouds on the opposite sides of those peaks remained black and foreboding, where blighted winds and ageless debris churned in their never-ending dance, chafing the earthly scars across the blasted desolation surrounding Spinekel.

On the other side of the Naborahn Range of squat mountains, the land was unsuited for farming, yet those barren expanses with their lifeless deserts, deadly flora and diseased rivers were held in much higher regard than the fertile stretches upon which the farm was nestled. The tower of Spinekel – ten times the height of the Spire under Yuldasha’s command – and the lands over which it speared skyward like an envenomed dagger were sacred, the heart of Kazdruk society and the very reaches from which Kazdruk fortitude, power and, indeed, ceaseless hatred had propelled the Kazdruk Empire to dominate not only this world, but all worlds upon where it emerged.

Pulling her golden eyes from the bleak images of the northern summits, not missing the scorched plains of that region, Varayen walked along the stone path, her boots clacking softly as she crossed into the white stone barn where the farm’s newest acquisition had been deposited the previous evening.

At her entrance through the wide double doors, which the sorceress left open, the livestock stirred. Most retreated into the backs of their pens when they saw who it was who came striding like an arrow loosed with purpose, but then Varayen was well aware none of their stock would stand their ground no matter which harvester approached; least of all if the arrival was herself or Zarena.

Ignoring them for now, knowing the farmhands would see to their daily ministrations, Varayen still cast out her hand to light the lamps and iron brackets, saving the labourers having to do it when they arrived. She advanced through the barn, her bare breasts bouncing and hair bounding on her shoulders as she walked, eventually coming to the locked door leading to the isolated, spare pen. Instructions had been left for the farmhands that would be arriving when Prime Sun cleared the peaks of the Naborahn Range that the bull’s actual pen, having been used for storage in the many years that had passed since last the farm had a bull, needed clearing out immediately.

Varayen unlocked the door with the key hanging on the peg on the grey wall next to it, pushing it open, stepping into the chamber.

The small, square room had leather pillows covering the walls and ceiling, which together with the thick stone walls turned the chamber isolated in more than one way from the rest of the barn, primarily in that it was soundproofed. That came in handy if any of the livestock needed tending after dark when the remainders were resting, for anyone brought into this particular pen were sure to be elicited to loudness.

Just where they had left him, the bull stood waiting in the dark, and, barely able to suppress a wicked smile, Varayen closed the door behind herself, revelling in the sweet smell of sweat, pre-cum and dread as a flick of her wrist ignited the wicks in the lanterns next to the door.

He stood with his arms stretched high over his head; the wrists shackled in iron manacles that were elevated by a tight chain secured higher up. For additional security, they had slackened the tension on the chain just enough to allow him to stand on his soles rather than just the toes, only to add more shackles to his ankles and pull them apart by their chains, forcing him back onto the balls of his toes when these new chains secured his legs far apart.

The naked bull was covered in sweat, both old and fresh, his throbbing erection immediately drawing her eye. The tight, enchanted metallic ring Vilxani had affixed around the base and testicles had kept him hard throughout the night, and if he hadn’t already deduced it, the black, magic ring would keep him hard forever unless it was removed.

And Varayen could not really think of a reason why it would ever be removed.

A wet patch on the wooden floor underneath him showed where involuntary pre-cum had dripped off him throughout the night, and the underside of his shaft glistened in the light of the lanterns inside the pen, marking the passage of his oozing droplets.

Varayen subconsciously bit the inside of her cheek at seeing the bull’s cock. Though his race was small and his tool likewise – even if proportionally appropriate – the sight of a collared erection, with the long veins prominently snaking up the sides of the shaft, as well as the bulbous testicles pulled tight against the underside, made her mouth water.

He had heard her enter, naturally, and was shifting uncomfortably in the chains, although that was likely mostly owing to his body having been forced to stay in the same strenuous position for hours. In such an uncomfortable pose that was sure to sear the muscles of his shoulders and back, not to mention the cuffs chafing his ankles and wrists, was how the bull began to learn submission. Leaving him like that was depriving him of sleep, which was the point. They wanted him to deliberate his powerlessness, kept standing with his legs wide and his arms pulled upward. Being blindfolded did not help his situation much by limiting his sensory impressions, and Varayen found herself curious as to which defeated, pleading thoughts would have swirled inside his little mind throughout the night as he hung here, helpless and alone with a fat gag wrenching his mouth open and a big collar pressing around his throat.

The brand on his left pectoral, mere hours old, would not have helped him relax or feel any less tortured. The swollen ridges where Zarena had pressed the white-hot iron against his flesh looked red and painful, and Varayen hoped the maddening itch that invariably followed the searing agony had helped plunge the bull into even deeper chasms of despondent helplessness.

He whimpered weakly when he heard the footfalls of her boots approach, and now that she stepped closer, she noticed the dried drool on his chin and chest. It seemed the bull had attempted to alleviate the burning pain of his branding by letting the uncontrollable drooling incurred by the gag holding his mouth open fall onto the burned insignia, but Varayen knew that would have been a vain attempt at relief. However, that he even thought about trying it spoke somewhat of his intellect. That would have to be stripped from him, of course, along with any foolish notion of ever being anything but their livestock.

Coming to a stop directly before the bull, appearing slightly shorter than he actually was owing to the wide stance of his legs, making Varayen nearly a full head taller than him, she could see his skin tremble and his lips pressing nervously around the ball-gag. At length he released the breath he had been holding in, the quick, ragged inhalations but one more testament of his awareness of his hopeless situation. For a moment Varayen wondered if he had any fight in him – most any livestock brought to the farm would at some point make an effort for freedom, however their steers had a dreadful statistic when it came to attempted breaking of their bondage.

The bull, as the only one on the farm, was far more in bondage than the mere restraints, however. Through the link of her spell, through metaphorical eyes that expanded the sorceress’ vision beyond the meagre sight offered by her corporeal orbs, Varayen saw the twirling, violet umbilical link of eldritch energies encapsulating the bull, the writhing, translucent cord growing from him to disappear through the wall of his temporary pen. That link enveloped Zarena as well, and was the result of the power Varayen had placed on them at the bull’s moment of orgasm back in Yuldasha’s tower. In that vulnerable moment of physical bliss when the bull had fallen for Zarena’s maternal, helpful performance had enslaved him in ways no rope or collar could ever replicate. At the point of ecstasy, with his mind awash with pleasure in the comforting warmth of Zarena’s cleavage and soothed by her feigned adoration, Varayen had triggered the enchantment, forming what was ironically named a “dependency spell” between the two.

Only problem for the bull was that it was a dependency that only went one way. Were he to attempt flight or otherwise get too far away from Zarena, he would eternally suck her toes from dawn until the setting of Second Sun if only to never feel the spell’s punishment again.

She gripped a fistful of his matted hair and yanked his head back, his throat erupting sounds of equal alarm and pain. With the leverage on his head, she turned it this way and that, not inspecting him as much as she was reinforcing her power over him. She almost wished he would fight her just for the excuse to react, but she knew that, given Zarena’s eagerness to get his product to market, he would be given a demonstration of the dependency spell, so an excuse for her own amusement was not needed. He needed to understand the futility of resistance before he’d get a change to attempt it, before he had the chance to interrupt production with any antics.

She released his head, only to shove her hand onto his face, the fingers gripping hard around the skull, the heel of her palm pressing against his nose, eliciting yet another confused, scared yelp. Pulling magic from the source within her that fed on the vast power that laced every single piece of matter in the cosmos, Varayen released a spell that lanced into the bull’s brain from her fingertips, which would at that moment feel like augurs digging through his cranium, explaining the flailing of his body in the chains as a muted scream escaped his gagged mouth. When she released him, he slumped in the bonds, heaving for air.

The spell was one to revitalize him as though he had slept through the night. He would need the energy for what they had planned. Such rejuvenative spells, if administered once a day, would ensure the recipient would never require sleep again. Varayen had, however, learned decades ago that prolonged regimens of no sleep, despite such spells, would inevitably have adverse effects on the victim. With that in mind, she would advise Zarena to at least let the bull sleep one or twice per week.

As he caught his breath, the momentary pain of the spell replaced by a confused sense of restored liveliness, Varayen stepped over one of his spread legs and squatted until her nether region pressed against his upper calf. Before leaving the bull alone for the night, Varayen had unceremoniously stuck her two middle fingers into his ass, cradling his balls in the palm of the same hand as the other took a firm hold of his forced erection. With eldritch utterances and a steady flow of power materializing as soft yet crackling violet light, the sorceress had, like on the previous bulls to live on the farm, altered his prostate gland and testicles.

The process was not painless, as the bull’s gagged shrieks and convulsions were testament to, which was to be expected considering what Varayen did was essentially grow the relevant organs and vessels to enable him to produce more sperm than what his physiology would ever be capable of on its own.

Now, she needed to ensure the spell had worked as intended after his body had adjusted to throughout the night. Sticking her middle and ring fingers into her mouth, she coated them in her saliva, then spun a web of magic around the warm spittle, effectively turning the fingers into perpetually lubed digits. Thus armed, she once again and without warning shoved the fingers into his tight butthole, the probing ends quickly pressing against his swollen prostate. The surprised gasp and cry made her smile.

Thanks to the nocturnal erection keeping him company all night, the slightest touch within him produced a thick glob of semen that dribbled out of the spasming cock. Having expected it, Varayen’s other palm was waiting underneath the cockhead to collect the ooze. As she licked her hand clean, she had simultaneous thoughts that his prostate felt sufficiently enlarged, as did the balls resting on the heel of her hand, and that his exquisite taste reinforced that Zarena’s instinct in bringing him here had been correct.

She had to get him ready and presented to Zarena so that she might start her work on him.

Varayen rose to her feet, slipping her fingers out of him and enjoying his whimpers, the smell of his sweat, and walked over to the sturdy wooden cabinets next to the padded wall, pulling the double doors open and selecting the relevant gear that would fit him after she had adjusted the buckles and lengths. The previous bull, after all, had been far larger than him, nearly as large as Zarena, and while some equipment could be adjusted to fit him, other would have to be made anew so as to suit him.

Striding back to him, the hard impacts of her heels telling the bull precisely where she was, she hung the equipment over an arm as she reached up to undo the buckle of his ball-gag, then pulled it out of his mouth in one powerful tug by the straps, making him swing forwards in his bonds as he released a surprised yelp. Letting the drool-coated ball drop to the floor where it bounced once before rolling as far as the trailing straps allowed, she noted the bull very slowly close his mouth, then open it a few times. His jaw would clearly be sore after having the gag in all night, unfortunately for him the reprieve would be short.

Reaching around his head with both arms, careful not to let anything brush past his shoulders and touch the sides of his face, Varayen quickly and with practiced efficiency wedged the bit inside his mouth when he stretched his cheeks again, trying to dispel some of the comfort, and as soon as she had it between his teeth she was quick to tug on the rope, pulling it far enough inside that it pressed against the corners of his mouth before she tied the rope in a knot behind his head.

Varayen ignored his pitiful groans at having a new gag in place, his teeth clamping on the leather-covered wooden rod. The wooden bit was hollowed out in the centre, allowing a length of rope to be used in the place of leather belts, but the sorceress wasn’t quite finished yet.

The two metal rings clinked together when Varayen pulled the leather reins from over her arm, attaching the hoops to the metal clips drilled into the sides of the bit where they squatted over the rope. Once secured it place, she let the reins hang down his back. She adjusted the length of the reins by feeding more of them through the two brass buckles close to where the reins connected to the hoops on either side of his bit, shortening them so that they didn’t dangle as far down as to the back of his knees. Decreasing the length as much as she was able to, the ends now drooped to his rump instead.

Finally, she needed to unhook his wrists from above his head. However, she was acutely aware that despite their differences in size, he would likely be physically stronger than her, and his strength would be amplified by his desperation and fright if he got it into his head to resist. Not taking any chances with him, despite knowing he had nowhere to run to even if he did manage to overpower her and then free his legs, Varayen grabbed the top of his head and squeezed her hand over it as she leaned close to his ear, her pierced tits pressing forcefully against his bare back.

“I am going to undo the bindings on your wrists now,” she whispered menacingly, instilling a new manner of dread in him with her icy tone. “I will cast a web upon your throat; if you try anything I will crush your gullet like a rotten apple. Do you understand?”

Whimpering, the bull nodded.

Satisfied that her threat had made an impression, Varayen touched the index finger of her other hand against his nape just above his collar and let an influx of energy wrap around the skin, coiling and twisting in the shape of ethereal blue light winding like thorny stems. The bull wouldn’t feel the spell that now constricted his throat, but Varayen had but to release her restraint of it – like letting go of a rabid dog fighting its leash – and the spell would contract quicker than a bolt of lightning, decapitating him. It would not reflect well on her if that actually happened and Zarena’s new bull hung dead in his chains, but Varayen had learned many decades ago to never overestimate her position.

With the spell in place, she released his head and stretched her hands upwards. She had to get up on her toes, her hard nipples scraping up against his back as she reached for the shackles and unclasped them from his wrists. The arms, predictably, all but fell down, the bull releasing a sharp gagged yowl of pain as his shoulders were suddenly allowed to pivot down, spearing him with the aches and pains that had accumulated from being stretched up in the same position all night.

Not really giving him a chance to fight even had he thought of it, she looped one end of her next rope around one of his wrists with practiced expertise, pulling it mercilessly behind his back, making him lock up and scream again with the pain in his arm and shoulder. Wrapping the rope three times over the wrist and feeding the rest of the rope through the loop to secure it, keeping it tight but not tight enough to cut off the blood, Varayen barked for him to give him her other arm. With slow and painful motion, he swung his arm back, allowing the sorceress to coil the rope around the other wrist and then finish the tie with a knot between both hands.

Satisfied that he would not be able to break out of that, she killed the link to the spell around his neck, the stored energy shattering outwards in a soundless explosion of ephemeral azure light that pushed on her black hair like a sudden gust.

Removing her breasts from his sweaty back, Varayen leaned down and undid the shackles around his ankles, the skin of which as red and bruised as his wrists. Thus freed, allowing him to gather his legs in a less wide stance as his muscles and joints made him groan again, Varayen straightened and removed the belt that had acted as a blindfold. Not interested in letting him become accustomed to the soft glow inside the small chamber that she knew, to him, would feel like needles of unbearable illumination stabbing at his vision, she grabbed the reins and pulled them over his head to his front, then gave them a tug as she headed for the door.

“Come along now, bull.” She pushed the door all the way up as the half-blinded bull took his first few unsteady strides. “We have a busy morning ahead of us.”

Being pulled along by the reins anchored to the steel rings on either side of the bit-gag like a beast of burden, Brayton had to fight to arrange his feet properly lest he fall down once the sorceress started leading him out of the small room they had locked him inside. The light in the room, not to mention the natural light spilling into the barn he’d been led through the night before was hurting his eyes, and it took him several moments of squinting and blinking before his eyes adjusted.

His entire body ached something fierce. Having stood with the legs spread and the arms shackled high over his head had been murder on his joints, particularly the shoulders, and while it was akin to bliss to have his arms down again, it was a meagre improvement owing to the rough new tie around his wrists not allowing him a great deal of movement, such as being able to stretch and relax the muscles of his arms. Whatever Varayen had done to rejuvenate his mind had a decidedly unnatural sensation piggybacking on his renewed energy, which in turn had the paradoxical quality of making him feel no less tired despite also feeling like had had just awoken from a deep slumber.

His jaw likewise hurt. The cylindrical bit wasn’t as wide as the ball-gag had been, but having been tenderized through the night by it, exchanging the ball for the bit wasn’t much better, particularly with the way the bit-gag dug into the already sore corners of his mouth.

He was tired, hurting and thirsty, but it didn’t seem his captors were in a hurry to let him rest. The fact that they had shackled him up all night was the greatest testament to that, and the sorceress’ words and pace only exacerbated his impression.

His chest stung a lot, had felt like it had seared throughout the entire night where Zarena’s branding iron had pressed against his flesh, burning her clan’s emblem on his right pectoral. It was but one of many things preventing him from finding any relief where he had been, locked inside, alone, strung up by his hands, gagged and blindfolded.

For all his pains and fatigue, it was impossible to ignore his erection, which didn’t feel like had relaxed at all during the long night despite his acute lack of arousal. Looking down at it now that he was able to keep his eyes open without the light igniting his eyes, he saw it was all red and big, hard as a rock, the tight black ring encircling both the shaft and balls squeezing tightly, the ballsack pulled up against the underside of his rod.

As if reminding him of its presence, his dick jumped when his eyes, now tolerating the bright morning light, landed on Varayen’s shapely behind, the thick, red cheeks swallowing up the string of her black panties that was all she wore but for the collar to which her nipple-studs were connected via slender, silver chains.

Seeing her sculpted cheeks sway as she walked, Brayton knew it was his cock directing his thoughts when he envisioned tackling the sorceress from behind to try to take her down, in what was sure to be a pointless endeavour to attempt to stick his throbbing rod into anything that would alleviate him.

The sorceress led him outside the barn into the cool morning air that was about the same temperature as the barn’s interior. It was thankfully temperate enough that he could bear the air kissing his naked skin as he emerged.

The overcast sky of this alien world as was disconcerting to him as everything else, the purplish, churning clouds like a lid pressing down on him, preventing him from finding his way back to the world of his birth.

He nearly walked into Varayen when she stopped outside the double doors of the barn, but he managed to halt in time, the reins relaxing between them as it slackened with his approach.

She turned around, his eyes momentarily taking in her great chest before his fear got the better of him, but he was only able to hold the gaze in those slit, golden eyes because he feared more what might happen if he looked away.

The sorceress was stunningly beautiful, a sentiment shared by both of his heads. Her flat stomach under her phenomenally shaped tits seemed to sing out to him, her wide hips and broad thighs likewise, the face so youthful and gorgeous despite the ageless look in her powerful eyes. In spite of this, Brayton had to remind himself she was singularly dangerous. He had quickly come to understand that more through his intuition than what he had learned through the limited interactions he had had with her since they first met the day before.

He had fallen for both her guile as well as that of Zarena. They had promised to deliver him from Wulfshn and Luzella, learning they were Zarena’s daughters in the process. And they had fulfilled that promise, they just didn’t deign to tell him of their plans for him, plans that seemed no different than what Luzella and Wulfshn had had for him.

For reasons he couldn’t fathom, all of these women seemed to possess a strange interest in his semen.

It started with Luzella, Zarena’s firstborn, a thorough brute whose brutal reputation seemed fall short of how ruthless she actually was. Luzella had taken him, already a captive, for her own, tying him down and using her mammoth tits and big hands to wring out his seed, stabbing two thick fingers in his ass to get it all out, promising she’d stick far bigger things in there later on.

As though delivering him from that fate, but which had turned out to be a mere postponement, Wulfshn, Luzella’s younger sister, had swiped him from Luzella’s chambers and tied him on her bed, feeding him a concoction that would keep him hard and strong as she raped him with her mouth and pussy, riding him so hard she had cracked the wooden frame of her bed in her wild passion. Returning much later and in a foul mood, Wulfshn had done what Luzella had planned, and she had donned a big strap-on with which she was pegging him with, hard, when Zarena and Varayen had come along.

Their mother and her sorceress had fooled him into willingly going along with their ploy, and while he didn’t yet understand what had happened, they had taken him from Luzella and Wulfshn and brought him here, to a world different from his own, away from any chance at deliverance or freedom.

It was all he could do to keep his legs from failing underneath him. It had all happened so fast. He knew he didn’t yet fully appreciate just how monumentally fucked he was.

The sorceress held up the reins in her hand before his face, snapping his attention back to the present. Brow furrowing in nervous confusion, he witnessed Varayen let the reins go to dangle from his bit. Then she pointed at the open fields of some sort of amber plants he had never before seen, cultivated in neat rows.

“That is the shortest path away from the farm,” she said matter of factly, her terrifyingly beautiful slit pupils locked on his. “Run now, before Zarena comes. It is your only chance.”

He was dumbfounded, so much so that he no longer noticed the insistent tingles in his erection begging for attention.

“Go!” Varayen said urgently, her voice loud but apparently trying to keep it from carrying over to the farmhouse on the other side of the courtyard.

He didn’t know how he made his legs obey, but they did. If he was a vessel, confusion filled him to the brim, but he propelled himself across the dirt path towards the field, guided by nothing but a primitive urge to escape, knowing he might never again get the chance. It was awkward to run with his hands bound behind his back, as was the fact that his beaten body hurt all over, but he ran nonetheless, the reins hanging down his front whipping against his belly and thighs as he sprinted.

He cleared the structures, felt grass under his feet. It was still a few hundred yards until he could slip in between the stalks of the plants, which he now noticed were likely twice as tall as he was with some sort of growths sheltered in yellowish brown leaves sprouting from the top third. Once through the threshold he would be hidden from sight.

It was actually possible to escape. He just had to get into the plants and keep on running, perhaps changing direction to throw off those he knew would be pursuing him despite Varayen’s desire to see him get away.

Clearly, he had misjudged the sorceress, she seemed to be the only one of his recent string of captors who–

Searing, blinding pain had him on the ground, skidding ahead on the grass and dirt as his running momentum carried him a short distance after his legs gave out. He let out the loudest scream he had ever produced, its intensity and volume reverberating as though he wasn’t gagged.

Zarena had just ordered half a dozen of her farmhands to empty out the bull’s stable when she heard the scream, and the quality of the scream – that singular, unmistakable shriek – made one corner of her mouth draw up.

Standing with her powerful arms folded underneath her inspiring breasts outside the bull’s small stone barn at the far end of the much larger barn where the farm’s other livestock were housed, Zarena oversaw the newly arrived farmhands as they emptied several years’ worth of accumulated junk that Zarena hadn’t had the heart to throw away.

As the farm hadn’t housed a bull in a very long time, the half-open stone structure lined with stone pillars along the wall facing the farmhouse had turned into a makeshift storage, which in turn had, over time, become blanketed with the dust and cobwebs of neglect. With a new bull on the farm the stable needed both clearing and cleaning, so Zarena had set her small brigade of workers to the task.

All the farmhands on Zarena’s land were indentured servants from different worlds conquered by the Kazdruk. While slaves in any sense of the word, they were not referred to as such as these individuals – only females as they were easier to handle as far as Zarena was concerned – were labouring under the yoke of unbreakable contracts. After a set number of servile seasons, the farmhands would earn the right to ascend from indentured servant to second-class citizens in the Kazdruk Empire: they could never own anything only Kazdruk could own, nor could they ever employ Kazdruk or in other ways have Kazdruk be subordinate to them. However, they were allowed to purchase property and run their own businesses, and in turn Imperial Law protected them from undue hassle unbecoming of their elevated station.

Zarena had lost count of how many farmhands had worked her fields and buildings over the seasons, and she forgot most of their names within a year once their contracts concluded. Her little contingent of worker bees always numbered twenty-two, and as of the two newcomers that had replaced the two that had finished their servitude winter past, her workers comprised eight different species from six different worlds.

Zarena regarded one of them as she passed next to her, lugging along a heavy board lashed to her labourer’s harness, the other end of the board scraping along the dirt ground as she transported it over to another barn currently not in use.

The little girl of grey-bluish skin was Ghrynly, who was currently working at the farm on her fourth season, making her one of the seniors among the farmhands. She was about the bull’s height, perhaps a little shorter, and her already nubile figure had changed exceptionally since she had first come to work here four years ago as a nigh nameless nobody from a subjugated world Zarena had never bothered to learn the name of.

While Ghrynly had been feminine of form and pretty of face – although the long, feline-like tufted ears atop her head always drew Zarena’s attention because she never got quite used to them – she had also been slender and weak. The hard labour and proper feed had turned her into a suitable worker as she grew thick, strong thighs that swelled in harmony with her back, becoming more robust, thus letting her more easily carry heavy loads which in turn made her infinitely more useful than the downright feeble individual that had first showed up at Zarena’s door with her contract.

Ghrynly let out a less than feminine grunt as she pushed past Zarena, her long ringlets of violet hair so dark it bordered on black plastered against her neck and forehead. This wasn’t the first heavy board she had removed this morning and it would not be the last. Her shapely butt seemed to try to swallow up the cream-coloured loincloth that was all the farmhands were allowed to wear apart from their collars and boots, and Zarena’s red eyes unashamedly took in the view of her big, bared breasts and behind as she hobbled on her way.

Ghrynly’s people had long, slender tongues, and Zarena had taught her to use it properly. Perhaps Zarena would amuse herself at break-time by pressing Ghrynly’s face between her thighs, having the servant look reverentially up at Zarena with those big, almost luminescent almond-shaped green eyes.

The screaming brought her musings back to why the barn was being emptied out by her workers in the first place.

Suppressing the hooks of amusement tugging at her lips, Zarena ensured her workers remained focused on the task like ants in a line commuting between their hill and their charge, then turned on her hoof to march over on the opposite side of the barns, towards the fields from where the otherworldly shrieks came from.

Long tail swaying leisurely, she turned the corner around the long barn where her livestock awaited the toils of the day, coming to a stop next to Varayen, who stood with her arms crossed underneath her bared red breasts, eying the pitiful sight collapsed on the ground a stone’s throw away from the stalks of brinecorn that formed a sheltering wall between the clearing and the field beyond.

Writhing as best he was able, even at a distance the eyes were clearly screwed open, the bull howled and shook from the effects of the dependency spell the sorceress had laced atop his body, like grafting on him a second skin he could never shed.

“The demonstration goes as planned,” Zarena commented with satisfaction, looking at the bull on the dirt, hands on her hips.

Varayen didn’t look up at her. “Did you think I wouldn’t cast it correctly?”

The hulking Kazdruk let out a soft scoff. “Not at all my dear, it is simply reassuring to see the results for myself.”

Their eyes were ahead but through their many decades of shared experiences and conversations, Zarena felt more than she saw a small smile touch the lips of her sorceress.

While Zarena’s clan believed, as indeed many warrior castes did, that magic was an insult to the martial art of combat, she held no reservations against employing magic elsewhere. Magic helped her livestock produce better than they could on their own, helped all but immunize her flock from disease, and, as the bull was currently experiencing, ensured none of her livestock got very far if they had the foolish notion to leave.

Once married through the unbreakable link of a dependency spell, only the one endowed with the spell’s partisan side could quell the receptive side in another, and only though physical touch.

Zarena didn’t hurry over to the bull. She wanted the lesson to sink in, and the more he gasped for air between gagged yowls of unimaginable torment the better the lesson would take.

Taking a few deep breaths, relishing the fresh farm air as a breeze briefly brushed her red-streaked, black hair as she idly fingered the metal disc hanging from her collar upon which her clan’s mighty symbol was emblazoned, Zarena relished in the agonized wails.

Counting slowly to a hundred, when she was halfway, she lazily reached down with a hand to playfully tug on the chain linked to the studs in Varayen’s nipples, making the sorceress gasp, a sound that after all these decades still made Zarena’s soul burn with passion.

Accepting the retaliatory, flat-handed strike on her sculpted butt, Zarena turned her head to the side, looking down to give Varayen a confidential smile, then finished her counting, setting one hoof forward as soon as her mental voice declared “one hundred”.

Approaching, her long strides closing the distance in short order despite not hurrying, Zarena squatted next to the tormented bull, her forearms resting across her knees. Peering down at him, her frame looming over him like a boulder coming to crush him, she suppressed her amusement to maintain a blank façade, making sure he noticed her materialize over him and fixing his watering, pleading eyes with hers.

The pain would be frying through every nerve in his body, his mind processing every tormented second of the eldritch forces with the slow perception of a day. He was frothing around the bit, every muscle spasming, but the pain had now overpowered him so much he was unable to scream, only barely managing to draw desperate, ragged pulls of air like a drowning sailor beset by stormy waves.

Unhurriedly she slid one arm off her knee and barely touched the tip of her forefinger against his shoulder. The effect was immediate, the torrential agony in his eyes lifting as the pain lifted from him. He was left heaving for air, slack as a hemp bag of rice dropped to the ground.

Giving him a few precious moments to collect himself, to understand both mentally as well as physically that the magical pain had dissipated like morning mist, Zarena spoke softly and slowly so as to be sure her words registered within that human mind of his.

“This is what will happen if you ever try to get away from me, from this farm. You will be left with this pain, unable to do anything but scream and writhe, and it will go on until I touch you. Nobody else but me can alleviate you of the torment but me. That was the bond we created in the Spire when you were between my tits, when you gave yourself to me willingly. At that point in your foolish submission, when you viewed me as your saviour, Varayen linked us with a spell, and that spell will forever tether you to me.

“If you get too far away from me, the pain will ignite again, and if that happens, the few minutes you lay here will feel like a pleasant snooze compared to how long you will be left with the agony, because now we had planned for this to happen. If we don’t expect it and you trigger the spell, well, I am sure you can understand it will take me much longer to get to you. I may not even be the one to hear you scream. Someone else might have to come get me.”

She maintained her impassive expression but hooked a finger through the ring on his collar and pulled his face close to hers, her strength effortlessly hauling his upper body off the ground. His quivering brown eyes stared at her, fearful to look away yet terrified at looking at her, his brow bunched up in a worried knot as he panted. Grime matted his sweaty skin, his little eyes quivered.

“But make no mistake, I will not come running to get you. I will take my time. If I am in the middle of a meal, I will finish it. If I am seeing to business, I will conclude it. If I am enjoying myself in bed with Varayen or anyone else, I will achieve my bliss before taking a bath. And after that I still might let you wallow before I deem it time to come lay my hand on you, to dispel the pain.

“Do you understand the consequences of attempting to escape?” Her tone was almost kind in its tutoring quality.

He nodded frantically, still attempting to get his breathing under control. Even though the pain had left him, his body would still be sore, like the remnant ache of a smack might linger well past the actual impact.

“But that is not the end of your ordeal.” Her voice lowered, and she ensured there was no mistaking the menace laced into her whispers, like offering confidential caution. “After I have come to retrieve you, I will have to punish you for the attempted escape. Oh, did you think the pain of the spell was the punishment? Oh no little one, the spell is only there to prevent you from getting away. Now I will show you what the punishment will be. Don’t worry, it is but a demonstration. I will make it quick.”

Zarena bit her lip, seeing the bull’s admittedly nice ass sticking out towards her like a ripe peach begging to be bitten, his ringed erection dangling between the spread thighs. She was flicking a finger absently against the chain hanging from the piercing in her belly button, envisioning what she was going to do, the thought making her lick the back of her teeth inside her closed mouth.

She didn’t yet have wooden stocks that would fit him, his meagre size considered, so instead of wedging his head into some she had simply bent his upper body over a simple wooden railing nailed to the floor of the now cleaned-out stable, then tied his reins into a peg nailed to the floor in front of him, keeping him still. The legs she had commanded him to spread, then she tied each ankle with more rope to the legs of the rail, leaving him bent over, exposed, with no chance to move. His arms were still tied behind his back, and Zarena made a mental note to have a leather armbinder fitted for him so as to do away with the need for rope.

The farmhands had made short work of emptying the old stable out, although the neglected wooden boards of the floor were dusty and cracking in a few places, threatening splinters for those on the farm not walking on hoofs, claws or boots. A round of dusting and treatment for the flooring was in order, perhaps a polish of wax afterwards to regain some of the floorboards’ longevity. After all, the stable would be used frequently again, and Zarena would rather not have to replace any boards if she could help it.

The old, much too large stock which she had used for her previous bull had been lugged away to be broken down so as to free up the materials for something else, and the handy trio among Zarena’s labourers – all of which elfin-faced young girls from Tarona, the world Zarena and Varayen had sacrificed their youth to bring to heel – had been instructed to use whatever they could from the old stock in manufacturing a new one that would fit the current bull.

Apart from the simple railing she had the bull bent over, only a squat, sturdy table remained inside the stable, pushed up against the far of the three stone walls that were covered. The final wall, a collection if six stone pillars nearly half again as was Zarena bore a stone column which supported the robust wooden ceiling, atop which black slate cut into triangles were laid in rows atop one another, the rooftiles matching those of the larger barn.

Varayen stood in front of the helpless bull, hands resting behind her back, her sublime, bare body towards Zarena as though there to give the Kazdruk matriarch something gorgeous to ogle whilst she administered the second part of the demonstration should the bull receive persistent thoughts of flight.

“I would say this gives me no pleasure, that if I had to do this for real would not give me pleasure, but that would be a terrible lie,” Zarena spoke softly where she stood behind the bent-over bull. His shuddering whimpers was all he had to say, was all the bit allowed him to say.

She turned around and walked a few paces away from him, making her hoofs strike deliberately hard against the grimy floorboards both to let him know what she was doing and to send tremors up the thin rail, making him feel the impact of her hoof-falls. She could tell he was trying to twist around in order to look behind him, but the taut reins between his bit and the grounded peg was unyielding in its tension.

She turned back towards him, a deceptively feminine twirl, letting the heavy leather cord in her hand unwind and spiral down until the frayed end struck the floor with a dull thud. What she was about to do had her soaking through her panties, and she was helpless to prevent her lower lip being pulled between her hungry teeth.

“Had this been the punishment for an actual attempted escape,” she began, her tone low but loud enough that he could hear her, “I would administer sixty lashes to start, then add an additional ten for every attempt.”

He moaned pitifully, desire blooming inside her sizable chest at the sound.

“However, this being but a demonstration, I will only give you half. Thirty lashes.”

The whipping was entirely redundant considering the pain it caused was trifling compared to the all-encompassing agony triggered by the dependency spell. It was but an extra layer of deterrence, and an opportunity for Zarena to dish out discipline without having to invent an excuse.

Seeing his shapely rump wiggle before her, his erection between the spread thighs, Zarena twisted her upper body as she lifted the whip’s handle and, taking second to revel in the weapon’s weight in her hand, hearing a mournful sob pour into her ears like divine music, she jerked her arm, sending the frayed tip of the lash slicing through the air.

The mighty crack was nearly as pleasing to hear as what it heralded; the bull’s howl all the sweeter. The whip left an angry red streak across the bull’s left buttock, perilously close to his anus, but it was no chance impact. Having wielded both lash and blade in combat for decades, Zarena’s mastery of the flexile cord was unrivalled as far as she was concerned. She merely had to envision where she wanted the lash to strike, picture the red mark on the skin going in a particular direction, and her body did the rest. She was so attached to the whip it was truly an extension of her body, and with it in hand she could cleave an apple from the top of her younger daughter’s head without harming her as easily as she could rend flesh from bone if she so wished.

Delighting in the sharp, gagged cry of pain, Zarena twisted her body and cocked her arm, delivering another strike across the other cheek, then followed up with two whips coming from below to streak up his inner thighs, close to the perpetual erection.

His reactions were sublime, the way his lithe body shuddered on the rail better entertainment than a playwright’s masterpiece. Only four strikes in and Zarena was close to climaxing with the delight of the whipping. She did not even realize she was biting her lower lip so hard she nearly drew blood as she eyed him hungrily, his pallid skin but a canvas for her lash to colour in.

As she delivered the following strikes to fill the first dozen, Varayen squatted in front of the bull, smothering his face with her tits. Zarena knew she would enjoy the vibrations of his screams throughout her breasts, not to mention adding to the bull’s predicament by cutting him off from his air, so Zarena, with expert speed and delivery, landed another two lashes on both inner thighs, having him ululate into her cleavage.

Using her upper arms to squeeze her mounds together against his face, her fingers digging into his hair to keep him as still as possible, Varayen grinned in that playful way few other than Zarena would recognize. She kept him trapped between her bosoms well beyond his capacity to scream as the lash continued its work, delighting in his squirms as he fought for air even as Zarena would have produced additional shrieks with her succeeding lashes. Once certain he couldn’t take more before suffocating, she pulled her heavy mammaries away to let him heave for air, the relief cut short by another lashing that landed just as his face was plunged into the warm darkness betwixt her tits once again.

Smothering and whipping, each of them enjoying more than words could describe their treatment of the little human, Zarena eventually slashed the whip through the air to deliver the final crack against his ass, and Varayen had pulled away from his face in time to let them savour the final scream.

His ass and thighs displayed a delicious collection of livid red streaks criss-crossing the tenderized skin, the bull sure to be feeling like he wore tights of pain that distributed ache and soreness all over his lower body. Even the first lash would still be stinging fiercely, and combined with the other twenty-nine radiating their singular hurt into the rest of him, Zarena knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up straight had she ordered it.

That was fine, he wouldn’t need to be able to walk today.

As if summoned, Vilxani appeared from the main farmhouse, a wooden pail in each hand, their lack of content making them swing and bounce as Zarena’s youngest made her way towards the bull’s stable. Slung over her neck was a leather harness with something dangling behind her along with the dark, twin braids.

With some pride, Zarena reflected on how Vil’s breasts had come in the past couple of years, elevating them to something proportionately fitting for someone of her blood, each mound as large as her head. The silver rings piercing the nipples were new. Vilxani enjoyed her ornaments and it seemed every month she had spent some of her hard-earned money on a new set of studs or bejewelled rings with which to adorn herself. She took after her mother at that age, but Zarena had grown to prefer the larger silver rings currently in her own nipples, preferring the noticeable weight constantly tugging at her, more than she enjoyed sparkling gems, at any rate.

“Perfect timing, dear,” Zarena said as Vil stepped onto the barn floor, putting down the pails, her boots protecting her delicate feet from the treacherous, splintery flooring. “We were just done with the demonstration.”

Zarena squatted behind the bull and undid the bindings spreading his legs. He gingerly closed them, clearly afraid to move them around too much, his choking moans still filling their ears with his delicious melody as the lashing still sang on his skin.

“Hopefully he has learned not to try to get away, then!” Vil said with a wicked smile, reaching behind her head to lift the harness off her shoulders.

“Well, bull, have you learned?” Zarela said as she straightened and Varayen undid his leash from the peg in the floor, allowing him to hang limp over the rail. He nodded weakly as he sobbed.

“Good,” Zarena said as she rose to her full height, her spiralling horns mere inches from scraping the ceiling. She accepted the reins from Varayen and forced the bull to stand, but he was only able to do so on account of Zarena keeping the leash tight, essentially holding him up by it. “With the lesson done I am eager to get started with the day’s first milking.”

Even though she was eager to start selling his product, knowing the quality would be in demand, bureaucracy had to be served even on the Kazdruk home world of Tarasmay. Before she’d be able to sell a new bull’s milk, a sample batch had to be delivered to the leeches of the Central Agricultural Council for testing and proofing, and as that would take some time – and thankfully Varayen’s stasis spell would keep everything they milked fresh indefinitely – it would be some weeks before Zarena could start making money on her new bull.

In the meantime, she meant to stock up her personal reserves and train the bull in twice daily milkings, once at dawn and once at dusk.

Wishing she had stocks that would fit the new bull now, expecting one to be ready by the setting of the suns, Zarena meant to use the squat table shoved against the far wall for now. Asking Varayen to pull it into the centre of the barn, a feat rendered trivial by a spell spun around the heavy piece of furniture that floated it into the indicated position, Zarena next had the bull kneel atop the low table. She directed him to place his knees close to the edge, and only with great difficulty did he manage to climb on top and settle in the desired position, and he still wheezed from the whipping. She let the reins droop down his back as she ordered him to stay still, her intonation more than enough to illustrate that she expected to be obeyed.

She set down the whip on the table and accepted the harness from her daughter, then proceeded to tighten the straps and buckles over her powerful thighs and wide hips, one strap running atop her panties between the muscular cheeks of her backside. The bull watched with wide, disbelieving eyes at the massive black phallus sticking out proudly from Zarena’s crotch, seemingly oblivious to the continued stings of the thirty lashes decorating his behind.

Zarena recalled, stifling a curt smile, that Wulfshn had been busy pegging the bull when her mother had burst in with Luzella and Varayen, so while she wouldn’t have the pleasure of taking his virginity, pleasure she would find nonetheless even if the strap-on wasn’t primarily for her amusement. It was a tool to engage his prostate while they milked him, ensuring they’d force every precious drop out of him.

Zarena turned to face her sorceress and daughter, the strap-on bouncing as if exited when she moved. “Let’s get this nice and lubricated,” she said, gripping the base of the cock with one hand, gesturing the other two closer with the other. “Then Varayen will spell the saliva to make it permanent.”

With lewd intent the other two topless women sank to their knees before Zarena and put their mouths to the pseudo manhood, licking, spitting and sucking it, working their way down from the bulbous tip to the shaft at Zarena’s crotch and back up, the wet sounds of their sultry lips flaring Zarena’s nether regions even more. When Vilxani put her mouth around the tip, bravely trying to fit it inside her petite mouth, Zarena put her free hand on the back of Vilxani’s head, and with an indelicate tug, impaled her daughter’s throat on the cock.

Not stopping until she had forced Vil’s lips all the way down, her daughter’s eyes bulging and flooding with tears, Zarena let her head go, making her pull her head away herself. Thick globs and strings of saliva hung like vines between the tip of the strap-on and Vilxani’s mouth when she finally managed to dismount, coughing and wheezing. Zarena smiled a little at her daughter’s inexperience with handling proper tools, but knew she had been far gentler than Luzella had been that one time Vil had gotten on her nerves, spurring Zarena’s short tempered firstborn to vent her frustrations on Vilxani until the youngest daughter passed out.

Children, even Zarena’s eldest children, sure could be petulant when sufficiently baited, and Vilxani had a knack for getting under her sisters’ skin.

With the strap-on suitably coated with spit and drool, Zarena took her hand off it to let Varayen hover hers over the shaft, dragging her hands up, not touching it, as she spoke words of power, a gentle azure light coursing from her palms onto the hard-on, making the slick spittle cling to the strap-on in ways that would prevent it from scraping off.

“Now to business,” Zarena said with excitement as she stepped onto her knees on the short table, settling behind the whimpering human as she picked up his reins again, wrapping them around one fist as she forced his head – and by extension his upper body – into the angle she wanted. Her strap-on rested against the top of his ass, partially in the crack, and she wanted him to feel its weight and size for a little while, building anticipation, before she stuck it in him.

She gestured for Vil to bring one of the pails and set it down on the floor in front of the table. Taking hold of his hip made him immediately flinch and moan again, and had he not been so out of it from the demonstration, Zarena was positive he’d at least have made an unconscious attempt to leap away.

Once Vil sat the bucket down on the ground – and Zarena did not fail to notice the glint in her daughter’s green eyes when she dramatically bent at the waist in front of him, her ass sticking out behind – she stepped aside but remained close next to the table with the other pail.

Holding onto his hip with her big hand, Zarena released the reins, letting them hang, grabbing the base of her phallic tool as she addressed Varayen. “Do the honours please, my dear. I am sure he’ll be gushing once I get started. I don’t want to miss a drop.”

With a conspiratorial smile, Varayen got close in front of Zarena and the trembling bull, and squatted down just to the side of him. She produced a good glob of phlegm which she spit into her hand, then held the hand up and out towards Vil.

“Help me out here dearest,” she said, keeping her face pointing towards the bull’s.

Obliging, Vil leaned forward, her big, firm breasts swaying underneath her, letting a long string of spit descend from her lips onto the sorceress’ palm who, even as she spread the spittle over the bull’s receptive cock, wove more magic into the lubrication to make it linger on his veiny erection.

Without another word and without giving the bull a chance to brace himself, Zarela drew her hips back until her strap-on slid off his lower back and butt, her hand guiding the tip towards the clenched sphincter. With a slow yet pitiless push of her loins she parted his tight opening, the magic-infused saliva permitting the tip to slide inside without much difficulty. The bull drew a hard breath, his body locking rigid, Zarena’s grip on his hip keeping him perfectly in place as she meticulously worked the strap-on deeper.

His body, fit from whatever life he had led before his enslavement, was sweaty and flushed, the angry touches of her whip’s bites spreading intersecting patterns across the pale skin of his rump and thighs. Patches of grime from where he had rolled in the dirty were nearly all washed away by the perspiration and the flogging. He gasped helplessly at the strap-on’s unhurried but inevitable entry, likely being torn between the sensations of external hurt mixing with the expanding feeling in his rear. While he had been fucked in the ass once before, it didn’t take a whole lot of guesswork to know he was hardly used to the feeling.

As Zarena had predicted, looking down past his shoulder, once the tip of her cock pushed against his swollen prostate a thick string of delicious milk oozed out of his erection. Varayen, holding him, her hand covering his shaft from cock-ring to neck of the head, angled his cock down so that the emerging secretion dribbled into the pail below, the long string pooling into a small mouthful in the wooden container.

Squatting in front of them, her delicious tits on display, the hand of the arm leisurely resting over Varayen’s thigh spun circles in the air above the bucket, her first and third fingers extended, swirling up otherworldly light of many tens of shades of green in the air, their origin seeming to bleed into the world through the very air around her twirling fingers. The wraithlike light coursed like an unnatural haze from Varayen’s hand to caress and surround the bucket, seeming to seep into the wood through pores and cracks. Once all the light had made the journey from the sorceress’ hand and into the pail, the wood flared a single time, tinting the fibres a dark emerald, before the natural browns and bone colours of the wood reestablished itself across the surface. With the conservation spell in place, everything the bull deposited inside would not spoil, remaining at the optimal temperature. If they were to drink it a year from now, it would taste like fresh squeeze.

“Now then,” Zarena, hilt halfway inside her new bull and thoroughly enjoying the feeling of how tight he felt, turned to Vil. “Me and Varayen will show you how the two of us will properly milk a bull.”

Vil’s bright eyes were already lit up, her mouth screwed up in an anticipating smile. She had been too young to work any animals the last time the farm had housed a bull, and Zarena was quite aware how her youngest had wished for a new one.

“Naturally he should be restrained in stocks, but since we don’t have a suitable one yet, we will simply go through the steps. And remember: we do not stop until he is completely drained.”

“I understand, Mama,” Vil replied, swallowing, and Zarena could nearly smell her daughter’s nether regions burning at the prospect of getting to milking him herself. She’d have to wait until tonight, however.

Nodding, first to her daughter then to her partner of several decades, Zarena pulled half the length of the strap-on she had pushed inside back out, then slid it in again a little deeper. Moving her hand in harmony with Zarena’s thrusts, Varayen slid her hand up the slick shaft when Zarena pulled out, and glided it down when she thrust inside, making her hand and the strap-on “meet” in the middle.

The bull was trembling and groaning, not quite knowing how to control his breath, a steady flow of dribbling cum drooling into the pail, but the amount of ooze was getting noticeably less. That was not surprising at all to Zarena, but as she still needed to get the bull used to her toy in his ass – she had not truly begun fucking him yet – she and Varayen kept their strokes slow, deliberate, making him feel everything and delighting in the differing, stifled moans coming from behind his bit.

After a minute Zarena had pushed deep enough inside that her thick thighs pressed up against the bull’s rump, and she stayed still for a moment as she took him by a shoulder and a hip, savouring in the sensation of being all the way up inside him, her heavy tits pushing against his arms and back.

She found it quite enjoyable to dominate such a small creature, far more so than she had expected. It was devilishly enticing to have a man under such control, not only through restraints but also her physical might. It reminded her of when she’d had to dish out discipline when her children were being unruly, and despite the harsh lessons they had always seemed to find new ways requiring Zarena to set them straight. She’d never again get that feeling with Luzella and Wulfshn, given how large they had grown, but Vilxani was not likely to get much bigger than she was now on account of the genes she carried from the captive that had sired her.

The thought reminded her of Vil’s father. He had been larger than the bull but still smaller than Zarena was, as he was merely tall for his kind. It had been a fun night of brutal fucking, and despite forgetting all about the captive soldier in the days following that night, the unexpected swelling of her belly had turned her thoughts straight back to him, as he had been the only likely culprit. It had not been planned and it was initially both infuriating and woeful, but Zarena eventually grew to accept the unintended child and what that meant for her future prospects.

“The bull’s cock is throbbing hard.” Varayen’s silken voice brought Zarena’s attention back to the here and now, making her hands squeeze his shoulder and hip, feeling his soft flesh move in her grip. “It feels like he is eager to produce for us.”

Moving her hand from his shoulder to take a firm hold of his head, cupping the side of his face with two fingers underneath his chin to keep his upper body still, Zarena lifted one knee. She slid the foot over the bull’s underneath her and planted her hoof on the table surface close to the edge, bracing herself against him to ensure she had all the leverage she would need. Her strap-on moved a little in conjunction with the adjusting of her leg, which in turn swayed the bull on his knees. His pale skin was a delicious painting of sweat and singing whip-marks, his whimpers enjoyable condiments to an already exhilarating feast.

“Then let us indulge him.” Zarena licked her lips as her slit eyes met Varayen’s on the floor in front of them. “Let us see if we still have the expertise to completely drain a bull.”

With a knowing smile, Varayen’s hand began pumping the bull’s cock, her motions making slick sounds as it glid up and down the rigid shaft. Content that he was sufficiently stretched out and not bothered with trying to maintain any sort of pace with Varayen, Zarena got to pegging, bucking her hips forward until her thighs pressed up against his rear, then pulling back until just the rounded tip remained inside. Despite the strap-on not being enchanted in any way, letting Zarena feel as though she was fucking him with a proper cock, she could still sense how tight he was, and the sensation and his shuddering reactions made her want to speed up.

Keeping her thrusts at a medium pace for the time being, her heavy, pierced tits brushing up against the bull’s back when she lurched forward, Zarena had to argue with herself not to simply give in to her baser urges and just fuck the little bull like there was no tomorrow, making a mental note of doing that in bed after the evening milking instead, when there wasn’t any business to see to.

Casting her gaze down as she huffed with the sweet act of pegging the bull, she could see in Varayen’s golden eyes how she, too, had to rein in her lust as she stroked his hard-on, the free hand resting over a knee twitching with the desire to plunge into her panties.

Glancing sideways, Zarena saw Vil pant, her mouth slightly agape, her cheeks flushed, wide, green eyes not missing a single detail her mother and surrogate mother did to the bull. Knowing her daughter, Zarena thought Vilxani was at that moment picturing herself as being behind the bull, licking his asshole for hours whilst mercilessly pumping out his seed.

She would get her chance before long.

In the span of just a few moments the bull’s moans transformed from those of discomfort and fear to those of imminent release. His ringed erection still dribbled a few drops every time Zarena’s tool of pegging slid against and over his prostate, helped by Varayen’s strokes that had now become so fast her hand was like a red blur traversing up and down his length. She couldn’t see his face, but the fingers cupping his head felt his eyes clench shut as he drew a deep breath, his already rigid body tensing with the sweet precursor of releasing his milk.

“Here it comes,” Varayen said in a breathy voice, barely loud enough to register above the lewd, wet noises her hand made as she furiously jerked him off, likely feeling his manhood swell in her grip.

“Good,” Zarena huffed, not realising she was pegging him more forcefully than she had planned. Despite her attempt she evidently had not managed to restrain herself. “I want it all.”

With a yowl louder and longer than any they had managed to elicit from him through the flogging, the little bull’s body jerked as best it was able in his kneeling position. As Zarena fucked him deep and hard, and Varayen stroked him as though her life depended on his seed, the bull ejaculated powerfully, the sheer volume spewing out of him in tune with his elevated pulse proof enough that the sorceress’ spell within him had had the desired effect.

Thick strands of bull-milk blasted out of him with the force of crossbow bolts, the constant stroking of his cock sending the cum spraying in curling ropes in every direction. In front of him, slightly to the side, Varayen took a lot of his warm ejaculate onto her tits and thighs, the amount so voluminous even the seed’s thickness had no prayer hanging on, causing long strings of the bull’s goop to hang and drip from the sorceress’ big mammaries. More cum splashed against her thigh like a wave attempting to move a rock in its path, and yet more shot and dripped onto the ground.

Hardly anything wound up in the pail, though a few drips and dribbles did manage to fall into it, even more spattering the table’s edge and the pail’s rim.

The scent inside the barn was suddenly rich with the bull’s milk, causing each of the three women present to subconsciously lick their lips, all of them wanting to indulge themselves more than they wanted to remain focused on work at that moment. Zarena’s tail swished impatiently behind her.

Neither Zarena nor Varayen relented for a second as he gushed, pummeling his ass and cock all through the violent eruption. Even when the milk only oozed out of him they kept going, the immediate transition to post-orgasmic hypersensitivity making the bull shriek anew as his body involuntarily tried getting away from the sorceress’ stroking hand. Of course, trying to pull away from Varayen only impaled him deeper onto Zarena’s strap-on, and Zarena was only too happy to push his hip forward again against Varayen’s hand.

“Fair first load, for a human,” Varayen commented, looking down at the sticky mess on her tits and thigh. Her stroking hand was absolutely covered in it.

Zarena grunted her agreement. At a glance, it seemed her former bull had produced three times as much in one ejaculation, but then again, the human’s quality was far superior, so the farm wouldn’t necessarily have to produce as much in order to match her previous income.

“I expect this first milking to fill both these pails,” Zarena huffed as she pushed into him again. “How much did we actually get from this first ejaculation?”

Varayen’s free hand rose, palm down, fingers spread. A flare of bright pink glow enveloped her hand like a glove when she muttered words of power. Immediately, every drop of cum anywhere but inside the pail rose into the air, dragging itself off the floor and table, scooting from Varayen’s breasts and thigh, gathering in an expanding, churning, milky ball hovering just under Varayen’s palm. Guiding her hand above the pail’s moaning opening, she let the sphere of cum descend into it before cutting off the spell, causing the thick cream to splash and slosh inside.

“Filled about a third of the way up,” she said, looking up at Zarena. Then she grinned. “I suppose we will really have to put him through the wringer to fill both pails.”

The bull likely didn’t hear their conversation as he still cried, still tried to squirm away from Varayen’s pitiless hand that still jerked him with all the passion of a whore fearing to lose her client’s interest.

Zarena returned Varayen’s grin as she bucked into the bull, then turned her face to Vilxani. “Daughter dear, kneel on the opposite side of the bull. I want you to fondle his balls while we work to empty them out.”

Vil’s face beamed. “My pleasure!”