A Cure for Nobility

Pairings: Female Human x Male Minotaur

Contains: Size Difference, Role Reversal, Dominance/Submission, Huge Cock (28+ inches), Huge Breasts, Titfucking, Cum on Face, Excessive Semen, Slight Humiliation, Breeding, Ownership, Cervical Penetration, Cock Bulging, Cum Bulging, Rough Sex, Multi-Orgasmic, Degradation, Vaginal Sex

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The sun shone bright above Waterdeep, illuminating the crimson-stained sands of the Field of Triumph.

Namarra Hiilgauntlet sighed as she watched a pair of Ilmatari shuffle into the arena, chanting spells to mend the wounds of a fallen gladiator. A gladiator that, by all rights, should have been feeding the crows.

"Pathetic worm," she hissed under her breath as the crowd cheered halfheartedly, watching the fallen gladiator rise to his feet.

Weakness had no place in the arena, she'd always been told. It was a place where only the strong survived.

And yet, the Masked Lords, likely pushed into doing so by the Open Lord himself, had seen fit to bring healers into the mix, stating that public displays of death were only worthy of more lawless lands. Of places such as Luskan or even Thay.

Death had been robbed of its meaning in the arena.

As such, the gladiators who came to the games had grown weaker, softer, leading to less impressive gladiatorial combat, and a drop in attendance...

The spectacle had lost its edge. Its purpose.

Impatiently, the noblewoman, sat alone in her family's spectator box, drummed her fingers against the armrest of her chair. She'd not just come to witness combat, but to pick out warriors for her mercenary companies.

The Hiilgauntlet name was one tied to war. To bloodshed. It always had been, and always would be. Much as those families who'd made their fortunes on maritime trade would finance such activities, the Hiilgauntlet family would finance many of the activities of the Field of Triumph.

As such, her influence upon them remained, and she could push the organizers into including more of the only combatants upon which healing and resurrections spells would not be wasted: beasts and monsters.

While the crowd waited for the next battle, Namarra couldn't help but notice how many of those below would sneak glances up at her, for her beauty was rumored to rival even that of the legendary Seven Sisters - with curves that could easily put them all, combined, to shame.

Even those sat on the other side of the arena, a little over two hundred feet away, could plainly tell just how blessed she was, for her tits had become the stuff of legend in Waterdeep. So large in fact were those pumpkin-sized knockers of hers that, even sitting, they would brush against her lap.

Despite her family's martial reputation, Namarra's overlush figure suggested a different kind of power altogether. Her hair, the color of wheat, fell past her shoulders to tease the creamy expanse of her overflowing décolletage.

The emerald gown she'd chosen that day struggled and strained against the immense spheres of her bosom, its square neckline plunging daringly low to create a deep valley of cleavage few mortal eyes could resist. A fact she was well aware of and often used to her advantage.

"More wine?" a serving girl appeared at her elbow, holding a small crystal decanter.

Namarra could feel the girl's lingering gaze upon her cleavage, and a satisfied smirk spread across her lips.

"Yes," Namarra replied coolly, her eyes never leaving the field below, where a group of Gondsmen were now parading their newly-crafted automatons.

She reached for her now-full glass, bringing it to her full lips, to take a slow sip, allowing the rich Turmian vintage to slide down her throat.

She wondered what beasts the organizers would bring forth today, for she'd heard of a special creature that had been captured in the Bloodstone Lands quite recently. She cared little for the machines now on display, for they'd not yet proven their worth. Oh, they could kill, to be sure, but they were often too unstable and too costly to be of much worth in her companies.

Her eyes fell to the various entrances, where spectators were beginning to gather in greater numbers.

True violence always brought the biggest crowds, and the posters for the day's spectacle had advertised the slaying of a great beast.

Before long, every seat was packed, and the Gondsmen retreated to make room for the next event.

One by one, the combatants entered, and Namarra found herself increasingly unimpressed by them. They all seemed so... inadequate, and had the appearance of novice adventurers, carrying ramshackle equipment that seemed more fit for street urchins playing pretend.

And then there came the last of them. The beast.

She leaned forward slightly to get a better look at him, causing her behemoth bosom to shift about within the tight confines of her bodice, those mountainous tits brushing against her lap as she did so, and quite nearly spilling from her neckline.

Well over nine feet tall, the minotaur strode into the arena.

He held that massive bovine head of his high as he scanned the crowd. His upper body was humanoid. A wall of muscle.

The creature wore little armor, save for a simple shield and a loincloth, and how glad she was of it, for she could allow her eyes to wander across every inch of him.

His lower body was just as powerfully built, with legs like tree trunks and hooves that kicked up sand with every slow, measured step.

"Siamorphe preserve me..." Namarra whispered under her breath as she watched that fine specimen enter.

A rush of heat flooded her body, and she found her breathing to have become just a smidge more difficult at the sight of him. She'd seen so many fighters in her years of attending these games, and yet, none of them had affected her so immediately, so viscerally.

Namarra had cared little for the presentations of the other fighters, had barely even registered their names, but when the announcer spoke the minotaur's name, she felt her stomach twist at its power.

"MEANDROS!!!"

The new arrival. The one she'd never seen before. The beast from Vaasa, the arena workers had taken to calling him.

Briefly, his eyes flicked up to her, and she felt immediate heat bloom in her cheeks. He held her gaze for but a few seconds before the announcer announced the battle's beginning.

She was normally so composed, so detached from these... Why was he affecting her so? She felt as a lass enamored of a wandering knight for the first time.

Before she knew it, the battle had begun, and Meandros could be seen dispatching foe after foe with such power and ease that she wondered if the healers might even be able to help them.

A force of nature, it took him all of five minutes to clear the arena, leaving him huffing, his bulging musculature covered in sweat.

Looking once more to Namarra's booth, he held her gaze as he lifted the broken spear he'd picked up from the fighter in one hand, rousing a great cheer from the crowd.

As he spun, he threw the spear to the ground, parting the gaggle of priests rushing to aid the fallen before he retreated into the arena's depths.

The serving girl, who'd remained by Namarra's side throughout the spectacle, slowly began retreating to fetch her mistress's cloak, but was caught at the wrist by Namarra's surprisingly strong grip.

"Send for the beast's owner."

She needed him. Now.

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The impatient tapping of Namarra's foot echoed against the walls of the near-empty warehouse.

That slight motion, of course, had set her enormous chest to jiggling.

Her guards, posted on the rafters above, crossbows at the ready, could scarcely pull their eyes from that pale cleavage. Not that they'd want to, considering no one could actually see said eyes, what with their being hidden under heavy sallets.

Eventually, the large sliding doors were opened, and the merchandise entered.

They couldn't have used the side entrance, of course, for the beast wouldn't have fit in such a minuscule opening.

Around his neck was a collar of iron upon which were hooked four chains, held by four large men. Zhents, Namarra could plainly see by the winged serpent tattoos they so proudly displayed on their forearms.

They had likely traveled through the city's sewers, for the Watch would never have let the Black Network wander openly through the city's streets.

Behind him walked a hunched, black-robed wretch of a man. The ugly, balding wizard might have been part-weasel, judging by his appearance and the way he carried himself, eyeing his surroundings until his eyes fell upon the ultra-curvaceous Namarra.

Those same eyes quite nearly popped out of that misshapen skull of his at the sight of her.

"Harlnor Kullan, I presume," Namarra managed, offering none of the niceties she might have offered other, more reputable, trading partners. The Zhents had always been an annoyance, a thorn in her side, and it took all she had to mask her displeasure at their presence.

Of course, she never conducted any sort of trade without researching all she could of the sellers. Negotiations were not so different to battlefields, insofar as both demanded one know their adversary's vulnerabilities ere the first blow was struck.

Fortunately for her, this slimy creature of a wizard had no lack of such.

She glanced at the beast. Meandros. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and she could see a flicker of intelligence in those great, dark eyes of his.

"A-ah, um, yes. That is correct," he nodded quickly. "I have been informed that y-you were interesting in acquiring my prized - "

"Yes, yes. That is why you are here. How much?" she interrupted, impatient to get on with things.

He glanced down at the vast expanse of cleavage on display before him before continuing. "W-well, it was difficult to get him free of the dungeons of King Dragonsbane," explained the wizard, "and he is, as of yet, undefeated in the arenas and fighting pits I have brought him to. He was a mercenary, I was told."

"That is good. You have not yet told me your price."

"I..." he glanced at the beast, who'd remained stoic throughout the exchange. "Five thousand gold dragons."

Namarra scoffed. "I could finance a company of a hundred men for a month with such a sum. Who do you take yourself for, mage?"

The reaction set Harlnor on his heels, but before he could formulate his response, Namarra continued.

"Besides, I would think that a man in circumstances such as yours would be more eager to conclude business swiftly and quietly."

She examined her emerald-painted fingernails nonchalantly.

"After all, word travels so very fast through Waterdeep. One never knows who might overhear tales of a certain Zhent wizard on the run from others he'd robbed..."

The mage's face went pale, and it seemed he'd forgotten how to breathe for an instant. "W-what do you mean?" he stammered.

"Oh, nothing at all," she replied coolly. "Only that, well, it would be a shame if I felt unsatisfied with your transaction. If I felt that, perhaps, I'd been robbed of fair trade by some unscrupulous sellsword merchant. Such a story simply must be shared with friends over wine, you understand. Friends with such curious connections, all the way to the Moonsea..."

She made sure to drive that last word home by staring into his eyes as she spoke it, for she knew that was where Zhentil Keep, the Zhentarim seat of power, was located. And if Harlnor was being hunted by other Zhents, then there was a fair chance it was by Manshoon and his agents.

What he'd done to merit such a manhunt, she knew not. Neither did she truly know if Zhentil Keep was behind said manhunt.

However, the expression now worn on his face and the slight trembling of his hands indicated her well-educated guesses had been correct on him and his current situation. As she waited for him to scrounge up what remained of his wits to form a response, the noblewoman crossed her arms beneath her ample bosom, pushing her cleavage up even more prominently.

With obvious satisfaction, she noted how his eyes, and those of the four Zhents who accompanied him, couldn't help but dart downward.

The minotaur's gaze, however, never wavered, though by the flaring of his nostrils, she estimated that she'd had some effect on the beast-man.

Harlnor swallowed hard. "I think perhaps we can come to a more reasonable arrangement," he managed, voice cracking ever so slightly.

Namarra hummed, offering no spoken answer as she slowly began circling the minotaur, her gaze lingering appreciatively on the creature's massive frame. Her hand reached out, and she ran her fingertips along the thick muscle of his arm, feeling the raw power that radiated from him.

Not wishing to show how much she needed the Minotaur, she simply continued her inspection of him.

"Four thousand gold dragons, then," the wizard said, watching as Namarra's fingers moved across the massive male's biceps, before moving to the broad expanse of his back...

Namarra chuckled this time. "A hefty sum for damaged goods."

Sensing his oncoming protest, she continued. "Goods worth four thousand gold dragons do not require four handlers. Do not require transportation through the sewers, and, most importantly, do not come from a seller so desperate they'd come almost immediately to an unmarked warehouse in the Dock Ward with only four thugs to protect them. A thousand gold dragons, little mage, and I take him off your hands and forget I ever saw you in Waterdeep, and believe me, I'll be glad to do so."

"A thousand gold?!" his voice rose an octave. "That's entirely -"

"Far too generous, considering your circumstances," she finished coldly. She stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell the rich perfume emanating from her, close enough that his eyes were level with the mountainous swell of her breasts. "Especially considering how easily I found you. Now imagine what Manshoon and his armies can accomplish."

The wizard's face turned pale as a ghoul's at that name's mention, and his mouth opened and closed several times, quite like a fish finding itself bereft of water.

One of the Zhents holding Meandros's chains shifted nervously. "Boss, maybe -"

"Silence!" the mage hissed, composing himself with visible effort, running his hands along his robes as if to smooth its nonexistent wrinkles. He eyed the noblewoman for an instant, then Meandros, and then the guards in the rafters, their crossbows trained on him.

A slight smile crossed Namarra's lips, seeing how clearly he was considering simply blasting them all to bits with whatever spells he'd prepared that day. How dearly she wanted to see him try and fail, for his death would save her a thousand gold.

Then, his shoulder slumped in defeat. "A thousand it is," he finally muttered, eyes downcast. "Men, the chains."

Namarra's ruby lips curved into a victorious smile. "Wise man."

With a simple gesture, one of her men brought Harlnor a chest, and four others took hold of the Minotaur's chains.

"Pleasure doing business," Namarra said almost sarcastically, tone making it clear the sentiment was anything but genuine.

With a final, venomous glare, the wizard clutched the chest to his body before backing away. His thugs followed closely behind, disappearing through the warehouse doors without another word.

Namarra's guards closed the doors behind them.

When they were gone, Namarra turned her gaze to her new acquisition.

Meandros stood before her, quite proudly despite the iron collar and chains still attached. His bare chest rose and fell with each of his slow, steady breaths. The scent of him filled her nostrils, musky and masculine in a way that made her pulse quicken.

"Leave us," she commanded suddenly.

The guards exchanged concerned glances.

"My lady," one began, "might it not be wiser for us to remain inside, should this beast attempt anything?"

Namarra eyed him for a moment, then returned her emerald gaze to the wall of muscle standing before her, quite nearly twice as tall as she, and she came to understand just how powerful he truly was.

"I believe, Rendal, that he could already have done so. I believe that Meandros could remove that collar of his without much effort before crushing every single one of you. Isn't that right, Meandros?"

The minotaur eyed the guards for a moment, a number of them taking a step back as he sized them up. "Yes," came his simple reply.

There came of them not an argument more. Reluctantly, the guards bowed and retreated, the last one closing the heavy sliding door behind him.

The warehouse fell into silence as Namarra was left alone with her newest prize. The afternoon light filtered through the high windows, casting golden bars across the minotaur's imposing form. Slowly, she began circling him, eyes wandering across every exposed inch of his skin.

"So," she began, "you come from the kingdom of the paladin-king Dragonsbane, mh?"

Meandros nodded.

"A mercenary?"

He nodded. "Adventurer. Got into a scuffle with others over some treasure. Dragonsbane didn't approve, so he locked me up."

She moved to stand before him, head barely reaching the impressive slabs of his pectorals. Had she not been wearing heels, her gaze might have been level with his navel.

As her gaze traveled downward, she froze, breath catching. How could she have not noticed that?!

Between those thick, muscular thighs, and barely contained by the fabric of his loincloth, hung a bulge so unmistakable that her cheeks flushed crimson at the sight, and she'd forgotten what she might have wanted to say.

Namarra swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry as sand. She'd seen countless men in her time, of all races, and even some of the monstrous folk... but this seemed wholly out of proportion to even the largest of them.

Slowly, she forced her gaze upward, finding herself glancing back down, drawn by the sheer presence of that beast.

Meandro's nostrils flared, his own gaze wandering the noblewoman's form appreciatively, falling inevitably to the twin peaks adorning her chest, threatening the integrity of their cloth prison with each of the woman's breaths.

And when her eyes met his once more, there flared in them something overwhelming. Hunger. Desire.

The air between them changed, charged with something dangerous, and she found herself backing up a step. And another. Until her back pressed to one of the large wooden crates that littered the warehouse.

"You will do a-as I say, beast!" she stammered, feeling her control slipping. "Or I'll call the guards!"

Meandros let forth a soft chuckle, his voice low and resonant, and he moved closer. "Will you now?"

It took the male but a few strides to close the distance between them, and she could feel the heat of him washing over her, making her knees weak. With each step taken, the enormous bulge between his legs swayed slightly, offering with it the slight thwap of cock on thigh.

Namarra barely recognized herself anymore. She was always in control. Always.

So why in the Hells had she made such a purchase? Why dismiss her guards so quickly?

Of course, she knew why, and she had but to look down at that swinging bulge of bull-meat, half of it hidden beneath the horizon of her gigantic, wobbling tits, to remind herself of why.

His massive form now loomed over her, casting a shadow upon her form as his frame blocked out the same rays that had earlier served to highlight his divine musculature. Namarra felt her back press harder against the crate.

"I... I will, if you d-" she began, but the lie died on her hips as one of his hands reached for the neckline of her gown, his enormous finger coming to rest upon the valley between her enormous, pale teats.

He hooked his thick finger upon the delicate silk of Namarra's neckline, the emerald silk offering little resistance as he tugged downward casually. The expensive material slid down instantly, exposing her colossal tits to the warehouse's cool air.

Namarra gasped as those titanic tits flopped free with a heavy, audible SLAP against her torso, those massive, pale globes wobbling about for a few moments before settling. Each gigantic, obscenely overgrown orb hung down nearly to her waist, while remaining perfectly firm and round, their shape a perfect teardrop.

Crowning those peaks were areolae the size of a human man's palm, at the center of which, hardening to pebbles were nipples thick as a thumb.

The minotaur's nostrils flared as he drank in her scent, eyes darkening with raw hunger at the sight before him. "Larger than even the prized females of my homeland," he casually mentioned. "Even from down in the arena, I knew I needed those udders for myself."

Namarra dared not move, feeling exposed and vulnerable in ways she'd never experienced before.

Before she realized, his hand had moved to her left breast, that gigantic mound of flesh filling his palm and then some, spilling overside his hand and between his splayed digits. His touch as he squeezed her flesh was warm. Rough. Possessive.

A sharp gasp fell from her lips as his calloused thumb found her nipple, casually pressing against it with unexpected tenderness before he brought his index, pinching the nub and forcing from her a whimpering moan.

As one of his hands squeezed and fondled the noblewoman's gigantic knockers, the minotaur's other hand moved to his loincloth. His thick fingers curled around the white fabric, bunching it in his fist, and she could see the absolutely enormous bulge of something held in a small hammock-like structure behind the hanging cloth.

And with deliberate slowness, he began to pull. The garment could have been made of paper for all she knew, with how easily it was torn off him.

Time seemed to slow, and her eyes widened at the sight of what had been hidden beneath that loincloth.

The minotaur's cock swung towards Namarra as it was freed, arching outward and downward with the release. With their height difference, Namarra briefly feared she might be hit over the head by that enormous slab of bull-meat, though its arc sent it instead crashing directly between her exposed tits.

THWAP!

The meaty impact sent ripples of titmeat outwards as his maleness, soft, it seemed, lay cozily between those pale, mountainous cockpillows of hers. Up close, that fat, pulsating prick was overwhelming. Its girth and length surpassed that of her arm, riddled with veins as thick as her pinky finger criss-crossing its shaft from base to crown.

Even soft, that mind-boggling piece of bullmeat might have reached his knees, she estimated.

Its skin was darker than the reddish-brown of his hide, with a flared head and mottled coloration near the base, not unlike an actual bull's cock. At its tip, a single eye-like opening, seemingly far too small for such a massive organ, leaked a continuous trickle of clear precum, dripping onto the vast expanse of her chest.

Below it, Namarra could clearly see his balls, each the size of a small melon and likely packed full of potent bullcum, contained in a sack smoothed by its contents weight.

Awestruck by that prodigious endowment, Namarra nonetheless managed to compose herself enough to watch as it pulsed, growing thicker and longer with each passing moment. It curved upward ever so slightly as it grew, and its head was soon kissing her full, pouty lips.

Whispering some prayer to the goddess of nobility, Namarra's pussy clenched involuntarily, and she could feel her arousal rising to levels she'd never even dreamed possible. She'd always been of a sexual nature, and she enjoyed partaking in such acts, but this... this was overwhelming, and was coming dangerously close to affecting her thought processes.

His scent was masculine, musky, overwhelming, as it filled her nostrils...

The minotaur's massive hands then shot forward without warning, seizing Namarra's wrists in an iron grip. A low rumbling came from his throat as he pulled her hands to her own breasts, forcing her palms to the outer curves of those colossal mounds, making clear his intent.

Namarra gasped at that, feeling her hands being engulfed by the soft abundance of her tits.

Satisfied by her position, he then slammed his enormous hands against the crate, above her head, the impact causing a few plants to break and splinter. Whatever lay inside rattled like bones in a coffin.

With her now caught between him and the crate, Meandros angled his hips so that his cock, now hard as rebar, began sinking into the noblewoman's cleavage. The flesh of those massive, jiggling fuckpillows bulged obscenely, pushed out against her hands and forearms.

And then, he pushed down into her cleavage, his enormous prickhelm bulldozing through the warm valley between those titanic globes, smearing it in abundant precum. Inch by inch, his cock bore down until it disappeared entirely between those enormous, pale jugs.

Her fingers struggled to hold the mass of her oversized chest boulders, fists dimpling their mass.

"Nhaaa~" Namarra mewled whorishly at the sheer heat of his cock, watching as he began slowly tittyfucking her from above. With his height nearly double hers, he had the perfect angle to do so with both of them standing.

So fucking massive were those tits of hers that even his mammoth cock seemed overwhelmed by their vastness. Even with his considerable length, her tits were simply too massive, too abundant to allow his cock to emerge.

The great beast-man threw his head back with a huff. "Now, woman, you know what it is you have brought into your bed. I will ruin you for all men, and you will become mine. You thought to purchase me like cattle, to use me as a toy," he laughed, "oh, how sorely mistaken you are."

Any other servant who dared speak to her in such a fashion might have been flayed alive, and yet, Namarra couldn't even muster the barest hint of indignation.

Not anymore. Not now that she belonged to this creature of raw masculinity.

Her mouth hung open, pink tongue lolling slightly as she worked her tits harder against the male's shaft, squeezing those tremendous breasts together as the minotaur continued pulling and pushing his cock between the pale, quivering expanse of her tits. Those gigantic udders which had turned heads throughout Waterdeep for years now belonged to him, and had but one purpose: pleasuring his monumental cock.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

The sound of his hips colliding with the shelf of her chest echoed about them as he fucked her tits, slowly gaining in speed as he churned the space between her precum-slathered jugs.

"Unf... Gods!" she moaned, ruby lips parting as she watched that gigantic bullcock slide up and down into and out of her cleavage, Meandros ravaging her gigantic pale titties for all their worth. Her arms burned with the exertion of holding those colossal mounds together, their natural weight and size making them difficult to control even under normal circumstances. Now, with the added force of a minotaur's thrusts, she felt as though her arms might simply give at any moment.

"Hrrrrmff... GODS! " bellowed Meandros, echoing Namarra's, his bullcock making obscene schlip schlap schlip noises as it plowed through the valley of her chestpillows. Each thrust sent seismic ripples across her tits, flesh quivering and bouncing about uncontrollably.

Taking note of her apparent struggle, the minotaur reached down with both massive hands to cover her own, adding his boundless strength to her faltering grip. The difference could immediately be seen and felt, for where her hands had merely dimpled the surface of her breasts, his palms, despite their size, sunk into them.

His grip upon those great pale peaks was such that her flesh bulged up and out around him, compressing her flesh so thoroughly that her cleavage became a tight, unbroken tunnel for him to pound.

Her eyes, normally so sharp and calculating, had grown hazy from her cockdrunk stupor as she watched so many feet of throbbing bullmeat slamming down between her tits, turning those milky white orbs into precum-slathered wobblejugs, those melons serving as nothing more than a warm, silky sheathe for him to slake his thirst.

"Do you feel in charge, slut?" Meandros sneered. "You are little more than a whore. I will use you as I see fit and break you in. You will be my pet. My little breeding cow," he groaned, his jugfucking pace increasing with each sentence as he speared repeatedly down into that sea of titmeat.

Namarra could only shudder in response.

Her mind told her to stop this, to call for her guards, to regain control...

But deep within her, she wanted this. That feeling of powerlessness, so alien to her, was warping her mind, turning her into a perfect little toy for this massive, brutish male.

And so she did the only thing a woman in her position might do.

She leaned in to kiss and suck on that enormous maleness, tasting of the beast-man's musk, of the precum that covered its every inch.

"Mmmhaaa~" she moaned whorishly at the taste, allowing her tongue to run along its surface as it continued pummeling her fat cockwarming jugs.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

His colossal meat-pillar, veiny and throbbing, plowed relentlessly through Namarra's slippery tit-chasm, her once-pristine chest-pillows now a sloppy mess of precum and sweat.

Namarra's mind swam in a haze of lust, her former composure shattered beyond recognition. The woman who had negotiated so efficiently mere moments ago now whimpered pathetically as the beast-man's enormous hands completely engulfed her own, his strength ensuring those massive tits remained locked around his throbbing bullcock as he thoroughly bred those titanic udders of hers.

"Mine... mine..." he growled as he watched her make out with whatever portion of his cock was now squeezed between her obscene tits. His overflowing precum dripped from under her tits as each thrust forced out thick goops of that frothy essence, splattering upon her emerald gown.

That expensive silk, worth more than most Waterdhavians earned in a year, clung to her body, a wet, ruined mess, stained and sodden.

Suddenly, Meandros's rhythm changed.

His movements became more urgent, more bestial. His hips became a blur as that tittyfucking became a frenzied pounding, driving his cock through her cleavage with renewed vigor.

PLAP! PLAP! PLAP! PLAP LAP LAP LAP!

A whimpering moan escaped her lips as she surrendered completely to him, to that beast, that paragon of masculinity.

He wouldn't be too far now, she knew... So many men had used her tits in such a fashion, she always knew when they would reach their peak.

As though sensing her thoughts, the minotaur pulled his cock free of her cleavage, and, with a thunderous roar, he came.

The first eruption came as he aimed that titanic cum-cannon at her face, allowing her to witness how it thickened where the first of his cumblasts reached inside his shaft, that cumslit opening mere inches from her face.

"HRROOOAAA-!" he bellowed as the first scalding rope of bulljizz travelled up his cock, Namarra watching that cumbulge traveling up the thick vein adorning the leviathan's underbelly.

She'd expected it.

She wanted it.

But nothing could have prepared her for that first cumblast.

That first scalding rope of bullcum blasted out with such force that it made an audible SPLORT as it collided with her face, splattering much of the crate behind her, as well.

His pearlescent load, thick as custard, was so copious it immediately began dripping down her features in thick globs.

The second blast followed with an obscene SPLURRRRTT! this time landing square on her parted lips and nose with volume enough to form a full mask of spunk, leaving nary an inch of her uncovered.

Cum sloughed off her visage in sheets, cascading down her chin in thick, ropy strands that dangled obscenely.

SPLAP! SPLAP!

Again and again, those cum-rockets launched with sounds just as obscene, and he would aim his cock down at her tits, painting across those udders criss-crossing streaks of off-white fuckgunk. That hot spunk was so abundant that it formed an actual puddle in the deep valley of her cleavage, though it soon began overflowing, thoroughly glazing those milkers.

Pump pump pump. His balls continued contracting, firing blast after blast upon the noblewoman, gallons of his essence covering her now, and with each blast, Namarra felt herself slipping more and more into a state of cumdrunk bliss.

By the ninth and tenth blasts, Namarra was barely recognizable, her entire upper body a cumcoated mess as Meandros continued pumping more fat ropes of jizz onto her, his load landing in her hair to form thick clumps.

Her mouth remained opened through it all, allowing him to blast fat ropes down her gullet, which she eagerly swallowed, moaning as she felt it filling her stomach.

Even as his orgasm began to ebb after nearly twenty massive spurts, Meandros continued grinding his still-rigid cock between her cum-soaked tits, churning his seed into a frothy mess that made obscene SQUISH-SQUISH-SQUISH sounds with each deep thrust. His enormous hand roughly gripped her chin, tilting her cum-drenched face up to meet his gaze.

"That was but a warm-up, whore," he rumbled, cock still hard as mithral between her spunkglazed fuckpillows. "Now, I'm going to properly claim you. I'm going split you wide open and paint your womb white."

Meandros then pulled his hands from the woman's tits, allowing those colossal, cumglazed boulders to fall and plap meatily against her torso. His grip then fell to her waist, which he managed to take a hold of with relative ease, both due to her incredible figure and the sheer size of his hands.

Namarra gasped as she felt him lift her up effortlessly, as though her weight was little more than that of a bag of apples to him.

As she was lifted so, she could feel Meandros's gigantic, still-hard prick slide down between her tits, and against her stomach, leaving a warm, slick trail of his essence upon her skin.

"Please... Please..." she whimpered, repeating the word, unsure if she wished for him to fuck her proper or to release her from his grasp.

Feeling that behemoth getting ever nearer to her soaked pussy made her tremble with fear and anticipation in equal measure.

The minotaur gave an amused chuckle as he lowered her just enough so she could feel the flared head of his throbbing bullcock against her soaked entrance. Even the barest of contacts was enough to make her body quiver in his grasp, those enormous, cum-glazed tits wobbling and shifting obscenely with each tremor that ran through her.

"Nhhuuu~!" she cried out as the minotaur began lowering her onto that colossal shaft, her pussy stretching and stretching around his flared cockhelm. The size of him was overwhelming, and her eyes rolled up into her skull as inch after inch of that oversized, throbbing fuckspire was stuffed into her quivering gash.

She threw her head back as that massive prickhelm bore deeper into her, the inner walls of her cunt squeezing and clenching around that invading cunt-wrecker of a cock. The woman wailed and moaned her ecstasy as she continued her descent, her voice cracking as nearly a foot of that immense meatpole disappeared inside her.

It should have hurt.

Every inch should have been excruciating.

And yet, she felt only bliss as she surrendered to the enormous male, her hands shooting up to her own tits in a futile attempt to stabilize those obscene fuckpillows, cum still dripping from them and onto the floor below.

Hands still wrapped around the noblewoman's slim waist, Meandros's muscles tensed, fighting as he seemed to be against the urge to simply slam himself up into her to the hilt.

That, she knew, would come later.

Her legs dangled for a few moments longer in the air before she lifted them up to wrap around his waist - or, rather, his back, given the size difference between them and the size of his cock.

Impatience getting the better of him, the minotaur loosened his grip, allowing gravity to do its work as Namarra slid down several more inches upon him. Impaled as she was, her mouth fell open as a violent and sudden orgasm ripped through her.

"O-oh... Nnffffu..." she groaned, muscles tensing. Jolts of ecstasy caused her entire body to shudder and her body to jerk about, her fingers squeezing harder against her gigantic tits, those pumpkin-sized twins jiggling about with every one of her pleasure-induced movements.

Their combined essence gushed around their joining onto his thighs and balls, her pussy making obscene squelching noises as he began withdrawing only slightly, only to push himself deeper, forcing from the spasming woman a fair few curses he'd never even heard sailors utter.

The warehouse filled with the symphony of that bestial rutting as Meandros began fucking her in earnest, and his pace would increase steadily, massive hands shifting over to her ass to squeeze those appreciably large globes.

For the briefest of moments, clarity overcame her pleasure-haze, and she found rather peculiar how her guards hadn't burst through the doors at her screams. They were stationed just outside, after all, and surely could hear her wails.

She'd have them flogged later, she decided, though thoughts of punishment slipped from her mind with another devastating thrust from Meandros.

What did any of it matter anyway?

These were meaningless concerns, for she was little else than a warm hole for this magnificent beast, her body existing solely for his pleasure.

That thought sent another surge of arousal through her already-drenched cunt, and she came again. And again still.

Meandros snorted, nostrils flaring as he watched the once-haughty, cold, composed noblewoman reduced to little more than a quivering, drooling mess by his cock. Her magnificent tits, still slick with his previous load, bounced about before him, barely contained by her grasp.

Seeing there an opportunity, the minotaur brought one hand to one breast, his other hand enough to hold her rump as he bounced her on his cock. With what might have been a smirk upon his bovine features, he lifted that breast up to the woman's lips, allowing her, in her cum-drunk state, to begin cleaning herself of the thick layer of spunk that had been blasted upon her.

At long last, the bull hilted himself completely inside her.

Every last inch of him was now stuffed inside her, bulging Namarra's stomach considerably, the outline of his maleness clear beneath her skin.

She couldn't even begin to understand how such a penetration was possible. A gift from the gods? Some quirk of minotaur anatomy?

Who knew? Who cared?

The feeling of that enormous prick stuffed so deep inside her was enough to send her into another climax, shattering what remained of her brain. Her pussy contracted around him in waves, milking his cock as though starved for his seed.

Soon, Meandros was rutting into her hard, despite the gripping strength of her pussy quite nearly shearing his cock off at the base. The wet squelching of that brutal coupling grew louder still, their juices forming a frothy mess that dripped down onto his gigantic, swinging ballsack.

FWAP FWAP FWAP!

He fucked her hard. He fucked her ruthlessly.

And with every thrust, his enormous, cum-laden balls would plap against her ass, his crotch slapping her pussy.

Through it all, and despite her mind going blank, Namarra continued sucking and licking her tits clean of their mess, and when they'd been cleaned properly, Meandros leaned forward to capture one of those fat, thumb-sized nipples between his lips as Namarra's lips held the other.

Namarra, mind reduced to little more than a single point of explosive pleasure, impaled herself again and again upon him, using her legs as leverage to lift herself up and then drop herself, meeting his thrusts with her own desperate movements.

THWAP! THWAP!

"Mmmffaaaa~!!" Namarra's moans vibrated through her own breast as she continued to worship that pink peak, Meandros taking care of the other, with the bull's mammoth dick rearranging her insides with each brutal thrust, fucking her deeper than any measly human ever could.

FWAP FWAP! FWAP!

Wet, sloppy noises echoed all about them as her sopping pussy struggled to accommodate that inhuman girth, the woman cumming and cumming, her brain melting with each successive climax.

Meandros's tongue swirled around her nipples, teeth grazing the sensitive bud ever so slightly, eliciting more wanton moans from the ultra-stacked fuckpuppet impaled upon his throbbing fuckspear.

The minotaur's pace became punishing, and each thrust sent tremors through her entire frame. Each collision of his hips against the fat, round spheres of her ass sent tsunamis of assfat upwards.

As he ravaged her, the beast-man shifted his angle ever so slightly, forcing her back against the splintering crate.

PLAP PLAP PLAP PLAP!

Her pussy, stretched further than it had ever been, gripped and milked his cock, trying oh so desperately to bring him to climax. Frothy, creamy girlcum and precum coated his length as she bounced upon him, now with such fervor that neither of them could keep their mouths upon the bouncing, slapping titmeat of her chest.

Namarra responded eagerly, instinctively to this change in rhythm, her hips rolling to meet each of his thrusts. Despite her pleasure-addled state, she knew what was coming.

She knew he would not last much longer.

Her pussy clenched, then unclenched, again and again, as she came and came and in response, his cock began to swell further, hardening to such degrees she might have had an immovable rod inside her.

FWAP FWAP! Came the slapping of his balls against her ass and thighs, wet and meaty.

Suddenly, and with a particularly savage thrust, the flared head of his cock punched through her cervix, and up into her womb.

The breach of that final barrier, as improbable as it was arousing, sent them both over the edge. Namarra's mouth fell open, her head thrown back as she pressed both her hands to the male's chest, trying at once to impale herself further and to pull herself from that gigantic meatpipe of a dick.

Their bodies went rigid, their muscles locking.

His balls contracted.

And he came inside her.

That initial eruption hit Namarra's innermost depths like a battering ram. Like a bolt fired from a ballista.

Her eyes squeezed shut with overwhelming pleasure, feeling every successive cumblast filling her further, and further still. Cum surged from around the seal of their joining, dripping in fat, goopy gobs onto the floor below, dripping into the cracks between the floorboards...

Meandros grunted, both of them gasping and huffing, with Namarra moaning and cursing, groaning and mewling.

SPRPPPPP! SPRT!

The overflow from her stuffed womb and cunt had become a waterfall by then, cascading down his balls, and their legs.

With each pump of his cock inside her, with each scalding rope of bullcum inside her, Namarra felt her transformation deepening, for she had now become this monster-man's cumdump, his breeding sow, his property.

And it felt so, so perfect.

The sensation of being so thoroughly filled, of being used as little more than a receptacle for Meandros's jizz triggered one final orgasm, cementing this changes in her mind.

She was complete, now, and she released a long, satisfied breath as the male's release began to slow.

Finally satisfied, Meandros pulled her off his softening cock, laying her down onto a nearby divan.

The woman was a mess. Caked in jizz and with a bulging midsection from her stuffed womb, she lay there, blonde hair disheveled and stuck in clumps in places, absently massaging the gigantic peaks of her tits.

"I will keep you as my own, whore. But," he eyed the entrance, where no guards had come, "you will keep up appearances. For a time."

???? ???? ????

"He is quite the specimen, is he not?" Namarra said, moving aside to let her guests take in the sight of her new bodyguard. Her cup held red juice on that eve, rather than the typical red wine she was known to enjoy.

Hiilgauntlet manor was alive with the chatter of nobility, of gossip and of political affairs, and at the center of it all stood Namarra, wearing a gown of orange-and-red, the colours of her family's crest. As was typical of her, she'd worn a creation of silk, with an incredibly daring neckline that put her legendary décolletage on display, creating a shelf of creamy cleavage that commanded attention from across the room.

She'd worn her hair in an elegant updo for the soirée, with loose tendrils artfully framing her face, and her makeup was just as tasteful, with her cheekbones dusted a sunset-hued blush, and her lips a deep crimson.

Most notable to those who knew her well was the subtle but unmistakable curve of her lower abdomen.

"Indeed, he is. Though," Lady Lathkule said, changing subjects, "I must confess, my curiosity is such that I cannot resist asking about the current... condition you appear to be in."

Namarra took a sip from her cup, raising an eyebrow as Lady Lathkule's eyes dropped meaningfully to Namarra's midsection.

"My dear," she replied, "not all alliances are to be announced with trumpets and heralds. All things will be revealed, in time."

"Indeed, indeed," Lady Lathkule agreed, nodding. The woman, older than Namarra by nearly a decade, finished her glass and placed it on a nearby table to be picked up by a passing servant. "Though I must say, do not keep me waiting too long, Namarra."

With those words said, the noblewoman took her leave, and Namarra found herself alone.

Her gaze drifted across the room to where Meandros stood, massive frame dwarfing the other attendees. He'd agreed to wear a full suit of plate mail, and she was glad of it, for the sight of a full-grown minotaur in naught but a loincloth might have caused quite the stir.

At least, with a full set of armour, he seemed a little more civilized. More suited to the tastes of Waterdhavian nobility.

His eyes met hers, and she saw in them a possessive gleam in his gaze.

A gleam that promised much, once the manor was emptied of its guests....