[center][b]Breakfast in the Witch-Lord’s Hall[/b][/center]

[center]By Kaydrien Iceclaw[/center]



Zulgan slurped on the bull shaft, uncaring of the drool that dripped down his chin. The witch-lord of Don’gol slathered around its base with his long tongue to dig under the buffalo thrall’s sheath, drawing a shudder from the slave. No doubt trying to hold back from humping into the witch-lord’s face.

Zulgan would not have cared. He wrapped his uncannily long tongue around inside, digging out the salty male grime from inside the sheath while his throat clung comfortably to the part of the long dick extending into it. With a groan the slave started cumming down his throat, overwhelmed by his master’s oral skill. Zulgan deftly pulled back to hold the tip in his mouth so that he could taste the salty gobbets of buffalo cum, not letting a drop escape and working over the tip hard to drag every last bit out.

The shadowy master of Don’gol pulled away from the penis he had sucked dry. It hung before him without a speck of seed on its surface, though the base half where he had not sucked so greedily still gleamed in the morning light with his saliva. He waved the slave away and motioned the next in line upward.

Zulgan was an unnatural hybrid of bear and bull. Rumor disagreed on whether he had been one and become the other in his dark pacts, or was born that way when all good people took after one side of their family tree or the other. In truth it did not matter. Broad-shouldered and bulky he was a split between the two, a muscular figure with short brown-black hair and a pair of polished horns flanking his carnivorous face. 

And he did [i]eat meat[/i], oh yes. The next slave in line, a rhinoceros stepped forward to present his for the master’s enjoyment, letting go for it to flop heavily horizontal where he had been stroking it to keep himself on edge. The witch-lord did not have infinite time in his schedule to start from scratch each morning on his breakfast. It took fifty slaves every day to produce the male cream which satisfied his hunger.

The line, now down to seven, moved forward behind the rhino as Zulgan extended his tongue to lift the heavy heavy organ into his mouth hands-free. He enjoyed his morning meals as much as anyone else and more than most, delighting in bringing each over the edge to glut himself on their semen. There were potions, philtres that could let a single male sate his hunger, and betimes he would indeed have these fed to a well-endowed slave so that he might take his time on them before gulping down a gallon of jizz in a rush from their fountain. Their balls would ache terribly for days, some small proportion never recovering from having shot a lifetime’s worth of loads all at once. But he liked his variety.

This slave might find himself fed such a sickly-sweet mixture of herbs and more uncanny things in the next day; Zulgan thought he was impressive enough to warrant such attentions. The rhino cock shaded from grey to a dull pink. Smoother than the rest of his skin might suggest, it curved downward at the tip with its odd fleshy petals that ran over his over his tongue pleasingly on the way past and the flat fins that pressed out Zulgan’s cheeks and brushed against his teeth as he pressed into his seated lord’s mouth as was expected of him. The slave stoically did not flinch at the contact. Another point in his favor.

The witch-lord had to make some slight effort to admit the thick flesh into his throat, a rarity. Yes, Zulgan would have to request this one again for something special. The irregularities on the otherwise smooth cock made it easy to track how far down he had swallowed it. Downward, downward. The slave gasped in amazement as he bottomed out. 

He was looking down at the hybrid seated on his ornate dining chair, hunched over to hold the maleness balls-deep in his mouth, still startled at the fit. Then Zulgan dipped forward just a fraction more, nose mashing against the rough grey of the slave’s lower belly and chin nudging his tough sack, and the exotically shaped tip popped right through into the witch-lord’s cum-filled stomach. Deliberately Zulgan swallowed around the intrusive presence, constricting in a wave down it. Once, twice, and the rhino bucked once into the unnaturally flexing esophagus, spilling his sizeable load directly into the emissions of the forty-odd other males Zulgan had already sucked from.

Zulgan extended his broad tongue down over the trembling balls, a slow lick that lifted between the balls and just to the back of the rhinoceros scrotum before he pulled his entire head backward. That tongue pulled the balls wetly a fraction with him before the give was exhausted and the wet organ slid out from under as the slaves spent erection dragged out of his tight throat. He stopped to clean the mixed cum clinging to the cock’s tip with relish, re-tasting all the slaves of the morning, before releasing it.

Two little puncture marks bled freely from the slave’s inner thighs, where his one thrust had caused him to stab himself with the witch-lord’s horns. A small but fitting punishment for being overwhelmed by his own needs when he was serving Zulgan’s. The slaves did not know that he would hardly punish any for such a thing so long as they served his demands first in the process. Let them fear and remember their places. He motioned the slave aside, impassive stare a false threat.

Relieved and disappointed in equal measure to be free of his dark master’s attention and gluttonous maw the rhino slave shuffled off to the side to go back to whatever other tasks awaited him. And Zulgan saw something that caught his attention.

“Stop.”

The rhinoceros froze. Zulgan’s guards stiffened around the room, a half-dozen men in rough black armor hefting the smooth-headed mace-staves of their office (more perhaps for the witch-lord’s amusement than his safety, for surely his wicked powers protected him). 

The next slave in line whimpered.

Zulgan stood and took a half step toward the rhinoceros slave who flinched. He merely rested a hand on the slave’s shoulder and kept the man standing side-on to him. Terrified the rhinoceros did not resist, stock still as the hybrid knelt down and began to lick at the hide of his buttocks and the small of his back.

Lapping up the white smears of cum that had spattered over him unnoticed. His tongue scraped over the rhino’s thick hide, licking up the salty delicacy from the delightfully muscular buttocks. When it was all gone, he straightened and released the attractive rhino’s shoulder.

“Now go.”

The slight hint of amusement in the witch-lord’s rumbling voice might have been imaginary. The sly wink, the rhinoceros thought, must have been. That he had really seen it would be too terrifying if it meant he had really caught his lordship’s attention.

Still better than being the next man in line.

That slave, a goat, was trembling uncontrollably. He desperately jerked at his thin cock, trying to work the spent dick back to life now that he had injudiciously spent himself over the back of the man ahead of him and so cheated his dreaded master. Fear stymied his efforts. His shaft retreated further and further into his sheath so he was now desperately gripping sheath more than erection, working it near-painfully over too-sensitive skin in a fearful attempt to recover and escape retribution.

This was not to be. Zulgan had only to take two steps toward the terrified slave to put him face to face with the goat who was babbling incoherent apologies as he fell to his knees, groveling for the hybrid’s mercy.

“Such a shame.” The hybrid said in his deep baritone.

“My lord, I’m so- I didn’t mean- please forgive me, lord-“

His blithering sobs continued on until Zulgan reached down to tip his chin upward, lifting the tearful face up to meet his gaze. Behind the unlucky slave his fellows had backed away. Not daring to run (two guards had moved to block the ‘dining’ chamber’s main door in any case) but certainly dissociating themselves from the wretch who had earned Zulgan’s displeasure.

“I do so love the taste of goat, and you went and lost control. Look-“ Zulgan directed the shaking goat’s attention to the spot on the floor he had carefully planted his feet- wide paws sporting heavy keratinous black extensions too heavy to be claws and too sharp to be hooves- where streaks of the poor slaves jizz had spilled onto the floor instead of the rhino’s backside. “You’ve wasted it.”

“I tried not to.” The goat whimpered pitifully. “But I was so hard…”

“I’m sure you were.” Zulgan crooned. Like honeyed poison to a starving man, the reassurance was too sweet to be real. “You aren’t allowed to cum for at least two days before coming to me, isn’t that right? Such a long time.”

The goat nodded silently. Two days. Not so long… except that they were teased, and edged, and teased again while they were fed fruit and pineapple between other duties, always observed so that any who failed to control themselves could be punished and made to start again. A hundred and fifty so slaves kept needy at any given time to ensure at least fifty ready for Zulgan’s favored breakfast whether he called for it that day or not. He had been stuck for five, dubious luck keeping his lot from being drawn for either selection or release.

“Tell me your name, slave.”

“…Javaid…” A murmur.

“I am generous, Javaid.” Continued the witch-lord. “I will let you earn forgiveness.”

Javaid started, hope flaring in the goat’s chest as he looked up into his overlord’s face before he remembered his place and averted his gaze, bowing his head to the floor in supplication. “Thank you! Thank you, master. You are the most gracious of lords.”

“Yes.” Zulgan agreed. He stepped aside, hoof-claws clicking on the stone of the floor. “Clean your mess with your mouth, slave.”

Eager to be let off with such a small punishment the goat shuffled forward on all fours, licking at the floor. No more degrading than many fates he could suffer. Not even unfamiliar, for he had been made to clean up after others in this way before a handful of times, lesser witches in Zulgan’s service and those others allowed some small rank to indulge themselves as they would as well as how those above them demanded. He scarcely tasted his own cum let alone the grime of the floor, cleaned regularly but well due for another scrubbing, in his eagerness to oblige.

Zulgan, smiling beatifically, glided in even steps around the goat lapping at his floor. Javaid’s position gave him a lovely angle to appreciate the goat’s bare backside. Fat cream-white buns matched the rest of his clean coat, hair that would barely show cum-stains except for matting down where it dried stickily. The adorably dainty white tail was curled down concealing his asshole, an unconscious self-protective gesture not an intended slight, but was too small to hide the generous fist-sized balls hanging heavy in his hairy scrotum between his legs. Fat and elongated, hanging like obscene fruit just smaller than two fists.

The hybrid wasn’t the only one taking notice, either. All of the other half dozen pent-up slaves still waiting to be either dismissed or drained dry were looking. Some openly, some taking sheepish glances. The two who had not lost track of their duties were having to work quite a bit harder to stroke themselves gently, to stay on edge instead of going over it. Those guards who had a good angle also drank in the sight of plump asscheeks shifting as Javaid crawled over the floor to lap up every bit of his seed from it, but more circumspectly from inside their black helms.

Unaware of the many eyes lingering on his hind end the goat finally managed to lap up the last of his jizz from the cold stone, and searched again over the slab to be sure he had missed nothing. Then he stood, turned, and bowed to the witch-lord. “Thank you. I will sing the praises of your mercy, great one.”

“Yes….” Zulgan agreed amiably. “You will. When you have my mercy.”

He let out a booming chuckle at the moment of startled confusion that flashed over Javaid’s face. “Now that you’ve cleaned up after yourself you can start making it up to me, Javaid. Guards? Get that table.”

“B-but- what…?” Javaid’s eyes were inexorably drawn downward. Zulgan’s male organ had begun to wake to life. “No… No!”

The goat’s eyes widened, fear returned, he started to run. Mace-staves blocked his way.

“Oh yes.” Zulgan laughed, watching the two door guards take the struggling goat by the arms. The strong men were unmoved by his thrashing. Not for a moment did they give the faintest sign of losing their grips on him as they hauled him back into the room. Two more guards moved around to replace them, once more barring the way to the other thralls watching in horror.

More than anything else the witch-lord’s cock proclaimed him a monster. The massive length dangled always unconcealed between his legs, minimal sheath a mere ring of mounded fuzz around his very base. Laughable that any sheath could try to contain the organ that hung to Zulgan’s knees in any case.  It dwarfed the rhinoceros that had left only minutes ago, it dwarfed [i]horses[/i], hand-wide along most of its length with a pair of even broader bulges in the middle and a quarter of the way down. Short fleshy spikes studded shaft above that all the way up to the egglike curve of the head, ameliorated only by the smooth ridge over the ropelike urethra that ran down his front.

Only beasts and other monsters could take that horror. It was said Zulgan pleasured demons in dark rites. Certainly he kept great horses and other large animals for no wholesome purpose, in the care of slaves who were strange and did not look at other people with any interest. Rumors of unwholesome creatures glimpsed in the depths of the palace abounded, that might conceivably receive the witch-lord’s rod.

Of slaves… They whispered of an ill-fated few, kept privately in his vast quarters, broken and unable to move to be used until they expired from that use. Too far gone to care for anything but being filled again until some incautious thrust crushed a vital organ.

Fanciful, perhaps. If more because you would probably die immediately as you ruptured than because one could not envision being broken by it. But those who looked upon the ponderous shaft stirring into erection couldn’t help but imagine the horrible idea.

Pitiless the black-armored guards who had him forced the Javaid face down onto the heavy side-table their compatriots had dragged further into the room. They pinned him down by the shoulders, hips hanging just off the edge of the hard oak. They took no notice of the goat’s shouting and carrying on.

Zulgan strolled around behind, bouncing his monstrous penis in one hand against gravity. It was too heavy to point up on its own, always pointing at an oblique angle downward without additional support. The shaft hardened slowly, pumped full by the witch-lord’s blood. “Quiet down, little slave. This will be a great honor… No? Well I guess we’ll have to do something about that.”

Acting on the implied order a third guard came forward, slipped a length of rope between Javaid’s teeth and tied it in a loop behind his ears as a crude but effective gag. The goat still whined around the cord but formed no more words. 

The witch-lord stepped forward, stepping in past an ineffective kick the slave made without thinking or aiming, and slapped his cock down on the cleft between Javaid’s luscious buttocks. The plump mounds wobbled under the impact, and Zulgan ground the weight over the tail that pressed itself protectively between them. The first gush of precum drizzled out onto the goat’s back-fur and rolled down over his left side to the table.

He reached down to grab the goat’s tail, pulling it upward with his inexorable grip so that his cock rested against its left side, pulled the opposite buttock aside with his left hand and surveyed the goat’s pucker. A neat little pink tailhole, not recently used, maybe not even used at all no matter how unlikely that was here. 

The hand not occupied by the tail slid down to the goat’s hip and the master of Don’gol pulled himself backward. His shaft pulled heavily along Javaid’s asscleft, barbs ruffling his coat as they went, until the smooth head rested just under the goat tail. A lovely feeling just to pull the heavy cock over another living being. Another spurt of pre, more voluminous than most male’s orgasm, drooled onto the goat’s tailbase and down into his crack.

“You have a very fine ass.” Zulgan praised, as if Javaid was not helplessly held to the table. He let loose another stream of pre onto the rear end, the sticky emission flowing down over the goat’s anus and onward over his balls, even falling from there onto the floor once it soaked through his nut-fur. “It will be a pleasure to breed it.”

Javaid’s wordless wailing renewed as best it could around the harsh rope in his mouth, the last hope that he had misunderstood dying. Zulgan ground his cockhead against his tail then eased back, letting it sink by weight and lubrication into his asscrack as much as it could before the witch-lord let that tail fall again. The appendage flattened itself down onto the top of Zulgan’s dick, trying to seal that way against intrusion by futile instinct, and only pressed the cockhead right up against his pre-slicked tailhole.

Zulgan pulled the goats buns apart for better access. He moved slowly, tormenting the slave in rubbing that cockhead against the sensitive anus. Pushing and pressing lazily at the small hole while it oozed even more pre against it. Javaid’s groaning sharpened to a yelp when a rush of that slimy fluid coincided with the battering ram pressing up to his entrance. It squirted right into his rectum, except for a jet that escaped where flesh had not quite sealed to flesh, splashing forcefully against the left guard’s moulded breastplate.

The sudden unexpected feeling of the pre inside him made him kick out again. His insides tried to reject the abrupt intrusion, bearing down without thought or volition. As a result… his ass opened, fractionally. Just enough for the blunt curved tip pressed against it to slide fractionally inward.

Sighing in pleasure, Zulgan didn’t ease up. His head slowly gained ground against the goat’s anus, forcing it open bit by bit by torturous sluggish bit. The muscle was pulled as far as it had ever gone and then further until finally it reached the edges and steady pressure forced it in a handspan all at once. 

Javaid screamed. A short sharp jet of cum was forced out of his fear-softened prick onto the table surface from lack of room rather than pleasure. The goat’s prostate had been slammed by the head of his master’s penis in the sudden entry, flattened and emptied of his last ready-made reserves.

“There.” Zulgan acknowledged in smug satisfaction, and resumed the gradual press forward with his hips. Row upon row of soft- thank the gods, [i]soft[/i]- barbs filed through the defeated ring, making it ripple around them as Zulgan fed himself inward. He was still steadily erupting precum into Javaid’s innards, smoothing the way forward. The lubrication was inadequate to keep it from being a painful unnatural stretch as his bowels opened over the battering ram of a penis, already conquering the first bend and forcing the colon to straighten inside him. The only mitigating factor was that this ponderous thing had not grown much larger with erection, only harder.

“Stop going on so. I will keep you from ripping.” The hybrid said conversationally. He need not have bothered, as the slave he was increasingly embedded in was too lost in pain to control his vocalizations regardless of whatever dark magic kept his bowels from tearing open as they should under such an assault. But he did hear. “You will carry my get for your wastefulness.”

Shock stopped Javaid’s fruitless struggles altogether, easing the jobs of the guards holding him momentarily. The other slaves still standing forgotten to witness the brutal buggery gasped as well. Zulgan would do what? [i]Could[/i] do that? To another male? At the witch-lord’s demand no true female ever entered his presence, nor the inner chambers of his citadel, to better serve his desires. If he was not merely being poetic, he not only did not want but did not need women for any reason.

It was only a momentary distraction for the penetrated goat. With Zulgan’s cock spearing ever deeper into his insides his attention was fully occupied, leaving no room even for regret at the one stroke too many that had put him here in the first place. To his dismay amidst the pain he felt when the barbs thinned then ended, and the shaft started to thicken once more beyond its already absurd girth.

The two great bulges of his lower cock were not knots. Where a knot stayed soft until a fuck was well underway to lock a canine stud into his bitch these were part of the whole, as hard as all the rest of the enormous penis. Javaid’s anus at first refused to surrender further than it already had, which bunched the most giving outer layer of cockflesh up to wrinkle at the widening of the knob. Zulgan hummed pleasurably at that, a sensation he appreciated greatly. And, of course, merely pressed a little harder until the pressure forced Javaid’s ass to give again.

This repeated the bunching up of his dick skin a little further up the bulge until that was engulfed again too. A third time, and then abused ring crested the bulge and slid down to the slightly narrower spot between, another sudden increase in the depth he was penetrated that made him scream again around the gag.

“You’re already making such a good breeding slave.” Zulgan pressed onward. The hybrid was squeezing the goat’s buttocks, rubbing them against the sides of his second knob even as it began to press into the slave’s defenseless hole. “I’m almost there… Unf! No, not almost.”

With another quick slide he had bottomed out in his fucktoy, drawing forth another scream. Impossibly the forearm-sized penis had lodged all of itself inside the hapless goat, nudging right up against Javaid’s ribs through the length of intestine it had forcefully straightened. Under the stretched hole his sizeable nuts were pressed into the edge of the table by an even larger pair, dominated in mimicry of their owner.

The witch-lord paused to take satisfaction in achieving full penetration. He moved his hands upward to the goat’s sides, rubbing with his thumbs in the small of the white back. More pressure with one thumb, dragging upward, he collected the smear of his own pre that he had only minutes ago trailed over that pure white coat, and raised it to his lips. He savored his own taste, redolent with corrupt magic.

“Now we can start the fun part.”

He pulled backward. The barbs and knobs alike hauled back on Javaid’s insides. Perhaps the evil cock should have pulled the goats intestines out along with it, but either Zulgan’s pre-ejaculate was up to the task of lubricating his exit or, having been reshaped by the huge visitor’s rude passage, those innards could not be persuaded to budge from their new configuration. Only a fingerwidth of anus came along with it, relinquishing the slab of dick only with the greatest reluctance.

Zulgan drew back far enough to release both knobs to the air. Shiny with his own pre and goatish ass-slime, they did not stay long before he pressed inward once more. He started slowly, which was still fast enough to wrench Javaid’s hole open faster than it was ever made for.

The hybrid picked up his pace. Loosened beyond the realms of possibility the wet hole was permissive of more speed than it had been at first and Zulgan began to truly fuck his slave. The pain, unthinkably, began to fade from incapacitating to harrowing, and from harrowing to tolerable. Javaid wondered dazedly, now he had enough breathing room to wonder, if his capacity for pain was simply exhausted.

Whatever the reason other sensations began to surface from where they had been submerged in agony. The bull-bear’s bulges mashed his prostate on each increasingly forceful thrust. The gland was mostly empty (and thankfully for the table’s finish, his nearby bladder entirely so) but he became aware that he was slowly leaking from his sheath onto the hard wood in double-time to Zulgan’s railing. A mockery of an orgasm that ran backward, forcing the flow from cause to effect in a reverse-wise buildup of pleasure. In counterpoint Zulgan’s balls were gaining enough swing to start battering his balls against the table’s edge. The intensity of the fullness confused his senses, made that feeling settle between pleasure and pain- about two thirds of the road toward pain.

At least a few others were taking some measure of gratification as well. In Javaid’s peripheral vision the guards, two matched jackals of improbable build, were having a reaction of their own: As depraved as their master, their codpieces were pressed out and away from their bodies by the erections growing under them. As far as the straps securing those directly to their ballsacks would allow, at least.  

The armor’s design made this even more vulgar than it might have been. Those crotch-plates were suggestively shaped, molded to resemble a sheath and balls like what they might protect. Much as the breastplates were shaped after exquisite masculine musculature. Like everything in Don’gol the guard’s uniforms served Zulgan’s desires, right down to the way it exposed their buttocks and shaved balls from behind.

Javaid did not have long to think on this as the discomfort of his insides being stirred shifted increasingly toward an implicitly [i]wrong[/i] pleasure that could come only from one’s organs being misused in a viscerally uncanny fashion. Zulgan was panting above him, a sound that reeked of indulgence rather than fatigue. 

He picked up the pace, stirring the slave’s insides ever more roughly and building that unnatural pleasure higher. Eventually Javaid reached a sort of plateau where he was tortured by a quasi-climax that went on continuously, had been going on continuously for some time, and to which pleasure had finally caught up. It was too much. His whimpering resumed around the gag, terrible joy in vocal form.

Possibly those sounds triggered the witch-lord’s release. If not, the mere fact of a goat whose tight innards had literally been reshaped to fit his devastating cock perfectly was surely an adequate explanation.

Zulgan released a triumphant bellow and gushed forth his load into the bend now just below the goat’s sternum. His ejaculation was enormous, a fit to the rest of his male attributes, geysering into lengths of Javaid’s bowels not yet molested from the inside. It hurt again when the unending release strained each new length before forcing past the next bend, only to repeat at each corner and teach Javaid new and unthought of things about his internal anatomy. 

The pain stripped at the pleasure. Ironically, the euphoria was once again cut down to something his mind could encompass, flooding him with a rotten gratification that ate away at his consciousness even as his guts flooded with unnatural hybrid cum and expanded, gradually lifting his ribs and hips half a handspan off of the table.

Zulgan was done. He stepped back, pulling out. Javaid’s asshole let go reluctantly, unable to credit that it could exist emptied. When the head cleared the gluttonous rim a slosh of cum, cream swirled with twisting unearthly grey, followed out onto the floor. It did not go on after that. The rest was trapped, wedged behind the crimp he had left at the apex of the straight tunnel he had made of Javaid’s colon.

He was satisfied by the sight. White balls dripping tainted cum. Abused anus making a doomed effort to close around empty air, the entrance to a spacious tunnel of meat. Resting on a stomach bulged out with his seed. Javaid was silent except for his breathing.

“Roll him over.”

The guards obliged, before stepping back gingerly as they could to spare their confined erections. Zulgan caressed the goat’s belly, already looking pregnant once it sloshed to a stop.

“Good. You look so sweet like that, full with my child.”

Javaid did not respond at all. The goat was only nominally conscious at this point, thought scrubbed out of him by the intensity of sensation.

“I have matters to attend to.” Zulgan announced matter-of-factly. He turned to stride out of the room, erection swinging in an oblique downward angle ahead of him while it sluggishly drained to softness. With a hand he waved offhandedly at the other six slaves, standing in terrified sexual awe off to the side, each of them hard as a piece of bronze between their legs. The witch-lord had that effect on his lesser. “Cut that rope and let these others feed him. He will need his strength to carry my child. You may amuse yourselves as well.”

 Javaid’s dim awareness noted the release of pressure on his jaws, soon replaced by soft flesh. He sucked, and did not protest when the shaft pressed further in. What use a gag reflex when one could be so completely filled? His had resigned from the futility of its existence.

At his other end another cock hovered inside him. The guard- for it was a guard, though Javaid was hours to days from being able to appreciate even such a simple concept again- growled in frustration that he could barely touch the edges of the loosed hole, and gave up on that. A moment later the round steel head of his mace-stave pushed easily into the hole, and the guard reamed him with his weapon.

What might eventually reassemble itself of Javaid’s mind dimly approved. That hole was cavernously lonely, otherwise.

[center]--- A Different Morning, Some Months Later ---[/center]

Zulgan swallowed the last pump of gazelle cum from the slave in front of him. The male had a disappointing girth, but he had made up for it with the volume and flavor of his spunk. So the witch-lord sent him onward, without making any special orders. He might have the gazelle improved by one of his apprentices if he ran across the slave again, or might not, as the whim took him. 

He was just to turn his attention to the next in line, a deliciously hung looking zebra who might be almost as long as Zulgan was, when a sharp gasp from beside him interrupted his train of thought. Starting, he looked down.

The pure white-coated goat Javaid sat on a cushion beside his chair. He was bloated now with pregnancy rather than cum. A minor annoyance, for Zulgan had not felt it wise to penetrate the goat with more than his cockhead for some time. Javaid begged for more than that in between begging not to be fucked at all either for the sake of the child or for some shred of resurfacing self-image, which was more bothersome than the demands of his master’s libido. For if Zulgan wished (as he frequently did) he could visit his menagerie and bury himself in a fine feral stallion, or antelope, or stranger beast still.

Now Javaid, who drifted in and out of enthusiastic acceptance of his state, was clutching at the enormous bulge of his middle, trembling. “I… I’m…”

He had Zulgan’s full attention. The hybrid rested a hand on his head, steadying the half-maddened slave. “Is the child coming, sweet little breeder?”

Javaid gazed off into the distance, and a contraction forced itself through his muscles. His answer assembled itself in the wake of that. “Yes. I’m going to have your baby.”

Joy. Something shaped like joy.

“Lie down then. Let him out.” 

The goat obeyed, almost falling backward before the guard assigned to the witch-lord’s favored slave caught him and lowered him more gently onto his back on the cushion. A soft-edged hubbub washed through the assembled slaves and even the normally stony-faced guards. They would be witness to this unnatural birth.

Javaid’s anus had never recovered its former tightness, of course. Now it was only mostly closed, a puffy rose ring of trained muscle that allowed a slight passage of air at all times. It promptly bulged outward in the shadow of Javaid’s balls, smooth membrane visible in the gap. The child was not taking its time, that was for certain.

The goat let out a distressed groan, face twisting into an indeterminate expression. Between his legs his cock hardened rapidly, still dangling downward- his masters attentions had at some early point broken or stretched some internal mooring beyond use, and even when fully hard Javaid’s maleness hung at the mercy of gravity. Especially after Zulgan had had his sheath removed, the better to see this novelty whenever it appeared. The broken cock sprayed cum down to soak paint a generous splodge of the silk cushion white, and further to splatter on the ground.

“Relax, my little goat.” Zulgan encouraged sweetly. The witch-lord reached between his legs to stroke himself to hardness. With skillful timing he caught his initial splash of precum in his cupped hand, and lowered it down to slather it over the slaves ruined asshole. It glistened there over pink flesh and added sheen also to the amniotic sack bulging out from the center. “This will help. Shh, shhh.”

Javaid tried to hold in his moans, alternately pained and sickly pleasurable. The child mashed against his prostate harder than anything had done for months now. A sensation he craved even when it overwhelmed him with too much. He emptied his prostate all over the floor again and again with the contractions until he ran fully dry.

Zelgan’s strange pre did help. The goat’s asshole opened, slowly in pain-pleasure, around the babe and its translucent sack. Gaping wider around the child being born than he had even around its father’s penis he screamed as the babe’s shoulders pressed through. And from there it was all downhill.

The child spilled out much as that wash of cum had in his impregnation, thoroughly ruining the silk of the cushion as the birthsack tore, spilling Zelgan’s child out onto the soft fabric.

It was (extremely) male. There was never any question that Zulgan’s spawn would be male. Zulgan’s tremendous virility would demand it, and of course the ‘mother’… well. A child could not but take after its parents. Species was less identifiable.

Like his warlock father it was a weird mix. Slate-grey fur, with a carnivorous muzzle. The nubs of two horns, looking to someday take after his male mother’s species, poked from his short infant fur. His proportions seemed… ever so faintly off to onlookers as Zulgan picked up the squalling infant to cradle him against his chest (and not just in terms of being so… obviously… masculine from birth). But baby fat and the adult’s hardwired affection for large eyes in a round face might excuse a multitude of sins yet to be.

“Strong lungs.” Chuckled the witch-lord, offering one finger to the babe. It bit hard enough to draw blood. “We shall have to think of a good name for you.”

An incoherent moan echoed up from the floor, where Javaid was still lying. Insensate, as he had a tendency to be after he had been milked dry from the inside. “…baby…”

“Yes. You did well. I shall have to think of what to do with you now.” Zulgan didn’t look down at the addled goat. “Perhaps this little one could use a brother… or perhaps not.”

He settled back into his seat, still holding the strange infant tenderly. “Come, feed the happy mother here. I will eat after I have acquainted myself with my son.”

The line of slaves subtly reoriented itself, the hung zebra stepping toward the limp Javaid while the goat’s guard lifted him to a sitting position so he could be face-fucked more conveniently. Don’gol had an heir.



[center]The End[/center]