Bred & Betting

Dacius freezes in the doorway of the arena, his nostrils suddenly filled with the scent of the sand in the arena, and more than that, the other smells too -- the iron and copper from blood spilled in the last bout, the thickness of sweat on the air, men's sweat and animal musk and dust from the beastmen's feathers, their furs, their bristles, their hairy coats.

"Go, slave," growls the enforcer in his ear, though he doesn't crack the whip -- he knows that it isn't disobedience that makes Dacius freeze in his place, is not insubordination.

He can hear the roar of the crowds in the arena stands, hear people screaming and cheering, whistling and calling and crowing, spinning noise makers and blowing on horns. The sound is so loud and so cacophonous as to be almost like a wall he cannot pass through, and he stumbles but works his way through it, walks forward and feels the sand under his feet.

The grains that touch him through his sandals are hotter here than through the gates, the sun having warmed them.

He is a taster, Braco had told him when his name had been drawn from the pot -- he will not die here on the sands, will not be harmed beyond cuts and bruises and the bulge of his come-stuffed belly.

"If you're very lucky indeed," one of the other trainers had told him, scarcely able to hold in his laughter, "you'll come away from this ploughing of the ages with the furrow in your belly sown with seed. You won't be made to fight in the arena at all, if you prove fertile -- they'll display you on the balcony beneath the emperor's, ply you with food and fine wine and pleasant potions as pups grow and mature inside you. They'll bet not on your loss or victory, or the manner in which you'll die, but on what brood will crawl out of your cunt when the time comes."

He'd finally laughed, then, and slid his hand over the back of Dacius' neck, squeezing, pressing his thumb down between Dacius' shoulders and making him let out a breathless noise as Braco had rolled his eyes.

"Will that, um," he'd managed to say, stumbling on the words, and Braco had met his gaze.

"The labour and birth too," Braco had confirmed, "before the crowd in the arena."

The shield is too heavy on his arm, and he isn't used to walking with a spear in his hand -- it's too long for him, and too heavy too in contrast to his usual dagger. He is normally a performer in amongst the lesser-trained chorus, dances and sings and gyrates before the crowds with a mask on his head, hiding his face.

They are laughing at him as he moves into the centre of the sands, but not just laughing -- they are crowing and jeering, and he might not be a brothel whore anymore, the place of his birth, maturity, and manhood absorbed by the state to repay its debts, but even with too much sound on all sides to make out the specifics of the language, he is experienced enough to recognise the tone.

It is desirous. Lustful. Triumphant.

The men and women in the stands around him will wank themselves raw tonight to the mere sight of him in the leather lacing that covers his body, that weaves and knots over his thighs, his chest, around his arse.

The cheers explode into a deafening roar as the gates to his each side and before him open and the beastmen rush out -- giant wolfmen with rippling chests, their tails sticking out from beneath their armour to let them keep their balance; gnolls wearing only harnesses over their breasts, wielding great axes and huge swords; lizard men with shining scales, weaving as they move, rapid of step and with the flares about their heads flickering.

Dacius doesn't even know which of the huge, hulking warriors about him who flicks the spear out of his hand, nor throws the shield from his arm. It happens so quickly it could easily have been one man or two, but it matters not.

He is stripped of his defences in half the time it takes to blink his eye, and in half that time again, he is swept from his feet and into the air.

He howls with pleasure as one of the snake men sinks the length of his tongue deep into his arse with no warning, no pause, no thought beforehand. He goes from being empty to full in a heartbeat, feels the slick, cool twist of the snake man's tongue within him, coiling against his inner walls, and he wails as he draws up his knees and presses them together automatically.

He hears a barking laugh to his right, another to his left, and a hand sweeps behind his knees and pushes them upwards, giving the reptilian tongue greater freedom to tongue his arse, even as another tongue sloppily drags over his cock and his open cunt; at the same time, he feels slightly dizzy as his head is suddenly tipped backwards, his blood rushing to his head as his body is suspended upside down between warrior men on all sides.

He lacks the time to see which warrior comes forwards -- gods above, they all move so bloody fast -- but he knows it to be a cat man's by the rough spines that drag slickly against his cheeks, his chin. He braces himself for it, braces himself for the ragged drag of its cock over his tongue, into his throat, but it doesn't come.

The cat man hisses as he's wrestled aside by another, and upside down feeling a wicked tongue curl impossibly through his guts, he watches as best he can, hears leather and metal clank and creak as different men tackle one another, shove one another, hears grunts and short laughs and one man growl, "You bastard, you had the throat of the last one!" and another retort "And you had his cunt!" and that makes many of them laugh at once.

A cock slides into his mouth, over his tongue, into his throat, and his overwhelmed moan is suddenly muffled by the slickness of it, the thickness, tasting strangely sweet.

This cock is tapered, and he smells bird dust and oil as the cock sinks into him to the root, and it spends itself immediately, leaving Dacius swallowing desperately around it, wondering that it finds its way down his throat when he's not the right way up.

He's flipped over as the bird man pulls away, and with teary eyes he looks blearily between the crowd of men about him, and then the beastmen carrying him toss him forward and into the arms of another.

"What?" Dacius manages to choke out, his hands falling against this great man's gargantuan, oiled breast, feeling the weight of the muscles in his pecs, touching the golden rings that hang from his nipples. "None of you going to fight him and wrestle for this privilege?"

The bull man is the biggest of all these warriors, and Dacius can feel the head of his hard cock nudging against his arse, his thigh, slick at its head. He laughs, his breath huffing hot against Dacius' face, pushing back the curls that had fallen over his forehead.

"I won this privilege in advance," the minotaur tells him, squeezing his arse in an impossibly broad hand: he has a surprisingly soft, delicate voice for being so big, quite deep, but not very loud. His hands each slide up to grip Dacius around the waist, and Dacius obediently spreads his thighs apart, the insides of his knees resting against the bull man's hips.

As he drops down a few inches, his arse resting against the heavy muscle of the minotaur's thighs, he thinks that he's still wearing his leather skirts, still armoured, because there are multiple things nudging between his legs -- multiple heavy weights, multiple...

"Good gods," Dacius whispers, staring at the twin cocks standing up between his legs, one on top of the other. His empty cunt wetly clenches around the air, and he whimpers as the minotaur nudges the two round heads of his cocks against his holes, once against his greedy cunt and the other against his arse, open from all the vigorous tonguing of one of his compatriots.

"They are good, aren't they?" asks the huge bastard holding him, smiling, and then Dacius is slowly dragged down onto his twin pricks. He screams in pleasure as he's split right open, feeling each prick sink deeply into his holes, filling his arse and filling his cunt at the same time.

The minotaur's hands easily cover wrap around his waist, and Dacius is powerless to do anything but take it as the minotaur pulls him down all the way to the root, both his cocks sheathed inside him. Dacius sees the bulge of his belly from all the cock stuffed into him, feels the ridiculous stretch, feels so spread wide he just can't stand it, can't bear it. There's sweat all over his skin, on his cheeks, on his chest, and he can see the leather bands that criss-cross over his belly forced to stretch by the minotaur's twin pricks, delving into his arse and sinking deep into his cunt at the same time.

For a few moments, he was blind and deaf to everything, distracted by the way his body is being cored out and used by the warrior holding him as if he's -- because he is -- merely a toy.

Now, he's aware of the audience cheering and roaring their approval at the way he's being mercilessly fucked, at the way the minotaur holding him is throwing back his head and lowing loudly in pleasure as he powerfully thrusts his hips forward. Dacius can feel the heavy weight of his bollocks clapping against his arse cheeks, is dizzy with pleasure and need and sheer, overwhelming sensation, and the roar of the crowd is a roar in his ears, his cock twitching and jumping as he clenches and flutters around the warrior filling him.

Another of the warriors comes forward, a shadow behind him, and the minotaur helpfully leans Dacius further backward. With trembling, greedy, eager hands, he rests them on the new warrior's thighs, opens his mouth, and moans as slick, pink, shiny cock slides over his lips and over his tongue and into his throat.

He can feel his throat bulging with it, smell the wolfman's scent, his nose buried against the folds of his cock's sheath, and his moan is muffled as he presses his fingers into the thick fur of the wolfman's thighs, kicking out his own feet, spreading his own wide as he's filled in every single hole at once.

The minotaur's voice might be soft when he speaks, but now his roar is as loud as a thunderclap as he grips so tightly at Dacius' waist that he'll have fingertip bruises banding his middle for days, and at the same time the wolfman's knot is swelling on his tongue and gagging his mouth, and there's hot, rushing come pumping down his throat and into his stomach, and there are two cocks spurting more hot come into his guts, into his womb, and he's ripening like a berry on the vine.

He couldn't string two thoughts together if he wanted to, and he doesn't want to -- he swallows around the thick come pumping down his throat and grunts and whines and shudders and quakes, feels the obscene stretch of his bulging belly as he's held fast and plugged by the werewolf knot holding him in place by his mouth and pistoned into from the other side.

He imagines it, being up on the plinth beneath the emperor on display beneath the lights, magical screens clearly displaying him all around the arena's sides, his belly filled and growing, the flesh shifting as the beast babes within kick and turn over. He imagines his chest swelling, imagines the warriors coming along to grip and tug and play with his aching, puffy nipples, teething at them to squeeze fresh milk out of him, and imagines the labour, too -- imagines his screams and wails and the sweat on his skin, imagines the agony of it, perhaps pierced on one of these warriors' cocks as they help work him to orgasm and help his labour along.

Perhaps this minotaur will help his own young out of Dacius' cunt, one of his cocks forced into his arse and the other slickly grinding against Dacius' back, a young calf wrestling its way out of his open cunt before the laughing, baying crowd, bred with the next warrior babe before he even has time to catch his breath.

He can feel it sloshing in him, feel all the come frothing and pumping through his bowels, filling his womb, filling him. He feels himself gag, his stomach so stuffed full from both ends that his body roils and tries to rebel against it, but there's nowhere for it to go with the knot filling his mouth -- the tiniest trickle of it escapes and bubbles and drips down his cheek and into the sand before he's able to swallow the rest of the rebellious stuff down again.

He can hear the movement of the liquid in him over the baying crowd, and he hears in his own ears too his whine of disappointment, of loss, of agonising emptiness when the minotaur pulls away and another warrior comes to take his place, a cock shorter than the minotaur's but much thicker around forcing his cunt to open up to it.

He wonders if they're going to plug his arse because he can feel himself gaping, feel the drip out of him, but nobody does -- an insectile fighter reaches tentacles around the cat man dragging his penile spines over the walls of Dacius' cunt and sinks his tentacles into his arse, he yelps at the plunge back and forth of the tentacles against one another and against his arse's sides, rubbing up against the cat man's cock through his own innards at the same time.

The bug man wraps another tentacle around his cock and tugs on it, squeezes, and Dacius screams as his orgasm crashes over him in a sudden wave, his cunt clenching so tightly and fluttering so intensely that it hurts, that it aches, and he is so, so full and it feels so so good he almost fucking blacks out.

"Bet you when all this is over he'll be carrying a belly full of my kits," rumbles the cat man fucking his cunt, and Dacius whimpers as he feels a broad, warm hand stroke over his heavy belly, so heavy he can feel the weight of it.

"My seed will out," says the minotaur's voice. "But waste your money if it pleases you. You'll be able to tell from what we milk from his udders, anyway -- my calves within him will encourage a creamier crop from his tits than your kittens ever could."

A dizzy wave rushes over him as, somehow, impossibly, the last of the blood left in Dacius' head speeds down to his cock.

His jaw is aching as the wolfman's knot finally deflates and he draws back -- he's tipped upwards, and it's the minotaur who pours water down his throat, makes him swallow it even though it hurts, even though he's so full, even though his belly is cramping and his stomach aches from all the liquid in him.

The minotaur kisses him, leaving him breathless and giggling in surprise, before the soft brush of his lips is replaced by a horse cock instead.

* * *

"Do you think I might be pregnant?" asks Dacius blearily afterwards -- it's barely fucking comprehensible, his jaw and all the rest of his bones feel like jelly. He'd been brought out of the arena on a stretcher, and now he's lying on his belly without being able to reach the ground with his fingertips or even his toes, and all the come of the day is slowly, slowly draining out of him and into the grate of the baths beneath them.

"I'd even bet money on it," says Braco dryly, and Dacius laughs even though it makes the weight within him slosh and bubble.