The Minotaurs Underling

Tags/themes: Nonhuman foot fetish, foot worship, oral sex, gay male, male/male, control, corruption, fear, fantasy, horror, dubious consent, monster, masturbation, light bondage

___

The torches crackled as they illuminated the interior of the large cave, their light flickering against the walls they were mounted on. Even if I could have freed myself from my chains and reached my phone, sitting in my equipment bag at the far side of the room, I was certain that it would have been impossible to get a signal enough to call for help.

Pursing my lips, I used my fingers to press a rough cloth against the monster's massive cloven hoof, which he had propped up on a crude, yet sturdy footstool. As I worked, the chain connecting my neck shackle to the footstool swayed slightly between my wrists. The only thing I had the privilege of wearing, that is. At the very least, I was afforded a small animal skin rug to kneel on.

While there were already relatively few ambient sounds in the monster's lair, this was the only thing I was allowed to focus on. To the best of my ability, I was forced to tune out any distractions, including the sound of the torches, the monster's gruff breathing, or the occasional orders he barked to his gaggle of mindless, unholy minions that drifted in and out of his lair.

What did I get myself into. How did I fuck up like this. I picked around the edge of the monster's hoof, pressing my fingernails through the thick cloth to remove as much caked-on dirt and dust as I could, revealing more of the dull black color underneath it. The dirt had no doubt accumulated on them during his routine excursions out of the lair, with his weapon in hand and army of minions in tow. I wondered who or what may have been helplessly trodden underneath those things whenever he was out there, but kept chained as I was inside the lair, I had no way of seeing for myself.

Did I even want to know? At any rate, I had lost track of how long I had been trapped in that place. He had never once let me leave, having held me captive deep in the bowels of the network of caves ever since I encountered him.

Either way, I should have considered myself lucky. It seemed I had opened a veritable Pandora's box after discovering the small chest buried in the dirt in the woods I was tasked with surveying. The corporate client I was working for was intent in clearing a large chunk of the land out in preparation for the construction of a large office complex and a hotel.

These woods were ancient, considered sacred by some, with many stories swirling around it of being protected by all manner of strange, magical creatures and cryptids. Eventually, however, it was decided that for the sake of progress, society cannot allow itself to be held back forever by the mystique of old urban legends.

Progress. That's what mattered. And profits too. Anyway, what did I care. I was just doing my job. It's just that opening the chest and accidentally unleashing the terror from the ancient enchanted artifact concealed within was not part of my job description.

Occasionally, while working on his hooves, I would peek up to steal a glance at the beast's massive, muscular form, nestled as he was in his large throne that dominated the interior of the cavernous lair. Flanking his throne was a pair of masts made out of long, gnarled branches, slightly less tall than the beast himself, adorned with tattered banners with faded logos impressed upon them in black ink. And at the tops, a variety of bones and animal skulls.

If I looked up enough, I might glimpse his large, ivory-colored horns, pointed up towards the ceiling. Or, if not so high up, his dark black eyes, his blunt, round muzzle, or his thick lips which exposed rows of massive, yet flat teeth whenever they briefly parted.

Down further, I might see his arms with the studded leather bracers wrapped around them, coupled perhaps with the large weapon he might be stroking or cleaning, usually a mace, club, or axe. Or, the red loincloth he was wearing with the metal skull on the front, which I knew concealed its own obscene, terrifying "monster" underneath. And no matter where I looked, it was always easy enough to see the shiny brown fur he was covered with from head to toe.

He caught me glancing up. I froze. He leaned over and growled menacingly, showing his large teeth. Quickly, I dropped my gaze and continued working.

Lousy creature. Won't even let me take my attention off this task for a solitary goddamn minute. Even so, he belonged in the realms of the video and card games I used to play. You know, in

fantasy

. Not actually materalized, sitting all high and mighty in that hideous throne, ripping me away from my previous life only to lord over me and keep me enslaved to his whims with a chain around my neck.

But I dared not vocalize those misgivings. Much to my chagrin as this situation was, I forced myself to suppress the urge to grumble or complain. And even when seemingly content and relaxed in his throne, he still leered over me, leaving me constantly on edge and in fear that I could slip up at any moment.

Sighing, I continued to press between his hoof toes with my thumb, using the coarseness of the canvas to rub them. Using the cloth, I continued to buff its hard exterior and clean it as best as I could. I used my thumb to press against its underside where most of the dirt was, watching it flake off into little chunks, and making sure to give some attention to the tight space between the toes.

It continued to baffle me how he could stand upright on those things. His heavily muscled form easily must have weighed at least a thousand pounds, if not substantially more.

So in my former life, I was a surveyor, a job that required some amount of education. That was, at best, on hold for the time being, replaced with this simple, mindless task that virtually anybody could do. Why he had me do this of all things, I don't know. Was I supposed to "survey" his hooves, for God's sake? Anyway, I had no experience that would lend myself to understanding hoof care. I wasn't a farrier. I believed he was simply cruel and wanted to humiliate and dominate me.

At the same time, I suppose I should have been grateful that this was

all

he decided to subject me to. Perhaps, he wanted to show mercy. Or perhaps not.

After what felt like an eternity of slow, meticulous cleaning, he gave a brief, satisfied snort as he eventually withdrew the hoof. Not before slipping the other one out towards me, however. So I took that one and began rubbing it vigorously, cleaning it off as well, moving the cloth from the sharp edge of the bottom all the way up to where it met the fur of his leg and back down again. I pressed the cloth around the smooth outer wall, moving it up and down and then in small circles.

And like before, I then rubbed its underside with my thumb tips, extracting as much of the dense, spongy dirt as I could until the cloth glided against the newly-smooth surface, all while forced to stare at the bottom of that thing in the process. How profoundly degrading it was, having to service these things. By this point too, my hands were beginning to tire, and I wished I had had some kind of tool to use other than my fingers.

Now, I mentioned that I had to tune everything else out when I worked, right? But it was surprisingly easy to do that. Being the detail-oriented type, my initial scattered, grudging reluctance had a tendency to give way to a certain hyperfixation on this task. Slowly, I became lulled into it and developed a sort of tunnel vision when I slid the cloth around the hoof to remove the bits and pieces of dirt here and there. It became oddly soothing, and comforting, even. And in some way, it felt as if part of me was becoming obsessed with this duty, feeling a strange compulsion to carefully make everything just perfect for him.

It drove me crazy. I couldn't help it. He was my captor, after all. And if my attention did happen to wander, he would inch the thing towards me ever so slightly, just enough to have it grab my attention again. So that hoof was constantly front and center in my mind. I felt like a slave to those fucking things, and I could not stop working on them.

So despite my growing physical fatigue, I felt compelled to go over the hoof even more slowly and carefully, pressing and rubbing against it with my fingers through the heavy cloth. Over and over, making sure the monster was well taken care of. And most of the dirt was gone by now, yes, but I had to be extra, extra sure. Those things needed to be polished, spotless. His enemies needed to be able to faintly see their sorry reflections in them as he stood victoriously over them.

These things were hideous and brutish, yet exotic and powerful too. They commanded respect. What an honor it was to be in this servile position, doing this very important job that I was exquisitely well-suited for. How grateful I should have felt for this privilege, no,

would

feel...

I paused briefly, then blinked and quickly shook my head. Where was that thought even coming from. Why was I acting like this, and feeling like this, for that matter. What was happening to me.

He turned and growled, barking orders at his army, a ghoulish collection of ethereal, skeletal creatures and twisted, demonic-looking things, briefly startling me. He spoke sparingly in deep, guttural grunts as though his mouth was not quite designed for human speech. Either way, those minions would ensure nobody would disturb these ancient lands again the way I had, and the way my firm wanted to. And if anyone did, and was discovered during these creatures' patrols, I could only imagine the grim fate they would have met.

When would I get to step outside of these caves and see the aftermath of the destruction they had wrought? I wondered if he would let me leave when he decided he was finished protecting the forest, and he ascertained every last threat to have been driven away from it. A threat that, by his assessment, I was no doubt a part of too.

Eventually, I had done everything I could with the cloth and gently set it down on the footrest. Slowly, I glanced up at the monster and timidly offered, "Master, your hooves are finished."

He looked down at them, his black eyes gazing over their surfaces. Eventually he shook his head and slid one of his hooves closer to my chest. I was wrong, then? Slowly, he lifted it up and pressed the hoof's pointed tips underneath my jaw, closing it while also lifting my head slightly in the process.

Oh, goodie.

He slid it up in front of my chin and closer to my face, sticking its tips up to my mouth. I could feel its hard underside rubbing against my chin as it made its way upwards. Feeling a spike of nervousness, not to mention the gentle swirlings of all kinds of strange, conflicting emotions, I squirmed in place, reaching up to grab the large bone just above the hoof as its tips invaded my lips.

The monster looked down at me wordlessly, just letting out another soft, derisive snort. I knew what he wanted, and he knew I knew. As he leered down at me with his penetrating eyes, I gulped, holding his large leg in both of my hands, feeling a curious mixture of fear, disgust, and arousal.

After a bit of hesitation, I eventually swallowed. Flicking my tongue out, I let it slide over the outside edge of the hoof and over its pointed tips. A few trace amounts of dirt were present, causing me to scrunch my face and grimace when my tongue ran over them. This passed quite quickly, however, the bitterness soon replaced only with the tasteless surface of the hoof itself.

My tongue continued its course along the hoof's outer edge before sliding up to its front. The beast held his foot still as I cupped his leg in both hands and lapped over the fronts of the hoof toes, gently licking up and down their narrow, hard surfaces. I stuck my tongue between them, turning it sideways and pressing its way into the tight space as much as it would fit. Then I snaked it up between the cleft and swirled it around the outer wall on the other side, using my hands to rotate it very slightly to give myself better access.

I could feel my face turning bright red in embarrassment, not to mention my cock inexplicably beginning to swell up, becoming considerably stiffer and making me quite uncomfortable. My hands trembling slightly, I rocked back and forth on my knees in an effort to deal with those feelings as my tongue continued to slide around the hoof.

The monster grunted in apparent satisfaction as my tongue busily worked over his hoof. I licked it up and down, around its edges, each pass of my tongue giving it more and more of a sheen, leaving it appearing even more reflective and polished than I was able to effect with the cloth alone. Each time I reached the top of the hoof, the smell of his fur invaded my nostrils when my nose pressed against his leg.

It was so humiliating being naked and exposed in front of him like this, unable to hide my stiff erection from his leering gaze. Maybe it was concealed by the footrest? Either way, I can't imagine he didn't know about it. In the shadow of his towering presence, I felt small and helpless, with a constant, gnawing feeling of nervousness in the pit of my stomach. However he may have felt about very obvious arousal, he was no less demanding of me.

Without any prompting from the monster, I slowed down, taking my time, finding spots that I had gone over and carefully going over them again. My tongue glided up and down those spots a second time, then a third time. In some strange way, it felt as if I was merely giving myself an excuse to do this for as long as I could.

He barked another set of orders at his minions, his voice echoing within the cavern walls. While I was aware of it, being far too engrossed in my task, this time it elicited no response from me at all.

Afterwards, the beast angled his hoof up. I ran my tongue along its hard sole, sliding it around to explore its smooth underside. As my tongue poked and prodded down there, worming its way against the cleft, I felt myself becoming flustered and starting to squirm more, letting out a soft whine and tensely pressing my fingertips into his furry leg while I nervously clutched it. My erection became more prominent, and the burning arousal I was feeling was increasingly difficult to manage.

Why was I responding this way? Did I have some kind of a foot fetish? It wasn't making any sense.

But the more turned on I became, the more I fidgeted, and the more erratically I licked at the monster's hoof, my careful attention to detail slowly giving way to a growing sense of desperate passion that was difficult to keep under control. I pressed my tongue harder against the hoof's surface, flicking it along the underside and then around the edges, all while finding myself using my teeth to gently nibble it too when the stirrings inside of me became too much to handle.

The monster grunted and eventually pulled it away from my mouth, setting it on the footrest, which briefly frustrated me. I gasped and shivered, running my tongue around my mouth, confused and taken aback by my own behavior, even more so than I was at the raging erection I was sporting. Glancing down, I saw the new sheen the hoof had taken on from my servicing, coated with saliva, and couldn't help but feel a slight bit of satisfaction and pride at that.

Then he moved his other hoof in front of my face. A second round then. I groaned softly, gently taking that one and bracing myself for the same laborious task all over again. But once I let the hoof tips slip past my lips, the passionate intensity with which I did so earlier did not abate, and I continued to squirm on my knees in the process as I gave him the lavish care that he insisted on. That he was entitled to and that he deserved too, for that matter.

Starting with one of the hard, pointed tips in my mouth, I swirled my lips and tongue around the round outside of the hoof from front to back as far as possible. Then I slipped my tongue underneath and slowly, painstakingly dragged it backwards across the smooth surface on the bottom towards myself, pressing against it as hard as I could. After repeating this motion a few times, my tongue slid to the other side, traversing across the cleft in the middle, then licked over that side of the hoof both on the outside and directly underneath it.

Then, facing the bottom of it directly, my nose sat between the two tips as my tongue worked back and forth against the hoof's broad sole, polishing each side of it while flicking repeatedly across the cleft. Holding his leg in my hands to keep the hoof angled upwards for better access, I repeated this several times while the monster held his foot still, making intermittent, soft grunts.

By this point, I whined again, desperately wanting to reach down and satisfy the burning need for release that was eating away at me. But that would not do. I didn't have his permission. Unable to give any attention to my very hard, angry cock, the only way to manage those feelings was to focus my efforts on the one thing he was having me do until I was finished. To soothe the frustration, I had to work even

harder

.

My hands trembling a little bit more, I shut my eyes tightly and fervently mouthed all over the hoof, giving disorganized, erratic licking, following up with a series of intense kissing all around its hard surface. It was intensely humiliating and frustrating that instead of making out with another human being, like any normal person would, I was kissing this...

thing

, this fucking crude, beastly appendage, horrifying and degrading as it was. At the same time, it was exquisite, drawing me in, and I simply gave into the excitement it was bringing out in me without hesitation, completely losing myself in this task.

This wasn't normal. But I couldn't stop. Helpless in the throes of this bizarre compulsion, I passionately kissed that thing as one would any lover, with my heart pounding in my chest and butterflies in my stomach, sweat dripping from my forehead, all while my jaw slowly began to tire out.

This was not how I ever imagined my romantic life. But as twisted as this was, I just couldn't bring myself to care about that anymore. That seemed to be slipping away more and more, supplanted instead by what felt like the crossing of a point of no return, the beginnings of a slow, yet inexorable descent into a strange degeneracy.

Eventually, after considerably more licking and sucking of his other hoof, polishing it with my saliva, long having lost awareness of my surroundings, I had apparently finished it to his satisfaction. As he pulled it away from my face and set it down, it was as if I was suddenly broken from a trance, and it elicited from me a slight pang of disappointment. Oh, that was all?

Grunting, he reached down and unhooked my chain from the footstool, then used his leg to push it aside. I sat in place, shivering, only able to squeak out a few words. "Thank you, Master."

Leering down at me, he then gave a few gentle tugs on the chain towards him, forcing me to shuffle forward on my knees, facing the crimson loincloth draped between his muscular legs. I trembled, my jaw already sore, and reached up to put my hands on his furry thighs. That was one spot I was allowed to place them, after all. Anywhere, in fact, but where I really wanted to.

He reached down and slid the loincloth to the side with a finger, almost akin to opening a curtain, exposing the obscenely thick shaft poking out from its sheath, right above his furry testicles. It was aimed right at me like a loaded cannon.

Groaning quietly, my jaw terribly fatigued, I nonetheless licked my lips, my eyes only halfway open. Despite how tired my mouth was, I wasn't finished. No, I had to endure, to press on. There was still

more

.