running-with-kn1ves

“A bath.” He muttered upon entering his room, your footsteps slow behind him. You prepared to gather a few other servants but his dark gaze caught you, something heavy lingering beneath it. “No one else, just you.” 

A chord struck in your heart, anticipation and excitement. He was yours, only yours, even if it was just for a moment. You knew no other worshipper nor god could satisfy him with the praise you offered, and tonight he would need you more than ever. Limited bloodshed was a sign of his ‘failure’, and it was your duty to remind him of all that he was, of all that he had killed and had yet to kill. 

If he wasn’t slaughtering or goading humans or the gods into killing each other, he was calling you to his side to praise his name and tell you of battles from centuries ago; he was engrossed in your human frailty, your fleeting life and inexperience with death, whom he had grown to treat as a friend. 

You found the bath already full. That was no surprise, as you had filled it with engraved buckets of fresh water upon waiting for his return. What changed was that it was no longer gallons of clear water from the coast, but now full of gleaming blood, hot to the touch. 

The god did not need assistance with his armor this time. He ripped it from himself, pulling a chestplate of bronze as it crushed in his hands, ripping gauntlets off as they crumbled to the floor. He was naked in only a moment, dirt cutting off at skin where his armor did not cover, blood and sweat mingling as it dripped from his hair.

 He did not take your hand as he stepped into the bath as a young maiden or naive prince would.

His body sunk into the blood, the added weight forcing it to slosh against the corners of the golden threaded porcelain tub, sending red streams down the sides as he relaxed into the liquid. 

You knew gods had mysterious ways, had capabilities you couldn’t imagine-- but this, something about the flowing red truly assured your faith, your awe of him. 

Your hand gently played along the surface, dotting your fingertips in burning crimson. He watched your every moment, something akin to seething still keeping his shoulders heavy and his jaw tight. 

“You were amazing today,” You started, your eyes pinned to the heavy rise and fall of his chest; he had only gotten off his chariot mere minutes ago. “The dead from the battle told me. Only a few were there to be greeted, but they spoke of how you granted them the chance to kill four men with a single spear. Another saw your feat of boiling the fallen’s blood, killing any man it touched.” 

The god hummed with a tight irritation. He drew his hand to his forehead, rubbing it over his eyes and back into his unkempt hair. It fell to his temple, resting there as his other hand gripped the edge of the tub.

“They were the only fighters worth saving for myself, would’ve been wasted otherwise. The rest were a useless lot.”

You allowed for silence, letting him think as his breathing slowed and his chest fell further into the blood. Through the hair fallen over his eyes, you could see his gaze following the swirls of your fingers in the bath of red. 

“The kingdom you gambled for won, did it not?”

“It did. Yet so few men were slaughtered, both nations were able to carry their dead home before sunrise! Surrender was given by the eighth hour. Months wasted-- all for nothing.”

Battles and grudges were started to satiate his desire for carnage, to see which god’s favorite humans would last the longest. Despite his win, he did not truly gain what he searched for. 

“Mmn. I see. What a disappointment.” 

Your hand dips under the blood, staining your forearm bright red. The smell overwhelms you, but it smells like home. Like him. 

“You don't sound too disappointed.”

He bites almost through his teeth, anger lingering in his tone. It's not at you, not even at your slowness in bathing or servicing him-- it's at how little satisfaction he feels, how he built the rage and excitement within his mind, only to receive a bloodless battlefield on a shiny platter. Weak men, with weak spirits. Nothing enrages him more than a coward afraid of the fight. 

“Well, to tell you the truth I'm not. I've got all I need here-- you, basking in the blood of the fight, needing only me. You are what I’m in awe of-- not these human kingdoms too craven to fight their battles.”

You grow closer to his face, his attention enraptured by your voice, your assurance and the sultriness of your licked lips.

“You call the kingdom I bet my godhood on, weak?” He asks, but there is no malice behind it, only a murmur directed at the slope of your bottom lip. 

“Weak on its own, without your guidance. You were only an observer until today; had you been planning and orchestrating their every move-- they would have become ruthless soldiers worthy of the blood they shed.” 

The god squinted at the thought, wondering if you were right, if he had gone wrong in stepping back to let them decide for themselves. 

Your hand smoothed over his thigh, feeling blood swim between your fingers until you reached what lay between his legs. The sizable flesh never failed to react to your touch, awaking once you grip it tenderly, stroking your thumb down the ridge of a vein. 

“But one battle that does not satisfy your craving leads to the possibility of more.” You squeeze with purpose, pumping the flesh enough to make the god’s shoulders droop. “Doesn’t that sound wonderful? You have the chance to quench yourself a million times over because your cup is not yet full.”

You stroke again, watching his hardened frown lose its hostility, turning palpable. You can feel him slowly bucking into your hand, hips jerking against the bath. “Say… invading the kingdom you have won against. Killing those that stand in your way, maybe some who don’t-- just as a means of example. And surely, other nations will come to protest this conquest.” He grips harder onto the bath now, the hand once on his temple now ducking beneath the blood to guide you firmly, stroking him hard, and slow. “Many more wars are yet to come. Don’t you see, my god?”

He merely grunts, his eyes shut as your arm dips lower, playing with the hair below his navel, only to drag your delicate fingers to the tip of his cock. You watch as the anger is practically washed away by a flood of euphoria, his chest heaving this time from lust. 

“I suppose you have a point.” He clears, eyes hazy as he looks at your bent form, blood flecked against your cheek and ruining the sleeves of your garment. “This is only the beginning. The fruits of my labor have yet to ripen.”

You nod, leaning against the tub lazily as you stroke him again, harder this time, in agreement. He was getting too relaxed for your liking-- you loved keeping him on his toes, only for your cat-like and clever demeanor to be caught and put in its place. 

You can sense the anticipation of his desire, of how his hand practically crushes yours as he guides you to pump his cock roughly. 

“I fear there is a different fruit for the ravishing that I have yet to collect, however.”

The god leans from out the blood bath towards you, scars decorating his cheek to frame the deadly, sadistic expression forever etched on his features. He smells of musk and metal, sweat sticking to his body as the blood from the war has yet to dry on his skin. 

You play coy, smiling almost innocently as you put your elbow into the thrust of your palm. His lips are so close, and you can feel yourself getting aroused just at the sheer sight of his desire for you, his most devoted worshipper.

“Well, come take your prize then.”

Your hand digging in the blood is grabbed, forcing your body forward as you’re pulled into the bathtub. Blood sloshes and splatters over its rim as you collapse onto the god, your thin and breezy garments soaking with red the farther your body sinks. He catches you, pulling you rough against his beaten and reddened chest. The god leaves no hesitation, kissing your open lips hard with his bitten, scarred ones. 

You heard the argument from within the bathroom, muffled at the dinner table as they sipped through coffee mugs, heavy hands pounding against the chipped wood table. You heard the screen door slam shut, leaving you to believe your husband's brother had finally left. 

He led you to believe the same, coming up from behind to smooth his fingers over your night gown, lifting it above your thighs in a loose grip to run his hands up tender skin. 

He cupped your mound sticking to your fresh underwear, letting you push your weight onto him. But your exhaustion didn't deter him; this wouldn't be some sleepy before-bed sex like you hoped, he was too ticked off for that. 

It wasn't long until your nightgown was twisted around your hips, hands digging into the pillow you placed over your head as your husband slammed into you from the edge of the bed. He stood with the bedroom door open, propping your legs wide with his trousers dropped around his waist. 

“Wanna see you…” he moaned, strength leaving you to do nothing but turn to mush as he held your legs up. “ wanna hear how good i feel inside of you, how i’ll only ever be the one to make you feel this good.”

You were close to mumbling incoherent babbles that sang his praise, a sensitive thumb circling your clit cruelly as his cock pushed in quick, half thrusts. 

“Fuck, I needed this, you, all to myself! Just need ‘ta be inside you--don’t need nothing else.”

Just as he bit your name between his teeth, your husband leaned forward to drag you farther onto him, the minotaur letting out an animalistic, whining groan. 

“That mean you're willing to give up the farm?” A voice echoed in the hallway, heavy boots pushing the bedroom door wider open. “Or are you willin’ to sacrifice her for it in exchange? I know I wouldn't pass up that deal.”

You pulled the pillow away from your flushed face, legs still squeezed around your husband's hips as he rocked into you. His brother reeked of bourbon and cigarettes just from a few feet away, his belt already loose and his trouser’s buttons undone. 

“Go away,” your husband bit, holding your hips tight and with possession. “You're not welcome here after the shit you told me, and you're certainly not touching my wife.” 

“Oh? What if she prefers me? What if after you're spent she's still not satisfied?” The twin minotaur meanders closer to the bed, stroking the outside of your thigh as your husband’s thrusts pick back up, violent as he glares at his brother. “Tell me, brother, if she leaves you for me, will you watch when we fuck as husband and wife for the first time?” 

Your husband lets out something akin to a snarl and a bellow, grabbing his brother by the collar and leaving your legs free. He continues to jut inside of you, twisting and turning as he attempts to throw his brother across the room. 

But his twin does not lament, instead grabbing your husband by his clipped ear and pulling him off of you. Amidst their tussle you can feel the pressure inside you building, your orgasm crawling swiftly to its height as you move down to apply pressure to your clit. Your husband’s thrusts are hard and quick, not daring to stop as he pushes his brother onto the floor. He uses his rage to finish inside of you, sending your orgasm to flourish as hot cum slushes against your g-spot with every thrust. 

You finish loud, scrambling for the pillow and bedsheets as firm hands guide your legs to shake with every pump. You’re left dizzy-headed as a growl comes from across the room, still shaking as you try to shut your legs, a creamy white leaking from you and onto the bedsheeds below your hips. 

Unlike you, your husband’s brother wasn’t finished. He scrambles from the floor, the minotaur shoving his brother back as he stumbles, grabbing him to throw him against the chair sitting at the corner of the bedroom. Your husband was strong, but compared to the sheer wall of muscle his brother had become due to farm life, he was no match. 

“Let’s make a bet-- who’ver makes your lovely little human wife cum the most-- gets the farm, hm?”

Your husband scoffs, fighting against the forearm pinning him down. His brother grins, surely intoxicated and yet meaning every word he spoke. 

“You’re setting yourself up for failure, just like the rest of your life.” 

His twin grips at his shirt with buzzed confidence, unbuttoning the top button of his flannel. 

“Let's see about that.” 

Quickly things unfolded worse than they had. Mostly, worse for you. Orgasm after orgasm had gone by and you were sensitive to even the slightest touch, dripping in semen as your husband held you by the hips, sliding you over, and over onto his brother’s bulbed cock. 

Between the two minotaurs you were practically just a moaning piece of flesh, groans cutting off their conversations only half of the time. 

“Is that all you’ve got? Don’t tell me you’re going to lose at two!” 

Your husband grunts, grinding your hips down to force you faster onto his brother’s cock as you sit on his lap; his warm hands help your exhausted movements shift greater pleasure into your heaven-struck body. You could feel his breath on your neck from behind, heaving as he took turns from bouncing you onto the other minotaur, to stroking his leaking cock at the sight. 

His twin clutched onto the armchair, teeth clenched at the sight and sound of you. Watching your breasts bounce with each move as his cum made wet sounds with your cunt-- it all nearly had him nearly orgasming again. 

“Not--gunna lose---not against an asshole like you!”

He was stronger than his brother-- yes, but stamina wise? He didn’t have what it took to go for very long, growing just as sensitive and tender as you.

Your stockings ran all the way to your upper thighs, sheer to show off the dewy, glowing legs you had lathered with body butter once getting out of the shower. Even the tight dark brown lingerie, a slight resemblance to a 'bear' accentuated your figure, your soft flesh and delicate limbs doused in roller perfumes and golden charms of jewelry. You even bothered to wear the little clip on ears and bear charms, a little black nose dotted on yours.

Seeing you so wound up, prettied in one of his favorite outfits, it was far too hard to say no to the goodies you had in your hand, even if it was utterly humiliating. So, begrudgingly the werebear placed the bear ear headband on his uncombed hair, a round fluffball of a tail on his behind, and two large, harmless paw gloves over his massive hands. 

"Cant believe you' re makin’ me do this..." He mutters, sighing with each thump closer to the edge of the bed. You've already found your position amidst the sheets, legs limp and willing to open in a moments notice. His eyes held slight bags and hard lines, but a small, if not bashful smile played on his scarred lips.

"Youre loving this, aren't you?"

Your eyes fall away from his, the werebear attempting to keep your gaze hostage, sensing your coy attempts at keeping him riled up. 

"Maybe just a little… Come on, can't you do something a little scary? You are dressed as a ‘big bad bear’, after all."

"Scary?" He scoffed, crawling up the bed as it sunk under his weight. "I don't think I could scare a mouse in this get-up. But you..."

Through the soft fur of the gloves, fake little claws digging into your sides, the werebear pulls your hips down further on the bed. You can't help but let out a small jagged squeal, feeling the crooked nose and slight stubble of his face on your bare stomach as it nuzzled your soft skin. He whispered against it, looking at you through half lidded eyes.

"You've got me drooling right here."

"Didn't think bears drooled." You murmur gently, stroking a painted fingernail down his hairy, soft abdomen. The ridges of his muscles were calloused terrain under your fingers, warm and pulsing under the flesh.

"Mmh we do, especially when such pretty, mouthwatering creatures like you are put in front of us."

He tries to run a hand down your thigh, reaching for the inner softness above your knee, but the paw glove leaves his hand to slip against your stockings. 

"Fuck, cant do anything with these damn things on. I'm taking them off."

"Dont! You've got to look the part--" 

The paws are ripped off and flung across the bedroom before you can let out a complete whine, warm fingers gripping the parts of you that were exposed. Claws grapple at your hips to rub his muzzle in the soft plush of your lower belly. 

“I already play the part well enough, sweetheart. But you-- looking yourself like a desperate bear untouched, unbred…I can’t just let you sit here and tease me.”

His hips rut into the bed, claws digging into your thighs as he encases his body firmly against your crotch. His breath tickles as he plants small kisses down your belly button, to the hem of your scantily thin, see-through polka-dot panties. The soft bows placed at your hips, the brown polka dots, all of it-- you were like a piece of art meant not to be touched, not a speck out of place. Only he would be given the chance to rip your garments off without a second thought, taboo in destroying parts of the aesthetic to get to what deliciousness lied underneath. 

You let out a defeated hum, sighing as the werebear’s ears flicked from behind the headband still attached to his scalp. At least from this view, he still looked mildly in costume. 

“It’s not fair, that I’m in the full get-up and you’re only half-dressed.”

Your voice is tiredly whiny, the type that either makes the werebear soft and tender, or irritated and ready to put you in your place. 

“I told you I’m not wearing that stupid fuckin’ nose.” He huffs lower, down against the sheer outline of your cunt; It makes you squirm. “But… I can offer something else, something worth much more than some dumb costume.”

You feel the hot air from his open mouth before anything else. He hovers there for a moment, letting you wait in agony before a long, slow stripe is licked on the outside of your panties, hot and damp, flecks of teeth occasionally catching on the sheer fabric. 

It leaves you breathless, widening and closing your legs in a dance for more friction. He mumbles words against your crotch after reaching your clit, letting the vibrations work through you. 

“Cute little ears , dressed up just like me…just practically begging me to breed you with my cubs until you can’t breathe, huh honey?