Chapter 10: A Week of Hungry Shame
The walk back from the black marble cavern was a blur of stumbling steps and phantom sensations. Asterion had let him go with a slap to his aching backside and a low chuckle. “Run along, rabbit. That hole of yours is getting nicely broken in. Feels different, doesn’t it? Softer. Like it’s waiting.” He’d leaned in, his breath hot. “My cum’s deep in there now, working on you. You’ll be back.”
Now, in the dim back room of The Rusty Nail, Elias could still feel it. A persistent, warm ache that was more than physical. It was a memory seated deep in his pelvis, a ghostly fullness that made every movement a reminder. He lay on the thin mattress, the rough sheets tangled around his legs. The room stank of his own sweat and the unmistakable, clinging musk of minotaur. It rose from his skin, from the dried streaks on his belly and thighs. He’d scrubbed himself raw at the communal pump in the yard, but the scent had woven itself into him, a perfume of degradation.
He was hard. Again.
It was a miserable, persistent erection that had nothing to do with want and everything to do with a craving that gnawed at his gut. His body was a traitor. His mind replayed the sensations on a loop: the brutal stretch of fingers, the shocking, internal pressure on that secret spot, the warm gush of fluid inside him, the bitter taste flooding his mouth. The shame burned, but it was a distant fire compared to the chemical warmth that had followed the taste. A warmth that had now faded, leaving a cold, frantic emptiness in its place.
He palmed himself through his trousers, a frustrated groan escaping his lips. He couldn’t. Touching himself felt pathetic, a pale imitation that would only make the hunger worse. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only brought Asterion’s amber gaze closer, the teasing words clearer. “You’ll be back.”
The words coiled in his skull, a taunt that resonated in the hollow of his bones. He threw his arm over his eyes, but the darkness only amplified the memory of heat and pressure. His hole gave a soft, involuntary clench around nothing, a phantom pulse that echoed the fullness he’d been stuffed with. It felt different, just like Asterion said—looser, more aware, a hungry mouth begging to be fed.
He couldn’t stay here. The scent on his skin was driving him mad. Elias shoved himself off the bed, his movements jerky. He needed a drink, something loud and bright to burn the memory out. He pulled on a fresh shirt, the rough linen scraping over sensitive skin, and made for the common room.
The Rusty Nail’s main room was a haze of pipe smoke and boisterous laughter. He found an empty stool between Tommen, the grizzled hunter, and Onyx, a silent sellsword. Elias ordered a whiskey, downing it in one burning gulp, hoping it would scour his throat clean of the lingering bitterness.
He slammed the clay cup down, the burn in his gullet a clean, sharp pain that briefly overrode the deeper, humming need. Tommen clapped him on the back, launching into a loud story about a wyvern hunt. The words washed over Elias, meaningless noise. He nodded at intervals, his fingers tracing the rough grain of the bar. His entire awareness was focused lower, on the persistent, empty ache between his legs. It was a physical thirst, a hollowed-out feeling that the whiskey couldn’t touch.
Onyx, sharp-eyed as ever, grunted beside him. “You’re somewhere else, boy.” His dark gaze swept over Elias’s tense shoulders, the slight tremor in his hands.
“Just tired,” Elias muttered, avoiding his eyes. He could feel the phantom smear of fluid on his lips. The craving was a live wire in his gut, sizzling and desperate. Every laugh from the room, every scrape of a chair, felt like an intrusion on the private, filthy cinema playing behind his eyes. He saw the thick, purple head of Asterion’s cock, beading with precum. His mouth watered treacherously.
“Need another,” Elias announced, his voice too tight. He slid off the stool, the movement making his still-tender hole give a soft, reminding throb. He shouldered through the crowd toward the bar’s far end, where the innkeeper, Garret, was polishing a tankard with a rag.
Garret looked up as Elias approached. His eyes, small and shrewd, did not widen in surprise. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. He leaned on the bar, closing the distance. “Back in one piece, I see,” he said, his voice a confidential rumble lost in the tavern din. “More or less.”
“Just a refill,” Elias said, pushing his cup forward. He couldn’t meet Garret’s gaze.
“Of course.” Garret poured, but his eyes never left Elias’s face. “He’s a creature of particular tastes, that one. Likes ‘em young. Wiry. Pretty.” He slid the fresh whiskey across the wood. “Likes a bit of fight, but not too much. Just enough to make it fun when he breaks ‘em.”
Elias’s blood ran cold. His hand froze on the cup. He stared at the amber liquid, seeing not his reflection, but Asterion’s smirk.
Garret leaned in closer,. “I knew the moment I gave you that contract. You’re his type. Saw it in the way you held yourself—all that hopeful fire.” He chuckled. “Bet he put that fire out. Bet he showed you what that tight little ass is really for.”
“Shut up,” Elias whispered, but it was a plea, not a command. His heart hammered against his ribs. The craving pulsed in time with it, a deep, throbbing demand.
“Now you feel it, don’t you?” Garret pressed, his voice dropping to a lascivious whisper. “The craving. It gets in your blood. That bull’s seed… it’s not like a man’s. It hooks you.” He eyed the trembling line of Elias’s jaw. “You’re jonesing for it right now. Aren’t you?”
Elias’s knuckles were white on the cup. He couldn’t speak. The admission was a scream trapped behind his teeth.
The admission was a scream trapped behind his teeth.
Garret’s grin turned feral, satisfied. He didn’t need a verbal answer. The boy’s rigid posture, the sheen of sweat on his temple, the way his eyes darted toward the shadowed hall leading to the private rooms—it was all the confession required. He leaned so close his beer-and-onion breath washed over Elias’s face.
“You’re practically vibrating,” Garret murmured, his tone a mockery of concern. “You need a dick in your mouth so bad you can’t think straight.” He glanced over Elias’s shoulder toward Tommen and Onyx. “You could go kneel right there, put your pretty face in Tommen’s lap. He’d probably laugh, but he wouldn’t say no.” His eyes snapped back to Elias, glinting. “Do your friends know you’ve been gagging on minotaur cock?"
A hot wave of nausea, part shame, part desperate hunger, rolled through Elias’s gut. He shook his head, a tiny, frantic motion.
“Didn’t think so,” Garret said. He straightened up, wiping his hands on his apron. He nodded almost imperceptibly toward the battered door behind the bar. “My office is quiet. You can slip back there. No one has to know a thing.” He let the offer hang in the thick air between them. “Get the dick you clearly need.”
Elias’s breath hitched. The craving was a physical fist clenching deep in his abdomen, a throbbing void that echoed the emptiness of his ass. Asterion had ruined him, he knew it, but the animal part of his brain latched onto the offer. A cock. Any cock. Something to push against his tongue, to fill the aching space in his throat, the bitter taste he was dying for.
He gave a single, sharp nod, his eyes fixed on the stained wood of the bar.
Garret’s smile didn’t reach his cold eyes. “Good boy.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Through there. Now. Don’t make a scene.”
Elias moved, his legs carrying him on autopilot past the end of the bar. He felt Onyx’s gaze on his back like a physical weight, but he didn’t turn. He pushed through the heavy door into a narrow, dank corridor lined with barrels. The tavern’s roar muted to a dull thunder behind him. Garret followed, his footsteps heavy. A key scraped in a lock.
The office was a cramped space smelling of ledgers, mold, and old ale. A desk was piled with papers; a single lantern guttered. Garret locked the door behind them. The click was final. “Knees,” he said, the word devoid of its earlier teasing, now a flat command.
Elias sank down, the rough floorboards biting into his kneecaps. The position was familiar, degrading. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird. He stared at the worn leather of Garret’s belt.
He stared at the worn leather of Garret’s belt. The innkeeper’s thick fingers worked the buckle slowly, a deliberate performance. The brass prong clinked free.
Garret pushed his trousers and smalls down over his hips just enough. His cock, already half-hard, slapped against his thigh. It was thick, veined, and ruddy, a substantial piece of flesh, but human. Entirely human. A thin strand of pre-come webbed from the slit to his leg.
Elias’s mouth flooded with saliva. He watched it, hypnotized, as Garret took himself in hand, giving a slow, possessive stroke. The head swelled, darkening.
It was nothing like Asterion’s. The shape was blunter, smaller, the skin smoother, the musk a familiar human scent of sweat and salt. But it was a cock, thick and full, and Elias’s jaw went slack. Spit pooled under his tongue. The craving, a bottomless pit in his gut, roared up his throat.
“I’m… I’m not into men,” Elias choked out, the words a hollow, automatic defense. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the drooling slit.
Garret barked a laugh, the sound sharp in the cramped room. “Could’ve fooled me, kid. You’re staring at my dick like it’s a glass of water in a desert.” He stepped closer, the tip brushing Elias’s parted lips. “Open.”
The command, so similar to Asterion’s, broke something. Elias opened his mouth. The blunt, spongy head pushed past his lips, smearing pre-come on his tongue. The taste was salty, bland, utterly human. He probably just needed more of it to help with the craving, it musn't be as potent.
The thought was a frail raft in a storm of need. He took more of it into his mouth, the shaft stretching his lips, his tongue flattening against the underside. He worked by instinct, a clumsy mimicry of what he’d been forced to learn. He sucked, hollowing his cheeks, trying to draw out the taste, the substance, the relief.
It was just salt. Warm skin. A faint bitterness of sweat. Nothing like the dark, complex oiliness that had flooded his senses and his veins in the cavern.
Garret groaned above him, a sound of pure satisfaction. His hand tangled in Elias’s dirty blonde hair, not guiding, but claiming. “Yeah, that’s it. Knew you were a natural cocksucker.” He pushed forward.
He pushed forward, the thick head bumping against the back of Elias’s throat. Elias gagged, tears springing to his eyes, but he forced himself to relax, to swallow around the intrusion. The taste was still just salt and skin, a hollow disappointment that made his craving writhe.
“That’s it, take it,” Garret grunted, his fingers tightening in Elias’s hair. He began a slow, shallow fuck into his mouth, each thrust smearing more pre-come onto Elias’s tongue. “Gods, you’re eager. That bull trained you well.”
Elias whimpered around the cock, the vibration earning a low moan from above. He hollowed his cheeks, trying to mimic the rhythm Asterion had forced on him, his own jaw aching with the effort.
“Think your friends out there have any idea?” Garret mused, his voice conversational even as his hips pistoned faster. “Tommen and Onyx? Think they suspect their brave little adventurer is back here on his knees, gagging on my dick?” He chuckled, a wet, nasty sound. “Doubt it. You look so sweet and innocent at the bar.”
Shame burned through Elias, hot and bright, but it was tangled with a perverse thrill. His own cock was hard, trapped in his trousers, a betraying pulse of interest. The attention, the degradation, it was focusing the chaotic need into a single, shameful point.
“Pull off,” Garret ordered, yanking his head back by the hair.
Elias gasped, a string of saliva and pre-come connecting his lips to the glistening tip. The cool air hit his wet mouth.
“Stick your tongue out,” Garret said, his eyes dark with command. “Let me see that slutty tongue.”
Trembling, Elias obeyed. He extended his tongue, a pink, vulnerable offering in the dim light. He felt utterly exposed.
“Perfect.” Garret spat, a thick glob landing on the center of Elias’s tongue. The warmth was a shock. “Now taste that. Then open wide again.”
The salt of the spit mixed with the residual bitterness of pre-come. Elias swallowed, his throat working, before opening his mouth like a beggar. Garret shoved back in, deeper this time, the head nudging his esophagus.
Garret’s hips snapped forward, burying another inch down his throat. Elias gagged, his eyes watering, but he didn’t pull away. The stretch was familiar, a brutal comfort. His nose pressed into the coarse hair at the base, inhaling the pungent, human sweat.
“You take it so easy,” Garret grunted, pulling back until just the tip rested on Elias’s tongue before thrusting deep again. “You suck the bull’s dick like this? You let him throat-fuck you, pretty boy?”
Elias moaned around the thickness, a helpless sound. Spit dripped from his stretched lips onto his tunic. His own cock throbbed, a traitorous ache trapped in his breeches.
“I bet you do.” Garret set a relentless rhythm, using his grip on Elias’s hair as a handle. Each thrust hit the back of his throat with a wet, choking sound. “Bet you open up for him without being asked. Bet you beg for that monster cock.”
Garret pulled him off, his cock sliding out with a slick pop. Elias gasped for air, strings of saliva webbing his chin. “Answer me,” Garret demanded, slapping his shaft against Elias’s flushed cheek.
“I fight him,” Elias whispered, the word raw. His humiliation was a live coal in his chest, but it warmed him.
Garret laughed, a sharp bark that held no real humor. “You fight him. Sure you do.” He guided his cock back between Elias’s waiting lips, pushing in with a knowing grunt. “Right up until you’re on your back or bent over, taking what he gives you. Just like this.” He began to move again, a steady, possessive rhythm that allowed no retreat. “Suck.”
Elias obeyed. He let his jaw go slack, letting Garret use his mouth as a vessel. The thrusts were rougher now, less about testing and more about consumption. Each forward push bumped the head against his tight throat, triggering a gag reflex he had to swallow down. His eyes streamed. He focused on the taste, searching for the complex, dark notes that would soothe the frantic scraping in his nerves. It was just salt. Skin. A flat bitterness.
“Do you suck the bull this hungrily?” Garret panted, his hips beginning to piston faster. His balls slapped against Elias’s chin with wet, rhythmic taps.
Elias moaned around the intrusion, the vibration earning a deeper groan from above. His own hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into the fabric of his trousers.
Elias’s lungs burned. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision. Just as the need for air became panic, Garret yanked him back. Elias gasped, dragging in ragged breaths that tasted of the man’s sweat and sex. Saliva dripped from his chin in long, clear strings.
“Stick your tongue out again,” Garret ordered, his voice thick. He was jerking himself off fast now, his fist a blur over his slick shaft.
Trembling, Elias complied. He extended his tongue, a pink, vulnerable offering. He felt utterly debased, and his trapped cock gave a painful twitch of affirmation.
Garret aimed. A hot, salty arc of pre-come splashed across the center of Elias’s tongue. “Taste it. That’s what you wanted, right? A nice, thick cock to suck?” He didn’t wait for a response, stepping forward and feeding himself back into Elias’s waiting mouth. “Swallow.”
Elias sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks, trying to pull the essence from him. He worked his tongue along the pulsing vein underneath.
“You love dick,” Garret stated, a man stating a simple fact. He fucked into the wet heat with short, brutal snaps of his hips. “You deny it all you want, but look at you. Cockdrunk already. Just a slutty boy on his knees where he belongs.” ” He grabbed a fistful of Elias’s hair, controlling the pace completely. “I wonder if your friends suspect. Sitting out there with their ale, laughing. Is Onyx watching the door, wondering where her pretty little party member vanished to?”
The thought of Onyx’s dark, perceptive eyes sent a jolt of fear through Elias that instantly morphed into a shameful thrill. He moaned again, the sound muffled and wet. His own hips started to shift on the floorboards, seeking friction.
“Touch yourself,” Garret commanded, his rhythm becoming erratic, desperate. “If you’re such a desperate little slut, show me. Get your dick out and touch it while you suck me off.”
For a second, Elias froze, the command piercing the fog. Then the need, greater than any last shred of dignity, took over. His fumbling fingers tore at the laces of his trousers. He shoved his hand inside, wrapping his fingers around his own aching erection. The touch was electric, a direct line to the chaos in his core.
The touch was electric, a direct line to the chaos in his core. He jerked himself in frantic, shameful sync with the thrusts into his mouth, his own pre-come making the glide slick and desperate in his fist.
“Look at you,” Garret panted, his voice grating with amusement. “You’re a little fucking fag, aren’t you? Cock in your mouth gets you so hot and wet.” He buried himself to the root, holding there, making Elias choke softly before pulling back just enough to let him breathe. “Asterion see this? He lets you suck it, feeds you all that fucking cum, yeah baby? You swallow for him like a good whore?”
Elias whined around the thick intrusion, the vibration a confession. His hand moved faster on himself. “M-makes me,” he gasped when Garret pulled free for a second, the words slurry with spit.
“Bullshit,” Garret growled, shoving back in, his balls slapping wetly against Elias’s chin. “You love that he makes you. Your fucking eyes roll back in your head just thinking about it.” He set a brutal, shallow rhythm, fucking his mouth with possessive snaps of his hips. “Bet you dream about that bitter taste. Bet you wake up hard, your hole aching for it.”
Garret pulled out entirely, his cock gleaming under the guttering lantern. He wiped the spit-slick head over Elias’s swollen lips. “So? Has he fucked you yet?”
The question, so blunt, hit Elias like a physical blow. Heat exploded across his face, a violent flush of humiliation. His mind flashed—the black marble, the thick fingers, the burning stretch, the hot gush inside him. His untouched hole gave a sudden, agonized clench, a phantom memory of being stuffed and used. The empty ache yawned wide, a pulsing void.
“No,” Elias breathed, his voice thin and reedy. He couldn’t meet Garret’s eyes. “He… hasn’t.”
Garret’s laughter was a short, sharp burst. He grabbed Elias’s jaw, forcing his head up. “So he’s still working on you, huh?” His thumb smeared spit across Elias’s cheekbone. “Feeding you lots of cum. Playing with that tight little cunt of yours, fingering it open, training it up nice and wet for him.” He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial leer. “He fingers his own load into you, doesn’t he? Pushes it deep, makes your hole all hot and desperate. I can smell it on you. That hungry, bred smell.”
A wounded sound escaped Elias’s throat. His hips, of their own volition, gave a feeble grind down against the hard floor. He was humping nothing, a mindless, animal motion, his cock leaking steadily into his own fist. The vividness of Garret’s words painted the image in brutal detail: Asterion’s cock, not his fingers, that terrifying girth pushing into him, splitting him open on a brutal, burning stretch his body could barely comprehend.
“I can see you thinking about it,” Garret taunted, watching his hips move. “You’re imagining that monster dick splitting your ass right now. Wondering if you could even take it.” He spit into his own palm, slicking his cock again with a crude, wet sound. “You want it. You’re fucking dying for it.”
“I don’t,” Elias whispered, but the denial was ash in his mouth. His body screamed otherwise. His hand was a blur on himself now, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He was close, teetering on an edge made of shame and a craving this human cock couldn’t satisfy.
“Yeah, you do.” Garret fed his cock back between Elias’s lips, but gently this time, just resting the heavy head on his tongue. “You’re gonna swallow for me, pretty boy. And you’re gonna come while you do it. Show me what a good, greedy little cumdump you are.”
He began to fuck Elias’s mouth in earnest, a steady, deep, possessive rhythm that stole his breath. His grip in Elias’s hair was iron. “Take it. Take my cum. Let’s see if it shuts that hungry hole up for five minutes.”
Elias sucked, hollowing his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut. The rhythm, the domination, the filthy praise—it coiled the tension in his gut impossibly tight. Garret’s thrusts became erratic, jerky.
“Fuck, here it is,” Garret grunted, his voice strangled. He shoved in deep, holding Elias’s head impaled as he pulsed.
The first bitter-hot jet hit the back of Elias’s throat. It was just cum, human cum, salty and bland. But the act of swallowing, the forced submission, triggered something. His own orgasm ripped through him, violent and silent. His back arched, his thighs trembled, and his own seed spilled over his knuckles in hot, shameful pulses as he gulped down Garret’s.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the wet drip of Elias’s spit onto the floorboards. A profound, hollow daze settled over him. His mind felt stuffed with wool, his body a numb, used-up shell. The craving, that frantic animal scraping in his veins, was still there. It had only retreated, disappointed and sullen, into the background.
Garret eased his softening cock from Elias’s slack mouth with a soft, wet pop. He looked down, a smirk playing on his lips. “Cockdrunk already? Gods, you’re easy.” He patted Elias’s cheek, the touch almost patronizing. “Open up. Let me see you swallowed all of it. Show me your tongue.”
Elias blinked slowly. He obeyed, parting his lips and extending his tongue, a pale pink slab still gleaming with threads of white.
“Good boy,” Garret chuckled. He didn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he pushed two fingers into Elias’s open mouth, rubbing them over his tongue, gathering the remnants of his own spend. He pulled them out, slick and shining, and smeared the mess back over Elias’s lips and chin in a crude, painting motion. “Look at that. Fucking used.” He gave Elias’s cheek a light, almost playful slap. “Made a real mess of you.”
Elias didn’t flinch. He stared at the grain of the wood between his knees, feeling the cooling stickiness on his face. The shame was a distant, cold planet. The relief he’d hoped for hadn’t come. His body felt heavy, but the core-deep emptiness, the one shaped for something much thicker and more potent, remained.
Garret tucked himself away, fastening his trousers with brisk efficiency. He rummaged in a drawer of the cluttered desk, the scrape of wood loud in the quiet room. He pulled out a few copper coins and a single silver, the metal catching the lamplight. He tossed them onto the floor in front of Elias’s knees. They clinked and spun on the rough boards.
“For your service,” Garret said, his tone now that of a businessman concluding a transaction. “You’ve got a talent, kid. You could give up on this adventuring nonsense. Make decent money on your back, or your knees. A pretty thing like you?” He shrugged, turning to a basin of grimy water and a scrap of cloth. “Could name your price in the right district.”
He wrung out the cloth and turned back. With a surprising, almost clinical gentleness, he wiped the worst of the spit and cum from Elias’s face. He dabbed at his chin, smoothed his disheveled hair. It was a tidying up, a preparation to be sent back into the world. “There. Presentable. Mostly.”
Elias remained on his knees, his mind slowly beginning to turn over again. He looked at the coins. Payment. His fingers, sticky with his own release, trembled as he reached for them. The metal was cold.
“Get up,” Garret said, not unkindly. He unlocked the office door, letting a slice of tavern noise and warmer light cut into the room. He nodded toward the corridor. “Back to your friends. Drink your money. Try to forget about it.” He winked, a grotesque parody of camaraderie. “Say hi to Asterion for me next time.”
The name was a jagged hook in Elias’s gut. He staggered to his feet, his legs trembling, his clothing in disarray. He shoved the coins deep into his pocket, where they felt like a burning weight. Without a word, he stumbled past Garret and into the dim corridor.
The noise of the tavern grew louder with each step, a wave of mundane reality waiting to crash over him. He pushed open the door to the common room. The heat, the smoke, the laughter—it all felt distant, separated from him by a thick pane of glass.
He saw Tommen first, his broad back to him, still deep in animated conversation. Then Onyx. Her dark eyes found him immediately across the crowded room. They tracked his progress from the back hallway, narrowing slightly. Her gaze was a physical touch, scraping over his cleaned face, his too-carefully arranged hair, the slight stiffness in his walk.
Elias lowered his eyes, his heart thudding dully against his ribs. He slid back onto the empty stool between them, the wood still warm. The ghost of Asterion’s musk seemed to rise from his own skin again, mingling with the scent of Garret’s soap and the sour tang of swallowed human spend. The coins in his pocket pressed against his thigh.
Tommen didn’t pause his story, just slid Elias’s waiting tankard toward him with a meaty hand. “—and then the damn wyvern took off with my best spear still in it! You missed the good part, kid.”
Onyx said nothing. She took a long, slow drink from her own cup, her eyes never leaving the side of Elias’s face. He could feel her silent assessment, the unasked questions hanging in the air between them thicker than pipe smoke. He gripped his tankard, the cool pewter doing nothing to warm the icy, craving hollow taking root once more in his chest. The minotaur’s chamber, with its black marble and intoxicating scent, felt more like home than this familiar bar ever would.