Chapter 6: The Reluctant Mouth
The warm spit pooled on his tongue, a final, wet insult. Elias gagged, a convulsive ripple passing through him, but his throat moved anyway, swallowing the mix of minotaur spit and pre-cum down. The act felt like a seal being set. A door clicking shut inside him. The haze in his head thickened, sweet and heavy, muting the screams of his pride until they were distant, ignorable things.
Asterion watched the swallow move down Elias’s throat. His amber eyes gleamed with predatory satisfaction. “Good rabbit.”
Before Elias could form a thought, let alone a resistance, huge hands slid beneath his arms. He was lifted from his knees as if he weighed nothing, his boots leaving the ground. A yelp escaped him—a short, undignified sound. He kicked out, his heels connecting uselessly with Asterion’s shins, but the minotaur just adjusted his grip, holding him aloft like a struggling puppy.
“Naughty,” Asterion chided, his voice a rumble against Elias’s back. He carried him across the chamber, not to the throne, but to a broader, lower room, dropping him on the bed.
Asterion deposited him onto the bed. The warmth seeped through his tunic instantly, a shocking contrast to the chamber’s cool air. He tried to scramble back, but a single hoof planted itself on between his legs, blocking his retreat. The minotaur loomed over him, blotting out the torchlight.
“You came here to fight. You spat.” Asterion leaned down, his muzzle inches from Elias’s face. “That deserves a punishment, don’t you think?”
“No,” Elias breathed, but it was a reflex. His body was thrumming, alive with conflicting signals—fear, shame, and that deep, pervasive warmth that made his limbs feel like lead and his cock ache.
“Yes.” Asterion’s hands went to the leather straps of Elias’s armor. He didn’t tear them. He undid them with a unsettling, precise patience. The buckles gave way with soft clicks. The pauldron came free, then the chestpiece. Each piece was placed aside neatly, a silent mockery of care. Elias batted at his hands, but his movements were sluggish, uncoordinated. The tunic came next, dragged over his head. The cold air hit his bare chest, raising goosebumps. His nipples peaked, tight and sensitive.
Asterion’s gaze fell on them. A low, interested sound left him. He pinned Elias’s wrists to the bed with one large hand, spreading his arms wide. With the other, he reached down and brushed a thick thumb over Elias’s left nipple.
Elias jerked at the touch. It was too direct, too intimate. “Stop—”
Asterion ignored him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb in a slow, rough circle, then pinched the nub between his thumb and forefinger. The pressure was sharp, just shy of painful, a bright point of sensation that made Elias gasp. He rolled it, tweaking it, watching Elias’s face contort. His other hand released a wrist to torment the right nipple, repeating the process. Elias writhed, his back arching off the stone, not in escape but in a helpless reaction to the shocking, unwanted spark of pleasure-pain that shot straight to his groin. His hard cock, trapped in his trousers, twitched violently.
“See how your body talks?” Asterion murmured. He leaned close, his hot breath washing over Elias’s ear. “These little peaks get so hard. Your cock jumps. You’re a leaky, responsive little thing, aren’t you?”
He let go of the nipples, leaving them throbbing and oversensitive. His hand slid down Elias’s quivering stomach to the laces of his trousers. A quick, powerful yank and the cord snapped. The rough fabric was peeled down his hips, past his thighs, and off. Elias was naked, fully exposed on the warm bed, his erection standing stiff and flushed against his belly. A damp spot of pre-cum already darkened the tip.
Asterion straightened up, looking him over. His gaze was a physical weight. “Pathetic and pretty,” he judged. “A perfect combination.”
“A perfect combination.”
The words hung in the thick air. Before Elias could muster a retort, those massive hands flipped him over with terrifying ease. His world became the strange warmth of the stone slab and the dizzying view of the chamber floor. His bare ass was exposed, raised. The vulnerable position sent a fresh jolt of panic through his hazy mind.
“This,” Asterion said, his voice conversational, “is for the spit.”
His palm came down. The crack echoed off the black marble, a sharp, loud report that momentarily overwhelmed all other senses. A stinging heat burst across Elias’s left cheek, followed by a deep, throbbing warmth. He gasped, his fingers curling against the bed.
“And this,” Asterion continued, his rhythm steady and deliberate, “is for the defiant little swordplay.”
Another slap landed on the right cheek, harder. Elias’s body jerked forward. The sting was bright, clean, and it radiated through his pelvis in a way that was utterly confusing. His cock, trapped beneath him, pulsed. He bit his lip to stop a sound.
The spanking wasn’t a frenzied beating. It was a measured, rhythmic punishment. Crack. Crack. Crack. Each impact was calculated, landing on the fleshiest part of his ass, spreading a burning warmth that quickly became a pervasive glow. Elias squirmed, his hips shifting uncontrollably. A low, helpless whine escaped him.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Asterion asked, not pausing. His hand, broad and heavy, painted Elias’s skin a deepening pink.
Elias nodded, his face pressed against the bed, humiliation a hot fluid in his veins.
Elias nodded, his face pressed against the bed, humiliation a hot fluid in his veins.
“Good.” The spanking stopped. The abrupt absence of the sharp contact was its own shock. The throbbing heat remained, a full, blossoming ache that made him conscious of every inch of his exposed skin. Asterion’s hand, warm and rough, rubbed over the punished flesh, a mockery of comfort that made Elias flinch. “Such a pretty, pink color now. It suits you.”
Before he could process that, fingers tangled in his hair again. He was hauled upright onto his knees, his sore ass resting on his heels, facing the minotaur’s looming bulk. His hard, leaking cock bobbed between them, a stark testament to his body’s treason. Asterion looked at it, then up at Elias’s tear-streaked, defiant face.
Asterion looked at it, then up at Elias’s tear-streaked, defiant face. He clucked his tongue, a soft, mocking sound. “All those tears, and this stupid thing is still standing at attention.” He reached out with both massive hands, ignoring Elias’s flinch, and cupped his face. The roughness of his furred palms scraped against Elias’s stubbled cheeks as he squeezed, pressing Elias’s lips into a puckered, helpless rosebud. “Look at you. My silly little rabbit.”
“Let me go…” Elias whined, the words muffled by the pressure on his mouth. His eyes, wide and glassy, darted between Asterion’s amused gaze.
“Why would I do that?” Asterion murmured, his thumb stroking the apple of Elias’s cheek. “You just got here.” He released Elias’s face with one hand, bringing it down to his own cock. He gave a slow, indulgent stroke, his eyes locked on Elias’s. The thick vein underneath pulsed. A fresh glob of pre-cum beaded at the slit, clear and viscous. Asterion swiped it with two fingers, gathering the slickness.
Asterion swiped it with two fingers, gathering the slickness. He held them up, letting the torchlight catch the viscous string connecting his fingertips. Elias watched it, his breath hitching. Every instinct screamed to turn away, but his head felt heavy, anchored by the sweet fog thickening behind his eyes.
“Open,” Asterion said, his voice low.
Elias’s lips remained sealed, a final, trembling barrier. Asterion sighed, a mockery of patience. He brought his wet fingers to Elias’s mouth and smoothed the pre-cum over his closed lips in a slow, deliberate smear. The stuff was warm, shockingly so. It coated his mouth with that familiar, cloying salt-sweetness.
Elias shuddered. His tongue pressed hard against the roof of his mouth, fighting the instinct to taste it. He tried to twist his head, but Asterion’s other hand held him firm. A low whine built in his throat as he felt the slickness begin to cool on his skin.
“Look at you trying,” Asterion cooed, his breath hot on Elias’s forehead. “My stubborn little fucktoy. You want to lick it off so bad. You’re dying for it.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s okay. I know you need it.”
With his clean hand, Asterion began to tap Elias’s cheek. It wasn’t a slap. It was a series of light, almost playful pats with his fingertips—tap, tap, tap—on one cheek, then the other. The sound was demeaning, infantilizing. Each tap stung Elias’s pride far more than his skin. Tears of pure frustration welled in his eyes, blurring the minotaur’s grinning face.
“Silly boy,” Asterion murmured, the taps continuing. “Stupid, silly rabbit. Coming back here. Thinking you could win.” His thumb brushed a tear from Elias’s cheek, then he delivered a slightly sharper slap, just enough to make Elias’s head snap to the side. It rang in his ear, a bright, singing pain. Before the sting could fade, Asterion’s hand was back, cradling his jaw, a grotesque parody of comfort.
Then the minotaur shifted his hips forward.
The broad, hot head of his cock slapped against Elias’s wet, smeared lips. The impact was a dull, wet sound. Elias gasped, and in that instant, Asterion dragged the swollen crown up, smearing a fresh, thick streak of pre-cum from his chin to his nose. The musk was direct and overwhelming, that honeyed, iron-laden scent drilling directly into his brain.
The musk was direct and overwhelming, that honeyed, iron-laden scent drilling directly into his brain. Elias gagged, his nostrils flaring, but the reflexive jerk backward was halted by the immovable wall of Asterion’s thighs behind him. The minotaur’s hand left his jaw and fisted tightly in his dirty blonde hair, holding his head in place with an absolute, unyielding anchor.
The grip in his hair was a final, brutal anchor. Elias could only tremble, the hot, musky shaft resting against his clenched lips like a brand. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to retreat into the dark behind his eyelids.
“Open.” Asterion’s command was a soft, patient breath.
Elias shook his head, a tiny, frantic motion. The movement ground his scalp against the minotaur’s knuckles. A low chuckle answered him.
A low chuckle answered him.
Then the slaps began in earnest. Not the hard, punishing cracks that had warmed his ass, but something far worse. Asterion used his open palm, delivering a series of quick, stinging taps against Elias’s cheek. They were light enough not to bruise, but loud in the quiet chamber—sharp, dismissive sounds that spoke of pure condescension. Tap. Tap. Tap-tap.
Elias flinched with each one, his eyes flying open. A wounded, pathetic whine escaped his throat. The strikes were an affront, a reduction of his entire failed crusade to this: a naughty child being corrected. His pride, already frayed to its last thread, screamed inside his skull.
“Aren’t you tired of being punished, sweetheart?” Asterion asked, his voice a grotesque parody of concern. He punctuated the question with another flurry of taps, alternating cheeks. The rhythm was maddening. “Your face is all red. You’re crying. Your cute little dick is drooling all over itself.” He paused to drag a thumb through the pre-cum leaking from Elias’s tip, then smeared it across his heated cheek. “Such a mess.”
“Stop it,” Elias whimpered, the words slurred. The combination of the humiliating slaps, the overwhelming musk, and the deep-seated warmth from the earlier swallowed fluids was dissolving his will. His thoughts moved through syrup.
“Make me,” Asterion whispered.
Another slap, a little sharper. Elias’s head rocked to the side. A final, broken sound left him. It was the sound of a latch giving way. The tension in his jaw, held for so long, simply melted. His lips, smeared and stinging, parted on a shuddering exhale.
Asterion’s smile was a flash of triumph in the dim light. He didn’t shove his cock inside. He released Elias’s hair and instead wrapped his fist around his own thick shaft. He gave a few slow, deliberate pulls, his foreskin gliding over the swollen head with soft, wet sounds. His amber eyes held Elias’s glazed ones, forcing him to watch.
His amber eyes held Elias’s glazed ones, forcing him to watch. Asterion’s fist moved in a slow, slick rhythm over his own girth, the motion hypnotic and brutal in its display. Elias stared, his own breath catching in time with each upward stroke that revealed the swollen, leaking head.
The blush that had heated his cheeks from the slaps deepened, spreading down his neck and across his bare chest. He was painfully aware of his own nakedness, his own ridiculous, twitching erection lying against his stomach. To be forced to watch this, to have his face smeared and now to be made a spectator to the minotaur’s crude masturbation, was a fresh layer of shame.
“See what you’re missing, rabbit?” Asterion grunted, his focus entirely on Elias’s face. A thick string of pre-cum stretched from his fist to the tip, glittering. “See what your mouth is for?”
Elias said nothing. He couldn’t. His tongue felt thick in his dry mouth, yet he could still taste the remnants of that salty-sweetness. His gaze was glued to the swollen crown, to the slit that beaded continuously. A treacherous, hungry part of him wondered how much was there now, how that fresh spill would taste compared to the smear.
“You want it,” Asterion stated, his voice a low thrum of certainty. It wasn’t a question. His strokes became shorter, tighter, focusing on the engorged head. The soft, wet sounds of his fist working over slick flesh filled the space between them. “You’re trying not to drool. It’s cute.”
He shifted his weight, his hoof scraping stone. With deliberate slowness, he guided the very tip of his cock to Elias’s parted, smeared lips. He didn’t push. He just let the hot, slick skin rest there, a blasphemous benediction.
Elias flinched. The heat was immense. The musk was a physical presence, coiling down his throat with every gasped breath. He could feel the minute pulse of the minotaur’s heartbeat in the flesh touching his mouth.
“Just the tip,” Asterion whispered, a conspirator’s promise. “Just a taste. For being so good and taking your punishment.” His fist moved again, a slow pump that made the crown swell against Elias’s lower lip. A fresh, generous bead of pre-cum welled and overflowed, spilling directly onto Elias’s tongue.
The flavor exploded, richer and more potent than before. Elias’s eyes rolled back for a second, a low moan escaping him before he could strangle it. It was like swallowing warm, spiced honey cut with iron, a decadent and heavy fuel that poured heat directly into his bloodstream.
“That’s it,” Asterion coaxed, his voice dripping with false praise. He did it again, working himself with a focused intensity, feeding the leak directly into Elias’s waiting mouth. Another thick drop. Then another.
Elias swallowed convulsively. Each gulp sent a wave of lethargic warmth through his limbs, softening the sharp edges of his humiliation, blurring the room. The throbbing in his sore ass faded. The sting on his cheeks became a distant memory. There was only the heat on his lips, the decadent salt on his tongue, and the growing, empty need for more.
His thoughts, once sharp with panic, dissolved into a golden, humming fog. The fight was a story about someone else. His hand, as if moving through water, rose shakily from his side. He didn’t push the cock away. His fingers brushed against Asterion’s massive knuckles, a weak and questioning touch.
His fingers brushed against Asterion’s massive knuckles, a weak and questioning touch. It wasn’t a push. It was the faintest acknowledgment of the source of the warmth flooding his system. Asterion went perfectly still, his amber eyes narrowing with intense, predatory focus. He watched Elias’s glazed, tear-tracked face, the parted lips smeared with his essence.
“There he is,” Asterion murmured, the words velvet and poison. “There’s my good boy.” He released his own cock, letting it hang heavy and slick before Elias’s face. With his now-free hand, he captured Elias’s wandering fingers and guided them, wrapping Elias’s much smaller hand around the monstrous girth. Elias’s fingers couldn’t even meet around it. The heat was shocking, the skin like fevered silk over solid granite. A pulse thrummed against his palm.
Asterion breathed, his own breath quickening. He began to move Elias’s hand for him, forcing a slow, clumsy stroke. The pre-cum slicked the path. Elias’s hand was limp within his grasp, an unprotesting tool. His eyes were locked on where his own pale skin disappeared against the minotaur’s dark, ruddy flesh. A strange, detached fascination coiled through the haze in his mind. This was happening. He was doing this.
Asterion let go of his hand.
Elias’s arm didn’t fall. His fingers, almost of their own volition, twitched, then curled tighter. He gave a tentative, shaky pull. The motion was awkward, inept. A broken sound, half-whimper, half-sigh, leaked from his throat. He did it again, his wrist moving with more intent, spreading the slickness already gathered. He was touching it. He was actively stroking it into his mouth. The realization should have horrified him. It simply floated in the golden fog, a fact without judgment.
It simply floated in the golden fog, a fact without judgment.
His hand moved again, a clumsy, unsure pump that sent a fresh drip of pre-cum onto his own wrist. The sight of it, glistening on his skin, should have revolted him. Instead, a weak, desperate sound left his throat. He stared at the droplet, his mind blank and humming.
Asterion watched him with rapt attention. “See?” he breathed, his voice thick with something like pride. “Look at you. You can’t help yourself.” He leaned in, his muzzle brushing Elias’s sweat-damp hair. “Your pretty little hand looks so good wrapped around me. It’s where it belongs.”
Elias’s strokes grew slightly more confident, driven by a base, mechanical need to see more of that slick fluid emerge. The musk coated his throat, each breath layering the sedation deeper into his system. His own neglected cock ached, a dull, throbbing reminder of a different need entirely, one his foggy mind couldn’t quite grasp.
He used his grip on Elias’s chin to guide his head forward, bringing his face close to the thick, waiting shaft. The heat radiated against Elias’s skin. The musk was a solid thing in the air.
“Give it a kiss, sweetheart.”
The command hung in the air, a soft taunt wrapped in the low hum of the chamber. Elias’s mind, fuzzy and slow, processed the words through layers of warm honey. Kiss it. His green eyes, clouded and wet, stared at the monstrous flesh before him. The ruddy head glistened, a bead of fluid trembling at the slit. His own hand was still wrapped around the base, feeling the powerful throb of life there.
A blush, hot and shameful, flooded from his cheeks down his neck. It was a betrayal written in pink across his skin. He couldn’t look away.
“Let me see your pretty eyes,” Asterion murmured, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt more intimate than a shout. He tilted Elias’s chin up with a single, rough finger. Their eyes met. Elias’s were wide, swimming with confused submission and the lingering burn of tears. In Asterion’s amber gaze, he saw only a deep, knowing delight. “There they are. All foggy and sweet. Now kiss it. Be polite.”
The distance was inches. The musk was a tangible cloud, sweet and salty, filling his nostrils with every shaky breath. His body was no longer his own. It was a vessel humming with a need he didn’t understand, responding to a fuel he couldn’t name. The fight was a distant memory, a story about a boy who was foolish enough to bring a sword to this altar.
Elias leaned forward.
His movements were jerky, unpracticed. He closed his eyes at the last second, his long lashes fluttering against his flushed skin. He pressed his lips to the hot, slick crown.
The touch was electric. The skin was smoother than he expected, unbearably warm, and the taste that transferred to his lips was that same potent, addictive syrup. A full-body shudder wracked him. He didn’t pull away. He held the kiss, a chaste, closed-mouth press against the minotaur’s cock, his entire being focused on the shocking point of contact.
Asterion released a slow, gratified breath above him. “Good boy.” The praise slithered into Elias’s ear, twisting itself around his spine. “Now open up. Just a little.”