Hey masters I'm a toilet but not a slave hit me up if you want to feed me your movements ps I don't do pain
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"REBLOG"
If you like sucking cock while making a big mess in your diaper....
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Hector walked with light steps, careful to avoid making too much noise. He held a hand to the stone wall, recalling having been told that he should always do so if ever he was in such a situation. He had never expected this to happen to him, had never even considered the possibility.
It had been a hard life on the streets of Crete, begging for scraps and huddling for shelter when it was cold, or wet. It hardly seemed fair that he should be punished for trying to survive. He had taken a crust of bread, only enough to keep himself from starving, and had been thrown in front of the king to face judgement. He had been washed and oiled and perfumed, and thrown to his consequence.
Ever since the Bull had been born, punishment had become stricter and more common. Once he would have gotten a slap on the wrist, maybe a little compensatory labor, and then would be free to go. But the Bull of Minos demanded sacrifice, and criminals had been the obvious choice.
The labyrinth walls were rough on his fingertips. Each faint footstep echoed through the halls.
Hector steeled himself, willed himself to be brave.
But he was young, and alone, and each step brought him closer to the labyrinth’s end, and to his own.
On he walked for what felt like hours, turning corners and frustrating himself at dead ends, doubling back and trying new paths. There was an element of relief at each failed passage, but also a pang of disappointment; he would live for another moment, but was forced to prolong his own torment.
The deep and resonant sound of heavy breathing began to tug at him after some time. His journey neared its end.
The sound grew louder as he walked, laboured and consistent.
A final turn brought him to the Minotaur’s chamber.
The masculine smell of musk sat heavy on the air. The growling drone of weighty breaths reverberated in his bones.
It was seated at the far side of the room, head bowed. Its arms were as thick as tree trunks, its stomach swollen, completely naked save for a scrap of cloth covering its manhood. Its head was the furred black of a bull, two broken horns crowning it.
It looked up at Hector, black eyes twinkling in the dark, thoughtful.
The Bull of Minos rose from its rest, and took a deliberate step toward the young man. There was no aggression in its movement, but a curiosity and a gentleness.
Hector had sometimes heard the philosophers as they debated and deliberated, discussing their theories and concepts. A recent one was Fight or Flight; the idea that when threatened, mankind reacted like animals, with aggression or by fleeing.
Hector found that neither had applied to him now. He froze in place like a man petrified by a gorgon.
The Minotaur took Hector in its hands, calloused and broad, and inhaled his scent. It seemed to inspect him, sizing him up and taking his stock. He knew that criminals were sent to be sacrificed, but knew not the form that this sacrifice would take.
The Minotaur was gentle as it lowered him from his feet, bringing him to rest on his back on a pile of cloth. It seemed to have made a decision, had come to some conclusion about him. It came down to its knees, using a hand to part Hector’s oiled thighs, and the boy complied.
He could feel the swelling bulge beneath the thin fabric at the Minotaur’s crotch, and he found himself wanting.
The horror of the creature was eclipsed by how aggressively masculine it was; it looked like a man, it smelled like a man, and the rough hands on his thigh and waist asserted that it felt like a man, too.
Hector whimpered ever so slightly when two of the Bull’s slick fingers slipped inside him. It let out a huff as it did so, its breath hot on Hector’s face. Hesitantly, he reached out, taking the beast by its waist and pulling it toward him.
He did not know if it could speak, or how it thought, but it understood him. Its fingers gently slipped from within him, and it pressed the tip of its cock to the tight, oiled pucker of his hole.
The monster was a surprisingly gentle lover, carefully rocking back and forth, applying slightly more pressure each time it pressed against his entrance. An exhalation turned into a moan as the head entered him, his moan turning to a whine of pleasure as it pulled back and then pushed forward again, sinking a little deeper, stretching him a little wider.
Hector spread his thighs further apart, and the Minotaur pressed the weight of its stomach onto him, skin to skin.
It pressed its lips to his throat as it sunk the full length of itself inside the boy, throbbing inside him. It was still for a moment as though enjoying the tightness, the wetness, the warmth, and then it slowly and softly began to thrust.
Hector whimpered and whined, digging his fingernails into the skin of the beast’s back, pulling it closer, holding it tighter, inviting all of it inside him.
It pumped within him, breaths growing deeper and more erratic, nearing its climax.
“Finish within me,” Hector breathed, uncertain if the beast understood him, and uncaring. “Make me yours.”
The moment struck him like lightning from Olympus as it thrust roughly, burying itself within him, throbbing inside him, spilling itself into the hot, wet darkness.
The Bull breathed deeply, panting, and Hector panted below it.
They lay together for a time, breathing quietly, the Bull growing soft and slipping out of the young man.
After what felt like an age, it rose to look him in the eye, that thoughtful, inspecting gleam having returned. It watched him for a while before it leaned back down toward him.
It took the back of his head in one hand, a tender motion, and brought its lips toward him.
He thought for a moment that it meant to kiss him, before its mouth opened and he understood.
Its breath was hot, but not unpleasant. The cavern of its gullet opened to welcome him.
The Bull was gentle, tender, as it guided his head toward its mouth, teeth grazing along the skin of his face, tongue wet below his chin. He closed his eyes, embracing his punishment with a strange serenity.
Its throat was tight around his head, its lips now working down to his shoulders, arms pinned to his side. The flesh of the throat rippled around him, strong muscles guiding him deeper. The heat and wetness washed over him, lips moving down to his waist.
The muscles parted around him as his head entered the beast’s stomach, gravity doing most of the work now to pull him deeper. He naturally curled around himself, his feet wriggling as it took all of him inside it, the cool air outside pulled away as it closed its mouth around them.
All of him was inside the Bull’s stomach now, wrapped around himself foetally. He felt the impression of strong hands feeling about his form, taking his measurement from outside.
There came the deep and resonant sound of a belch that constricted the stomach walls around him and permeated through the flesh.
The beast’s hands stopped inspecting him now and rubbed at him instead, kneading him, enjoying the satisfaction of a filling meal. Hector considered now that this would end only in digestion, suspected that the rubbing might have been an effort to stimulate the process, but it was too late now to worry on such things.
This was his life now, his home, his purpose.
He had given the Minotaur permission to own him, and that was what it had done.
His fate was intimately tied to the beast’s digestive processes now, and he made his peace with that.
Hector raised a hand to press on the wet flesh of the beast’s stomach lining, and the beast met his hand with its own. He may have been foolish, or mad, but he couldn’t help but feel that there was a connection between them, a deep and personal intimacy. The Minotaur had taken his virginity, and he wondered if he had taken its own.
The breathing grew deeper, more steady, and he realised after a time that the beast had fallen asleep, hands still pressed lovingly to the bulge that he made in its stomach. Hector closed his eyes, allowing sleep to take him too, and he went to his final slumber amid gurgling and squelching, the walls of the stomach working over him, preparing him for digestion.
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