NSFW: Milking the Minotaur — EiAD erotica

tl/dr: I've started something new — an erotic novella. The first three chapters are below.

Here's the surprise I've been teasing for this week — EiAD erotica (for lack of a better title). It started with  a very hot set of commissions involving a buxom farmgirl in femdom cock-milking situations. The first two willing "victims" were men, but by the end, the subject was a minotaur, ramping up the fantasy aspect of the scene.

As I was drawing the most recent commission, the entire story started to form in my mind. So I started writing down ideas — backstory, situations, relationships, and so forth. And, as I got more into it, the single-sentence notes became paragraphs and the paragraphs became chapters.

Since I already have two, alternating storylines in progress for the Evil Inc After Dark series, I thought it might be fun to present this one as a written story with accompanying illustrations.

Here are the first three chapters. Tell me what you think. This is totally new ground for me, so I'll be very interested in hearing your reactions!

Chapter One

Lexington stepped out of the old farmhouse, onto the wraparound porch, and took a deep breath. The spring air was positively intoxicating. She loved the effect it had on her. And she loved the effect it had on them.

As she approached the barn, she stretched her long fingers. Her mother wanted her to be a pianist. But she could never entice her daughter to pay attention to studying music. No, Lexie was a tomboy, and much she preferred the workings of her father’s farm.

Her farm, now.

As she padded down the gravel path to the barn, she could hear him snorting. She could hear the farmhands shouting. She could hear leather straps strain and heavy wood beams groan.

She smiled. Springtime.

The first time her father had shown her a minotaur, she was barely six. She had nightmares for weeks.

“Why do you keep them?” she asked.

“I don’t keep them, so much as I care for them,” he explained. “It’s a great honor.”

I wasn’t until the spring of her sixteenth year that she would learn the full extent of his caretaking.

She entered the barn, and all of the farmhands craned their heads to meet her. She stood framed by the doorway, the morning sun streaming in behind her, pollen dancing in the breeze. Her long, silky legs were capped with overalls, cut short. The bib barely contained her heavy, pendulous breasts. She wore nothing underneath the overalls. Ever.

Carl, the youngest farmhand, tried to covertly adjust his jeans.

In the center of the barn, in a wooden stall, was Tankym their prized minotaur. He was straining against the leather straps that bound his outstretched arms to the well-worn wooden beams on either side of him. Between his feet, a steel bar with straps on either end kept his stance purposefully wide.

And even though his back was to the door, his member began to twitch the moment she entered.

His nostrils widened impossibly as he inhaled her essence, wafting through the early-April air.

A cumbersome mass swayed between his legs. The cock hung well past mid-thigh, and his testicles dangled like two fleshy grapefruit.

If she squinted, she could see the wrinkled skin of his scrotum tighten and relax, causing the engorged contents to slowly rise and fall.

Tankym was their top producer. And in the Spring, his yield was the stuff of local legend. Minotaur semen was a precious commodity — used in everything from acne to the arcane. And today, if her skills were on point, Lexie could easily cover the farm’s expenses into winter.

She approached the creature from the rear, dragging the merest tip of a single, painted fingernail up the back of its thigh, ending just below its rock-hard ass. The creature roared lustfully, and pulled so hard on the restraints that three of the grown men in the barn took a large step backwards, eyeing the exit.

“Thank you, boys,” she purred.

The farmhands made the quickest exit their own swollen members would allow.

Lexie stifled a giggle. They walked so funny.

Then, she turned to the minotaur, casting her half-lidded gaze into its aqueous, bovine eye.

“Are you ready?” She tiled her shoulders as she said it, causing her massive tits to jostle one another inside their meager restraints.

He snorted as his cock — thick as a tree limb — jolted upwards.

It was a dumb question.

CHAPTER TWO

Her father hadn’t taught her to… extract. She found herself drawn to it. Those low, guttural moans that once gave her nightmares, filled her with tingles and chills once she knew their source. She had followed her father to the barn once. Unseen. The site of the massive creature unleashing its torrent of thick, viscous seed made her forget to breathe. And, often, when she was sure her father was fast asleep, she would tiptoe across to the barn to... experiment.

The night he caught her, his rage reverberated across the canyon walls that cradled their humble farm. She hadn’t understood the danger. The risks. He trembled as he barked. He wasn’t just angry. He was frightened.

He never wanted her to join the family business. It was unseemly work for a young woman. He was dead-set against it. Then, he was simply dead. Cardiac arrest, ol’ Doc Whittenger had said.

After that happened, it wasn’t a choice. She had to take over. Her mother had neither the business acumen nor the interest in this kind of farming. And Lexie was their only child.

She stepped closer to the two-legged steed, double checking the leather restraints wound around its wrists.

Her hand plunged into her pocket, drawing out a leaden ring. It had rounded edges, and it featured a hinge in the middle, allowing it to open and shut. It was surprisingly heavy for such a small object. Gingerly, she traced her fingertips down one of its firm ass checks, trailing underneath, sending sparks up the incensed monster’s spine. She encircled her thumb and forefinger just above its leathery ball sack just above its massive testes, and she pulled slowly down.

Its heavy breathing turned to quick, short snorts. It tried to shift its feet, but the steel bars held fast.

With her other hand, she closed the ring around the monster’s scrotum, just above her grasp. When she released the great minotaur’s balls, they swung low, like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

She dipped her hand into canister of warm oil attached to one of the rear posts of the stall. Slowly, methodically, she coated the minotaur’s hard cock with the warm greasy liquid. It made his engorged member shine and glisten. It made the minotaur jolt with futile rage against its restraints.

She smiled, biting her lower lip. She may not have been a pianist, but she was every bit the artist.

CHAPTER THREE

She was strong. She had to be. Her large breasts had developed at a very young age. And she was never particularly fond of dressing modestly, as her mother reprimanded her to do. Those long legs, her flawless skin, those large, green eyes… With her long, raven hair, flowing behind her, she looked like one of the professional consorts from the town. And with her wobbling tits and her plump ass, it was impossible to walk in a way that wouldn’t attract the longing gazes of the hired hands.

Not that she was trying very hard.

More than once, one of the teenaged hands would trap her against the back wall of the barn, hidden from her father’s watchful eye. He’d leer down her copious cleavage, pinning her helpless frame with his upper torso as his thick fingers fumbled for her buttons.

And more than once, one of those boys found his legs kicked out from under him, plummeting to the grass, pinned under the tawny frame of the young woman. She delighted in grappling with them. In very little time, she would have the boy on his knees, coiling behind him, holding both his arms behind him with one of her own. She’d press her firm tits into his back, and breathe heavily in his ear.

They never had a chance. Her first was a young farmhand named Walter.

When she realized she had him completely under her control, she wriggled her knees between his own, gradually prying his legs apart.

And, as he writhed and whispered frantic pleas, she released his stiff cock with her free hand and slowly started to stroke.

Panic jolted through his body as her plan dawned on him. She was going to make him ejaculate all over his clothes. How was he going to explain that?! He struggled against her body, but she had him completely overcome.

The harder he struggled to close his legs, the wider she forced them open.

When she whispered in his ear how his thick cock was making her tight, shaved pussy sopping wet, he exploded, streaming thick ropes of jism across his soft, flannel shirt, across his sandy hair… puddling in his denim jeans.

She released his limp form onto the grass and stalked, wide hips swaying rhythmically towards the farmhouse. Her father discovered the farm hand in the grass behind the barn only moments later. She looked over the shoulder to see him dragging the protesting youth in the opposite direction. Walter didn’t show up for work the following day.

It was a pattern that was repeated often, as she matured.

She never did discover what had happened to him. And her father never said. She had an unspeakable feeling that the minotaurs knew. But they seldom — if ever — spoke to humans.

Tankym, still straining against his unyielding restraints, was in no position to reveal secrets right now, anyway. In this position, what he was revealing was much more riveting.

To Be Continued...

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