They will tell you never to enter the elven woods. You do not want to chance a meeting with the elves, they say. They are a strange folk: strange of body, strange of mind, strange of custom. They have an unholy relationship with their animals. They do not take kindly to outsiders. There is a village, supposedly, at the center of the forest, with mansions and canals and strange delights. But reaching it is not worth the risk.
Or so it is said.
It is true that the elven village is full of strange animals. Enormous war-horses and the hulking shapes of dire wolves walk the streets with their elven partners as honored members of society. And indeed, one might easily mistake some of the elves themselves for animals, as many of them grow large and monstrous in form, great shapely beasts of exaggerated muscle. To look at two elven males might be to not even realize that they are the same species, so great is the variation among them. Among the swollen, aggressively large warriors there are also the slimmer, much more effeminate bards, artists, craftsmen.
An outsider might readily assume the difference in size and shape among the elves would be a matter of gender, but would be quickly disabused of such a notion: in the eternal summer at the center of the woods, the elves go about their day barely clad, and with their maleness on display for all others to see. This is not just for comfort, but a necessary element of elven society; it is how they assess their rank amongst one another.
It is why Aolius, young though he may be, lives a lavish life of comfort and dominance. The manse in which he dwells, the servants who heed his every whim—these are provided him by virtue of his significant physical endowment. Though he is not large enough of body to have been called as a warrior, the unreal size of his cock means he is lauded and respected among his people.
Seated on the balcony of his airy, opulent bedroom, reclined upon a decadent fainting couch, Aolius affects an air of relaxation. But in truth his nerves are on alert, his eyes restlessly scanning the horizon.
There. He hears the trumpet before he sees the dark mass of the warriors returning home. The village gates open and the enormous horses flood in with their equally huge riders upon their backs. Row upon row of titanic, oiled chests glisten in the sunlight, skin taught over the vast expanses of pectoral muscle. Aolius stands and hastens inside to make his way downstairs.
Before he leaves his bedroom, he pauses in front of a long, gilded mirror to inspect himself. He looks every bit the haughty lordling: though he is not yet fully of age, his cock is hardly smaller than those of the horses on which the warriors ride. The rest of his body is taut, lean; acceptably muscled, although not nearly on par with the warriors. His long pale hair is tied neatly at the nape of his neck, and his body is adorned with golden jewelry and clasps that hug tight to his skin, artfully trailing lengths of gauzy cloth that are far more for decoration than protection. He smooths down an errant curl behind his ear; this will do.
As he passes out of the bedroom, he whistles—sharp, high, commanding. Locan, the massive black dire wolf that serves as his companion, yawns from where he lies on his own decadent cushion against the wall and stands, taking his time, before padding agreeably after his master. Though Aolius is already over six feet tall, Locan’s face is as high as his elbow. He catches up to Aolius quickly, licking his snout and falling into step beside him.
By the time Aolius reaches the stables, Neremyn is already there, grooming his freshly unsaddled horse. Aolius slows to a walk before he enters the space, feigning disinterest and trying to make it look like he hasn’t been running. He keeps his chin up, arrogant, commanding, and does his best to give himself an uncaring air, as though he’d only just happened to be passing this way. But his gaze betrays him, fixed helplessly upon Neremyn.
Neremyn is a true specimen of the warrior class, skin bronze and smooth, so heavily muscled that he is unable to see the rest of his own body past his pectorals. His hair is dark, generally kept in a tight braid that he coils and pins up when he is going to be fighting, although it hangs down his back at the moment. He’s also incredibly well-hung, highly-ranked among the warriors. Technically Aolius, who is expected to be even larger when he finishes growing, outranks him. It is only barely so, but Aolius will still take every opportunity to remind Neremyn of this fact.
“Ah,” he says, as though he hadn’t expected Neremyn to be there and is only now discovering him. “I see your warriors have returned. Happy hunting, I hope?”
Neremyn shrugs. He is a man of few words, a stoic sort. It always throws Aolius off; he has difficulty telling what the warrior elf is thinking. He clears his throat, continuing. “I suppose now that you’ve returned, you’ll be willing to make up for your absence? My cock is in desperate lack of servicing, what with your neglect of your duties.”
Neremyn shrugs. He raises an eyebrow at Aolius. “I would be surprised if that was the case,” he says in his deep, gravelly voice. The low tones and the piercing gaze of the deep green eyes that accompany the sound never fail to send a shiver up Aolius’s spine. “I imagine there’s no shortage of your classmates and staff for you to fuck while I’m away.”
This is true. Aolius is never above pulling rank, forcing his academy classmates to their knees at a whim and plunging himself into whichever of their holes suits his fancy. He has also been known to sate himself upon the house staff, any and all of them ready if not always eager to spread themselves open for him and allow him to plunder their deepest reaches. His position in society allows him the privilege of taking what he wants whenever he wants it, and there are precious few that can boast the same power over him.
Still, Neremyn is... different. But of course Aolius would swallow a hundred knives before admitting this to him. So instead he clears his throat and lifts his chin. “Still,” he demands.
Neremyn gestures at his horse, a chestnut stallion with white markings that is almost as thickly muscled as he is. “Gotta see to Beronah here first.”
“Oh, of course,” Aolius says, waving a dismissive hand. “I wish to see you on your knees, sucking him off. Perhaps it will help me get into the mood to deign to fuck you.”
Neremyn meets his gaze, eyes intense enough that Aolius swallows despite himself. He keeps his chin up, willing himself not to look away.
After a moment Neremyn smirks and inclines his head ever-so-slightly—a brief gesture towards a bow. “As you wish,” he murmurs, and sinks beneath the horse’s belly.
Aolius has watched Neremyn care for his animal in such a manner many times before, but he never ceases to feel a shiver of pleasure as the elf warrior easily stretches wide his jaw and engulfs the tip of the beast’s head. Aolius raises a hand to his own lips self-consciously as he watches inch after inch of Beronah’s equine cock slide into Neremyn’s mouth and down his throat. The horse’s skin shudders and he stamps his foot lightly, but otherwise holds still, well-accustomed to such ministrations.
Aolius feels blood rush to his own cock, stiffening it between his legs, as Neremyn fellates his steed with dedication and care. The elf is nothing if not conscientious as always, attentive to every detail. Aolius watches his throat bob as he attempts to swallow around the massive phallus within. The warrior reaches forward with his hands and fondles the horse’s testes while fellating him, fond but business-like.
It takes only a few minutes for the horse to climax, pouring his seed down Neremyn’s throat. He swallows with professionalism, despite what Aolius knows is a massive flood of semen flowing into his gullet. He berates himself for not ordering Neremyn to pull off to receive the ejaculation; there are few sights he enjoys more than the warrior’s face and neck coated with cum. Too late now, however; Neremyn skillfully gulps down every last drop.
When he finally manages to disengage himself from the beast’s cock, Neremyn turns to Aolius, one eyebrow raised, awaiting orders. Aolius shouldn’t feel so flustered, to have Neremyn’s gaze upon him like this. How many times has he taken this warrior? Surely he should be used to commanding him by now. He clears his throat again to hide his nervousness.
“Now you will service me in the same manner,” Aolius orders, “while Locan claims you from behind.” At his side, the wolf looks up at him at the sound of his name.
Slowly, carefully, Neremyn climbs out from beneath his horse, never breaking eye contact with Aolius. Aolius has to stop himself from taking a step back as the warrior elf approaches.
Neremyn only stops when he is well into Aolius’s personal space, looking down at him. Aolius is only average height for an elf of his age; Neremyn towers over him at well over seven feet. Aolius is mere breaths away from the massive pectoral muscles larger than his own head, straining towards him like they want to crush him between them. If he stuck his tongue out now, he could lick them.
“As you wish,” Neremyn says again. His eyes never leave Aolius as he sinks down to his knees.
Aolius allows himself a small gulp and grabs onto the wooden stall divider behind him as the warrior’s talented mouth breathes its way lightly down his erect cock, breath warm and maddening against his flesh. Neremyn strokes him softly, lovingly, nuzzling against the soft skin of his dick with an almost worshipful sigh. Aolius’s grip tightens as Neremyn finally reaches the tip of his cock and opens his mouth.
He can’t hold back a groan as Neremyn engulfs him. Aolius’s dick is comparable in size to Beronah’s, but Neremyn swallows him down with a practiced ease, forcing his head further and further along Aolius’s cock as the massive phallus slides down his throat. When he is finally close enough once again to Aolius’s hips, he grabs one of the young elf’s buttocks in each large hand, holding himself steady as he begins to work himself back and forth along Aolius’s shaft.
Before he can forget himself too entirely, Aolius snaps his fingers towards his wolf and points at Neremyn’s rear. “Locan!” he commands. “For you! Go.”
The enormous wolf dutifully mounts up, placing his paws upon Neremyn’s shoulders and lining up the spear of his own cock with the warrior’s rear entrance. Locan, too, is well accustomed to these practices, to the point where he now habitually grows hard whenever he is in Neremyn’s presence. He needs no guidance now as he pushes forward, sinking his slick canine rod into Neremyn’s unresisting anus and beginning to thrust.
Neremyn allows the wolf’s actions to set his pace, forcing Aolius deeper into his throat whenever Locan plunges into him, and drawing back several inches as the wolf pulls back out. Aolius allows a hand to rest on the warrior’s head as he is dutifully serviced, his eyes darting back and forth between the stretch of his lips around Aolius’s cock and the pounding rhythm of Locan’s phallus driving into his ass again and again.
A whimper escapes from Aolius as he feels a smirking little hum vibrate up from Neremyn’s throat along the length of his cock. Despite everything, despite the helpless position they have him in, and the merciless penetration they are subjecting him to, Aolius can’t help but feel like Neremyn is somehow still in full control of the situation, mastering him despite his best efforts.
With the hand on Neremyn’s head, Aolius grabs his hair, fisting the strands, reminding him who is in charge here. He gets another resonating smirk for his trouble, and then, unexpectedly, the teasing probe of a finger between his buttocks.
Aolius gasps, feeling a blush heating his cheeks. At his rank, there are precious few who are allowed to take him at their whim. He still keeps his passage oiled up, as is customary, but seldom has it actually proved to be necessary. His own rear entrance is not entirely inexperienced, but still, the sheer audacity-
He wants to protest, but somehow the breath to do so leaves him in a high moan as one of Neremyn’s sizable fingers breaches him, pushing up into his hole and lodging within him. Any objections are strangled as Neremyn begins to fuck him from behind in miniature as he continues his fellation, his finger mirroring the actions of his bobbing head.
Aolius throws his own head back, closing his eyes and reveling in sensation as Neremyn unerringly seeks out his prostate and stimulates him from within. He is awash in the pulses of pleasure that run up his spine, barely holding on, even as he hears Locan give a soft woof and sees the wolf’s knot swell up at the entrance to Neremyn’s passage.
The wolf stills, coming inside the warrior, flooding him with seed. Aolius knows from experience that he will remain tied inside the elf’s rear passage for at least several more minutes, plugging him up to keep the sperm inside him. The thought makes Aolius’s cock twitch in Neremyn’s throat.
He holds on as long as he can, but Neremyn is skilled, and the two prongs of his attack are difficult to resist. Aolius finds himself panting as Neremyn bobs and swallows and fingers him deep, assaulting him with pleasure from all angles. He forces himself to resist the oncoming tide, the waves of sensation that lap at his toes, slowly filling him up. He holds strong against the warm wet of Neremyn’s mouth, the confident slide of his finger, the firm grip on his hips.
He manages to wait at least until Locan’s tie ends, the wolf’s massive knot finally deflating as he pulls himself out of the warrior elf’s anus and wanders disinterestedly away. The site of his pet’s cum beginning to leak from Neremyn’s ass, however, is finally too much for him and Aolius bucks helplessly and comes himself, pouring himself into Neremyn like a waterfall into a rock basin. As he comes, Neremyn’s finger effortlessly finds his prostate once more, pressing ruthlessly against it and milking him through his orgasm, forcing him to the absolute peak of pleasure until Aolius feels as though he is drowning.
Neremyn leaves Aolius’s cock embedded in his throat until well after his orgasm is complete, causing Aolius to shudder with overstimulation as he finally withdraws. He draws his finger back out of Aolius’s ass at the same time; Aolius once again feels himself flush against his will. Despite the fact that he was the one being pleasured, he feels somehow obscurely like he’s been beaten. He schools his expression carefully, hoping it doesn’t show on his face.
“Well,” he starts to say, and then has to clear his throat as his voice cracks and betrays him. “I suppose that is adequate. Welcome home, then, I imagine is appropriate to say. I do hope you don’t think this alone makes up for your long absence.”
Neremyn stands, his penetrating gaze once again fixed squarely on Aolius, his intimidating physical form radiating control as the aura of his presence once again engulfs the elven youth. After several long heartbeats of silence, Neremyn finally smiles.
“I don’t imagine it does,” he says, his voice practically a purr. “I am, of course, at your command as you deem fit.”
Aolius swallows as a shiver snakes up his spine.