Mila and Balthazar Ch. 01

Mila tightened the straps on her battle harness. The steel greaves, bracers and pauldrons fit snugly into place. The leather bustier and chest-straps creaked under the strain of her voluptuous yet firm, green bosom. She ran a hand through her bob-cut black hair and picked up her sword from the chair beside the rugs where she had spent the night.

As an adventurer, Mila had spent much time inside tents of one kind or another, but the Minotaurs really took it to the next plane. She cast her eyes about the massive, lavish canvas dwelling that Balthazar's tribe had given her the use of for the duration of their stay. Thick, warm, heavy rugs and blankets were strewn about the entire tent, along with numerous large pillows. A centrally placed brazier radiated some light and a fair bit of heat. It was still fairly cold by most humanoid standards, however; even her thick Orcish nipples were hardening up in the cold morning air. Her eyes caught her six foot tall imposing form in the large standing mirror in one corner of the tent.

'Looking good, darling.' she thought as she flashed a quick grin past her inch long lower tusks and fastened on her cloak. Shouldering her pack she opened the door-skin and stepped into the fog of morning on the plains.

Balthazar's tent was not far away. As she approached she heard some distinctive sounds that gave her a moment's pause. Sure enough, from the direction of the big bull's tent, she could hear the meaty slapping of flesh on flesh that could only be produced by two creatures fucking heartily. She grinned once more. Today was looking good.

It had not always been so, especially when the two had first met. Three years ago Mila's position had been significantly different. Three years ago, when Mila first met the Minotaur bull Balthazar, she had been the unfortunate prisoner of a centaur raiding troop. Three years, but it didn't seem that long.

Centaurs travel fast, and it had been on a morning similar to this that Mila had been slouched in the corner of a caged wagon, shivering slightly in the morning damp. Centaurs use no shelter whilst they sleep, so with no tents to tear down the group was ready to move with amazing speed.

A few centaurs were dallying, however, slowing the band's departure. One massive roan male stood over a dappled grey mare. The mare was kneeling on her front legs while raising her haunches to the powerful thrusts of the stallion. His large, coarse hands were gripped firmly to her breasts.

The mare's glossy large rump quivered in time with the pounding it was taking and Mila could just see, from her cage, the roan's thick, dark cock sliding smoothly in and out of the female's dripping cunt.

A few of the other centaurs were watching the action, including the young male assigned guard duty over the cage. Mila could see by the throbbing, veined horse cock that was starting to slide out of its sheath that the youth was getting increasingly excited.

The young centaur trotted over to the bars of the cage near where Mila crouched. Pointing his crossbow at Mila he ordered her to take hold of his now fully hard and unsheathed, vein covered cock. With a resigned sigh the Orc reached through the bars to grip the turgid shaft. Hefting his heavy ball sack in one hand while stroking his thick shaft with the other, she began to masturbate the young stallion while he watched his leader rhythmically fuck a young mare.

A muffled cry signified that the pinioned grey was cumming hard and suddenly Mila could see a torrent of pale cum pouring from the mare's pussy as the large roan withdrew his spent member. Wasting no time and giving no thought to the shaken female, the warband's leader began calling to his troop. Mila grinned – she was saved from having to service this young fool of a centaur prison guard.

Stepping over his quivering mare, Garsh of the Running Grass called out to the assembled raiders. These centaurs had entered the plains of the Greensea with the aim of carrying off as many Minotaur slaves as possible. Mila heard the leader, Garsh, gather the warriors around him, issuing curt, short orders with an arrogance born of one used to getting his way. Only a few minutes of his terse direction had passed before the majority of the herd was galloping off across the plains leaving only an older female centaur who had a wounded ankle, the now dejected orc Mila and her young guard with a raging erection. Today wasn't looking good.