Stiles shouldn’t have been shocked that he got lost on his first real road trip to Europe. He was actually surprised that he didn’t do it sooner
In any case, getting lost on a greek island wasn’t ideal. He had no idea when he got left behind his tourist group, but it was getting dark, and he couldn’t find his way back to the parking lot. He hoped the bus wouldn’t leave him behind.
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come to this trip alone, but Scott didn’t have money, and nobody else he knew actually wanted to spend this much time with him.
Oh well, he was sure he would figure something out.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the figure sneaking up behind him.
When he woke up, he was alone in the dark. Cold, with stone pressing into his naked back.
Stiles got up on shaky feet, his head hurting. He couldn’t see what was in front of his nose in the pitchblack surrounding him, but he could tell he was naked. Holy shit.
There was a knot of terror in his belly. This didn’t felt like a robbery thing. He haven’t been wearing anything even remotely valuable to be stripped completely.
Carefully he took a step forward, holding his hands out and feeling around until he bumped into a wall. It felt like rough stone. Too level to be anything but man-made, but not smooth enough to be recent.
Okay. He just… he just needed to find an exit, right?
He didn’t know how long he’d been walking, but he could feel panic gathering in his chest, slow and steady, pressing the air from his lungs. It was still dark. Still so, so dark. He couldn’t stop feeling like everything was getting narrower, that the walls were closing in on him.
Stiles considered stopping a few times, just sitting down and waiting, but even the thought of not doing anything just sent him spiraling towards terror. He had to keep going.
He turned another corner - he turned so many, sometimes he felt like he’d been going around in circles - and finally noticed something different. Air. A tiny little breeze, not even enough to move his hair, but he could feel it.
That had to be the way out. It had to be.
There was no time in the darkness. He thought he had been walking for a year, but a treacherous part of his brain kept insisting that it’s been only minutes.
The only thing anchoring him into reality was the pain in his feet. The ground was cold, and the chill was settling into the sole of his feet. That couldn’t have happened fast, he was sure. He’d been walking for a while. He had to be.
He stopped at every branch in the labyrinth - the word scratching at the back of his brain, like there was something there he should pay attention to - still and careful, and waiting to see where the air was coming from.
Stiles was so tired. He didn’t know why he wasn’t calling out for help. Maybe there were other people here. All of greece was swarming with tourists, there was no way he was alone.
But his guts clenched whenever he opened his mouth, telling him that maybe he really wasn’t alone. That maybe that was exactly why he had to stay quiet.
He swiped a few errant tears from his face, wincing with every step when finally he noticed something. A light. Or at least a glow, soft, in the distance, but there.
Stiles swallowed back a relieved sob and started towards it.
He didn’t find what he wanted. He ended up in a giant, round room, the ceiling domed, with a single, round opening at the top that looked as small as a coin from down here. But even that tiny source of light was enough to let him look around, the breath caught in his chest.
The dungeon was enormous. From this room there were twenty one openings all around. But what caught his attention was the fountain in the middle. There was a sculpture on top of it. Some goddess, her features eroded with time. The sound of the water made him realize how thirsty he was and he made his way over on heavy feet, using his hands to spoon the water to his mouth.
Belatedly he wondered if it was even good, or contaminated with something, but after the first sip he didn’t care. The water was icy and he could feel it all the way down to his belly.
Stiles drank his fill and sat down, hissing as his ass hit the cold ground. He felt dizzy, the water he just drank turning in his stomach.
Oh, god, it must have been bad, poisoned or something.
His middle started cramping and Stiles curled in on himself, gritting his teeth. He didn’t want to die. Not here. Not now. Nobody would even find him. The pain got so bad that he toppled over, lying on his side on the cold floor. His eyes were getting unfocused, but before he lost consciousness he noticed something by the wall. Between two of the doors there was a bundle of something. He couldn’t make out what it was, but the fact that maybe someone else was here, that someone else lived here filled him with a mix of hope and terror.
Stiles woke to being jostled. It took his brain a second to catch up with what was happening, to process what was in front of his eyes.
And then he was screaming.
The creature holding him was enormous, his head was like a bull’s, but shorter with stumpy horns on his forehead. But. But it was walking upright. Stiles could hear his steps clanging, like he was wearing metal shoes. Or… or hooves.
But his hands were human-like, fingers thick and strong, but human as they held him still, and then as they put him down, pressing him into what felt like clothes or fabric spewn on the floor. It was that little nest he saw before he fainted. It smelled like musk and animal.
Stiles tried kicking, he tried hitting the creature with his fists, but his head was still dazed, his lips feeling dry and cracked, like he was running a fever, his stomach was still rolling and aching with the memory of cramps.
The creature held him down easily. He grabbed Stiles’ wrists in one hand and pinned them over his head, squeezing hard enough that he stopped struggling, afraid that they would break.
He bellowed at him, forcing his legs apart, and Stiles felt terror filling him.
“No, please, don’t…”
He didn’t care. His eyes weren’t exactly empty, but there was no human intelligence behind them either. The creature planted his free hand in the middle of Stiles’ chest, rubbing at his skin with his rough palm and made a groaning sound.
Stiles watched with horror as the creature got… got hard.
His cock was enormous; fully erect, it was as wide as a coke can, and it had to be one and a half feet in length. He didn’t seem to care about how Stiles started crying, instead he lay his cock on Stiles’ belly, rutting against him, using his other hand to press it against Stiles’ skin.
Stiles closed his eyes, wishing this to be over, but the creature kept going, groaning and moaning in a deep, animalistic voice. When he came, he cried out loud enough that it echoed all around them, and there was, thick, sticky semen covering Stiles’ chest, some of hitting his chin, sliding down his neck.
The creature huffed hard enough that Stiles could feel it against his skin and then started rubbing his come in with his stubby fingers.
Stiles cried, the sobs wracking his body, and then he froze when the thing reached for his head, swiping the come clinging to his chin and stuffing his fingers into Stiles’ mouth until he gagged. He tried biting down, but that didn’t face the creature, he smeared his come around, onto his tongue, rubbing it into his gums.
Stiles retched when he finally pulled back, and the thing let him turn to his side, lying down behind him and pulling him close.
Stiles didn’t know how long he slept, fretful and feverish. When he woke up his skin was sticky, his mouth tasting horrible. But he was alone.
It was hard to stand, his legs shaking, his head feeling light like his skull was stuffed full of cotton candy. He took a trembling step, holding himself up by the wall. There was a pain in his body, under his navel. He didn’t know what it was, but it felt like something was twisting and pulling at his insides.
Maybe he was dying.
But he wouldn’t be dying here.
He took the first door by the wall, the darkness terrifying but better than what he was leaving behind.
Stiles walked, and he walked and he walked, hunched over, hugging his middle until he couldn’t walk anymore.
When he came around, the creature was above him, back in the domed room, with a thick, meaty thumb forced between Stiles’ teeth, keeping them open, his other hand busy jerking his enormous cock hard and fast.
Before he could jerk away, the beast was coming, his seed hitting him in the face, pouring into his mouth. There was a lot of it, half of the stuff sliding down the side of his face, getting into his eyes and making him blind.
Stiles gagged, choking on the thick stream, trying to spit out out, but he grabbed Stiles’ head, pinching his nostrils closed and slapping his big, rough palm over his mouth until he had to… he had to swallow, his vision going gray.
The creature let him go when he went slack in his hold, and then it pulled him close on the nest, locking his feet and arms around Stiles, trapping him against his chest.
He smelled awful, and Stiles couldn’t do anything other than cry himself to sleep again.
He woke to being cold, shivering where he lay, his body too sore to move. All his muscles felt aflame, his stomach cramping and cramping and cramping so bad that tears filled his eyes. His eyelashes felt sticky, his nose clogged, and filled with the smell of bitter come.
He turned his head - he didn’t have the strength for anything more - and watched dizzily as something hung over the fountain. He didn’t understand what he was seeing until he blinked a few times, fighting to focus his eyes.
Ah. A crate… or maybe a basket… it was being lowered on a thin rope. The monster climbed up to the edge of the fountain to grab it, pulling on the rope until it went slack.
The bull… Stiles had no better word for him, though he knew… he knew that should jog his memory about something… The bull unpacked the crate before he threw in a few things, and then pulled on the rope until it rose up and up a up…
Stiles was so cold. He started to shake, his vision losing focus, but he could still hear the bull’s steps as it came back, sitting down with his back to the wall, then he pulled Stiles’ body into his lap, like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.
It was finally warm, and Stiles fell back to sleep.
He was walking again, in the darkness. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t know why . He remembered waking up angry and scared and alone and crawling on the ground until he had enough strength to stand up.
He just knew he was going away. But it was hard, and it was getting harder with ever step. The insistent pain in his belly was quieting down for the first time since… since… he couldn’t remember. Wasn’t it always there? Wasn’t he alway here?
But then why would he go away?
His steps faltered and he stumbled to his knees, crying out in pain as the stone floor met his body. It was so cold. He just wanted to be warm again.
There were heavy, clunking steps coming up behind him, and his heart fluttered.
Stiles let himself go as he was picked up, and buried his face against the warmth.
It was a good thing - Stiles thought, detached - that his bull was strong enough to carry him home when he got lost.
Stiles lay on the nest, watching the bull. He was by the fountain, washing himself in the cold water, dunking his large head under the surface and then shaking the droplets off.
He hadn’t been hurting for a while now, and with his belly full after the bull fed him bananas and apples and all sort of other things he wasn’t as cold either.
The bull was as naked as Stiles, and even as he was standing with his back to him, he could see his manhood hanging low between his legs, his big balls swaying, the size of oranges. Stiles didn’t have his balls hanging like that anymore. He knew he did before - of course, they were never as big as the bull’s - but now they were small, just like his cock, nestled close to his body, no bigger than his thumb. He wondered when that happened, but he couldn’t remember.
A chill ran up his spine, and he got up to his hands and knees, crawling over slowly, the rough stone floor digging into his skin. The bull was enormous, looking huger the closer he got.
He must have heard Stiles approaching, because he turned around, watching him with his big, brown eyes.
The bull didn’t like it when Stiles went away. He always came after him and carried him back, no matter how many times he got lost in the labyrinth. When he was at the bull’s hooved feet Stiles pulled himself up. He didn’t even come up to the bull’s wide shoulders.
Stiles took a palmful of water and started rubbing the bull down. His neck was furry, a stripe of it going down his back and ending in his tail. His chest was as bare as Stiles’ but from the line of his hips downwards he was covered in fur again. He looked powerful.
The bull watched him work for a minute and then he sat down with a huff, his breath visible in the cold air.
Stiles smiled, though he couldn’t explain why, and started working harder, carefully wetting the bull’s shoulders, his neck, what he could reach from his back, rubbing him down.
Sitting, the bull’s head was almost in line with Stiles’ chest, and he stilled when the bull turned, one hand going around Stiles’ hips and yanking him closer. The bull stretched his thick neck and opened his mouth, licking one of his nipples.
Stiles shuddered. His chest had been tingly lately, his nipples always hard, alway puffy, and the feeling of that warm touch made him gasp.
The bull made a groaning sound and took his nipple in his mouth, worrying it with his teeth. Stiles grabbed his horns, no knowing if he wanted to push it away or pull him closer.
When the bull was finished playing, Stiles was left shaking, breaking out in goosebumps as the saliva cooled on his chest.
The bull was hard, his thick cock standing proudly between his legs, and Stiles fell to his knees. He was so cold. His belly quivered, needing something hot to fill him again.
He looked at the bull questioningly, but he didn’t stop Stiles when he reached out with shaking fingers. His cock was so huge that he couldn’t close his hand around it, needing to use both to be able to jerk him off.
There was drool dripping from the bull’s mouth as he watched Stiles working him, and when he got close, he grabbed Stiles’ head in a large hand that felt like it could crush his skull if needed and pushed him down.
Stiles couldn’t fit the bull’s cock into his mouth, but he could take the tip of it. It was a bit pointier than a human cock, and he was glad that he could close his lips at least around that much.
The bull bellowed, loud and echoing and then he was coming, spurting rope after rope of thick seed onto Stiles’ tongue. His mouth filled fast and he had to swallow and swallow and swallow as those huge balls emptied, his eyes rolling back as the warm liquid slid down his throat, filling his hungry stomach.
He didn’t spill any of it, and felt incredibly proud.
When he was done, the bull pulled him into his lap, grabbing his face and leaned in, mouth open. He had a long, thick tongue and it was slippery with saliva as it inched its way between Stiles’ lips.
He closed his eyes, clutching at the bull’s shoulders, opening up wider to let him do as he pleased. The bull sealed their lips together and pushed his tongue farther and farther, until Stiles was gagging on it, feeling the tip caress the back of his throat, cutting off his oxygen.
His bull held him close, pressing bruises into his skin with blunt fingers, kissing Stiles until he was dizzy with it.
One day Stiles woke before his bull, nestled close and comfortable in his strong arms, taking in his earthy, thick smell. It made his head dizzy and he reached up, running his hands down those magnificent shoulders over and over until the bull opened his eyes, looking down on him.
Stiles snuggled closer, and then he moaned, feeling the bull’s hard cock pressing against his belly.. His legs shifted, restless, and he was shocked to feel wetness between them, something slick and hot covering the inside of his thighs.
The bull’s nostrils flared, and he pushed Stiles on his back, parting his legs to kneel between them. He didn’t know what was happening, but he let the bull do as he pleased, a part of him elated at feeling his bulk between his legs.
The bull sniffed the air, his cock jerking. He reached down, parting Stiles’ asscheeks, digging a fat finger in his crack, rubbing it over his hole. Stiles’ back arched off the blankets. There. It felt like a revelation, like he finally understood where all that hunger he’d been feeling came from. The bull pushed his finger inside him, huffing, and then he pushed in another one.
Stiles whined, the stretch hot and bright behind his closed eyelids, but it didn’t even occur him to resist. No. Instead, he let his legs fall to the side, trying to give the bull more room.
He must have understood the invitation, because he started to fuck him with his meaty fingers, slow and steady and relentless before he added a third. That hurt. His bull had large fingers and they were spreading him open with a bite of pain, but it did nothing to make him want it less.
The bull was panting, his cock standing proud, twitching impatiently.
Stiles reached for his own dick on instinct, a fragmented memory. His cock was soft and naked under his fingers. He shed his hair there what felt like ages ago, and he couldn’t help feeling a bit sad about that, though he couldn’t tell why.
But it felt good to play with his flaccid cock. It wasn’t too sensitive, but when Stiles pinched it just right it almost felt like… something.
The bull groaned and pulled his fingers back, leaving him whining at the loss, but thankfully he wasn’t gone for long. He took his cock in hand, fitting the narrow head to Stiles’ sloppy hole and started pushing.
Stiles forgot how to breath. It hurt. It burned like nothing he ever felt before, his rim stretching and stretching until he thought he would break. But he didn’t, and the bull kept pressing, moaning and snorting, thick drool dripping from his mouth.
Stiles was slack jawed, his head swimming by the time he bottomed out. He could feel him. He could feel the hard, fat line of his cock, burning him from the inside.
And then the bull started to move, pulling his hips back, letting his cock slid out halfway before hammering forward, hard enough that the slap of his skin against Stiles’ echoed in the chamber.
Stiles felt tears sliding down his face, though he didn’t understand why. One of his hands was clawed in the blanket under him, the other was spasming around his cock, his fingers digging into his soft flesh, making him see stars.
When the bull started fucking into him for real he almost threw up, feeling every thrust like a punch to the guts and when he looked down at his body, he could see it distend on every push.
Stiles’ legs were shaking. He wasn’t sure he liked this, his ass kept clenching down, cramping around the huge girth, but it went away after a while, leaving his head floating, even as his body was jarred up and up and up.
The bull grabbed his hips, lifted his ass a bit so he could yank Stiles’ body back onto his cock and he could feel his tongue lolling out of his slack mouth, just like the bull’s did.
The bull came with a roar, stilling inside him, and Stiles watched with impersonal amusement as his belly rounded from the hot come pulsing into him.
His bull had been kind to him since he started fucking Stiles. Oh, he was kind before too, but now he always gave him the best of the food they got, and kept him bundled up in thick blankets.
Stiles didn’t understand it, but he had a feeling that it had to do with the fact that after a while his tummy stayed swollen, even after all of the bull’s come rushed out of him after they made love.
He liked it. Even though he got fed so much that sometimes he was queasy when he woke up, and his chest started aching too…
But that didn’t bother him, when his bull was right there, kissing him so sweetly, fingers digging into Stiles’ hole always, keeping him open and ready.
The favorite thing of his bull was to lay with Stiles, close and intimate and suckle on his breasts. He thought it was funny how his nipples were now longer than the little cock between his legs. They were fat, as big as his thumb, standing away from his body. His bull couldn’t seem to get enough of them.
Stiles sighed, humming under his breath as the bull thumbed his hole open. He was always slick now, always wet and sticky down there and his fingers slid in easily, rubbing against Stiles’ insides.
He arched his back, trying to push his chest into the bull’s mouth and his ass back onto his hand at the same time, and the bull snorted, biting down on his nipple, making him cry out.
Stiles grabbed his beautiful bull’s horns for purchase, his hips jerking.
He didn’t even notice when the bull groaned, eyes half lidded, milk dribbling from his mouth.
It took Stiles a long time to realize what was happening. Even after he woke to his nipples oozing milk and his bull licking at his chest, chasing after the drops. That confused him, but it wasn’t until his belly grew larger and he felt the first kick that he understood.
Stiles was happy.
He was making a family with his bull, they were going to have a little baby and be together always, and he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more, even when it was getting hard.
His belly was getting big. Very big. Big enough, that it was hard to stand up, so he just crawled around, and still, his pointy outturned navel was almost brushing the floor. But his bull took care of him, he was always careful, keeping his big, warm hands on Stiles’ hips when he fucked into him so he wouldn’t collapse and hurt himself. The way he thrust into Stiles made his belly swing under him and his nipples drip milk to the floor.
It was nice. His baby kicked a lot. One time, when he was sitting in his bull’s lap, letting him push his thick, meaty tongue down his throat until the room was spinning the baby kicked him so hard in the bladder that he started pissing, unable to control himself. But his bull was there, taking care of him, he reached down and pinched the head of Stiles’ little cock closed. It hurt enough that he teared up, but at least… at least they didn’t have to stop kissing.
Stiles’ baby leaned over the fountain, drinking noisily. He was growing very fast, faster than he thought he would. He wasn’t yet a year old, and he was already as tall as Stiles, and twice as wide. He took after his father, but his fur wasn’t all white, spotted with brown here and there.
Stiles watched him with a smile from his place by the wall. His son wiped his mouth and then bounded back to them, dropping down beside Stiles, hungrily arching for a nipple.
His breast were raw. His son had teeth now and he chewed on his teats until they hurt, but Stiles got used to it long ago. He closed his eyes in bliss as he felt his milk starting to flow. The other one was almost empty now, but his bull was still clinging to it, worrying it between his lips. His hands were busy at Stiles’ hole, four thick digits fucking into him slowly.
Stiles moaned, feeling his belly shift, his skin stretching shinily over it. His rim was hurting a bit, but he knew he needed the practice. He was bigger now, big enough that he couldn’t really move, and he knew he was going to have two, big, healthy babies.
His son sucked on his nipple hard and reached down to fiddle with Stiles’ cock, it was his favorite toy He always did it too hard, pinching until his cock was bruised and swollen, but he let him, dropping a kiss to his head.
He couldn’t imagine to live any other way.