Taking the Chain - Sex Stories

Taking the Chain

... such a thing? Him! Losing a fight! His hooves struck the ground hard enough to crack tile as he snatched up a towel.

"I am yet to lose a fight either," Mordax called from the waters. "But tomorrow one of us will fall."

"And when you lose, I have no doubt you will turn down the chain since you have no respect for traditions," Durus spat.

He began to dry himself off quickly, wanting to be away from the arrogant bull more than anything.

"Since you are so undefeatable and fixated on your precious traditions, then perhaps you would like to make a bet?"

Durus snorted and flicked the ring of his nose once more.

"And what do you propose?" he asked, throwing his towel aside.

"Tomorrow, when our fight is over, the defeated will take the chain, and submit before the crowds."

"Deal," Durus said without a second thought.

Mordax's eyes widened, the smug sense of self, draining from his face. Durus smiled, looking the bull up and down. He didn't think Durus would accept his offer. There was no doubt in his mind that he would win tomorrow. And it was true, Mordax truly was a prime specimen. His cock throbbed, twitching with interest. It would be a great honour and pleasure to take the bull tomorrow, as both a testament to his abilities as a fighter, but also, a return to tradition.

Of course, the arrogant bull ruined it all by bursting out laughing. Mordax let his gaze travel lazily down Durus' naked form to rest on his half-hard cock.

"I look forward to ...

... it," he said, his eyes locked. He licked his lips, and then leaned back with a sigh, resting his elbows on the edge of the pool. "I shall have sweet dreams tonight, of the cheers the crowd will make when I pull you to your knees."

Durus sneered, spat on the ground and walked away. Tomorrow, he would wipe that smirk off Mordax's face and replace it with bellows of ecstasy.

***

Durus' leathers creaked as he rolled his shoulders, the light armour well oiled. His sword gleamed and was sharpened to within the permitted edge. His shield was also carefully tended, the metal shining, and the arm strap secure without being restrictive. Durus' entire morning had been dedicated to preparing for this match, and not once. He held himself upright and steady, prepared for his bout with Mordax as he was for any match. Not even the chanting of Mordax's name of his own diminished his spirit.

He would win this final fight, just as he had won every fight before.

The gate before him shuddered, grit and dirt raining down as it pulled from its holdings and began to rise. Blinding white light poured in and the roaring of the crowd doubled. Unperturbed but the thrill of the crowd, Durus stepped out into the arena, beating his pommel against his shield. The sands were hot beneath his hooves, squeaking with each step. Before him, through the haze of heat rising from the grounds, Mordax seemed small as he stepped through his doors onto the battleground.

Mordax was a duel wielder, holding ...