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Bokasa
>> #176869
Posted on 2017-05-22 13:13:34
Score: 0 (vote Up)
What the story?
afacelessmess
>> #176871
Posted on 2017-05-22 13:21:51
Score: 0 (vote Up)
Bokasa said:
What the story?


The story's found in <<www.furaffinity.net/view/20430254/|the source>>; it's quite long
Hypnorgasm
>> #377050
Posted on 2020-07-06 08:29:04
Score: 0 (vote Up)
The story was written by dolphinsanity on FurAffinity:

"This totem's design is foolishness," said Larn Mudhoof the tauren warrior, nearly spitting as he did so. "Is this some mockery of your own craft, Grawtooth?"

The orc shaman stood, with surprising patience for one of his race and caste, and folded his traditional ceremonial claws across his own belly. The white animal pelt obscuring his torso and most of his face made his expression difficult for the tauren to read, but it seemed quite serious all in all.

"You misunderstand, Earth Warrior. This is well within the tradition of my craft."

"Yet you have made the design so… pointlessly indecent. Would a simple suggestive shaping not have sufficed?"

"The closer the shape, the stronger the effects, my friend. Now, will you help me with this test, or should I send you back to the pastures of Mulgore for now?"

Larn gazed at the distinctive penis-and-balls shape the orc had arranged along the totem's center. It seemed absurd -- but Grawtooth was, admittedly, not a friend who tended to waste Larn's time. They shared a solid, successful history together in battle and adventuring, so if the orc claimed it was a serious design…

The tauren glanced at the totem once more and made a swift decision: "Prepare your appeals to the spirits and tell them to do their worst. Where would you like me bound?"

"The tree behind my cottage will do nicely. I've prepared some ropes there."

The tauren nodded gruffly, but the shaman encouraged him as they walked.

"Cheer up, friend. If all goes well, you will be partly responsible for the creation of the greatest diversionary totem of all time. Enemies of the Horde will be unable to keep their focus as they fight."

Larn snorted a laugh at Grawtooth’s euphemistic description. The tauren could tell that his friend had an ulterior motive today, but he could not quite pin down what, and at this point he was all but honorbound to wait and see what that motive was. He had agreed to this without seeing the physical appearance of the totem, after all.

So, onward the bull went. He trusted the orc despite their differences and his awareness of the latter’s guile: Larn felt sure he wouldn’t be betrayed, but he certainly expected to be surprised.

For the tauren, the bits about removing his clothing in front of his friend -- and even being tied up to a tree for ritual purposes -- were of very little significance. The both of them had seen each other naked in baths a number of times; Larn found Grawtooth’s clammy green skin a little repulsive, and he usually assumed the orc must feel similarly about his bullish mattings of brown and cream fur. Likewise, Larn was a man devoted to tasks and to executing according to plan -- one didn’t survive well in battle otherwise -- and found it easy enough to see even absurdities as just another part of the plan if he felt confident they would lead to something good.

In spite of his friend’s shrewd behavior, Larn indeed felt something good would come. He simply had no idea how good, or how much of an impact it would leave upon his psyche and that of the shaman.

There was a certain sensualness to the way the shaman tied him with the ropes. Grawtooth flashed a smile and cordially asked if Larn was comfortable in the bonds.

“I have been far less cozy as a prisoner before, and I expect that I shall be again before I fall,” said Larn proudly.

“Mm, very good,” said the orc, casting one last and slow glance over the tauren’s body before pivoting away, and planting the totem into the ground with a wave of magically amplified force.

“Let the spirits at me,” Larn reaffirmed.

The shaman nodded. Wordlessly, he lifted a hand over the totem and channeled power to activate it, causing a soft glow of golden-white light to pulse from a hole near top of the totem.

“For the sake of testing, try not to look into it,” the shaman instructed.

Even with all of his willpower, Larn found that task phenomenally difficult. The light wasn’t even varying in a distracting fashion, only softly pulsing, yet somehow it conveyed a strange sense of importance that fascinated his mind. Closing his eyes to hide the light from them felt simply wrong, and this was within only a few seconds of exposure.

“Tempting, but perhaps not fast-acting enough for the heat of battle,” grunted the bull while his neck muscles began subconsciously to relax. He had turned his head away, but now he was complying, gradually returning to gaze at the light again.

“Don’t dismiss its usefulness just yet,” said Grawtooth.

Larn drew two deep, sudden breaths, exhaling violently both times. His body had begun to feel excited for no physically apparent reason, as if he were running full speed across a field in an attempt to join some great and important battle.

“Ghh… what is this… feeling…!?”

The tauren struggled in his bonds, but began to lose touch with his body. He looked deep into the light, and within it heard the sounds of other voices speaking. Voices of other tauren, speaking in a dialect too old for him to understand.

With an abrupt flinch, Larn’s body slumped forward, and his mind swam deeply into the lights and sounds.

* * *

Wide, green, rolling plains -- surrounded by low mountains and mesas. That was what Larn now saw. It was like the Mulgore he knew, yet it was different: older, less developed, and somehow more alive with natural power.

Larn was running, and he didn't know why at first, but he soon understood.

It was mating season for his tribe, and the males were settling the matter of who would get to breed.

It was an older, more barbaric way of doing things than their society had developed in later years… but this was an older, more barbaric time.

Larn stamped his right hoof and looked down, and discovered that his body was not his own. This was a black-furred tauren with stark white splotches. Despite this, the form felt familiar… and powerful. Indeed, it was most assuredly more powerful than Larn's present body without its swords and armor.

This body carried no weapon and wore no armor. It was a towering hulk of beef, with just one goal in mind: to dominate all opponents and show he was worthy to breed.

One of the other males running across the plains had turned in an arc toward him, and had now stopped and was making eye contact. A red-and-cream behemoth of a man, built much like himself. A man whose cock was already hard from his exposure to the crowd of females just a few moments before the contest had begun.

Larn lowered his horns and ran full speed toward his enemy of the day. He found to his surprise that his own shaft was hardening as he exerted himself, and when their horns clashed with a sound like a peal of thunder, the reverberation and disorientation only added to the desire.

Masculine grunts followed. They locked hands and horns, each struggling to push the other over. Each growing more aroused, their tails thrashing and their breaths quickening as they strove against each other's strength.

The next generation of the tribe must be be bred only by the very strongest. That was the rule. Weakness was not an option. The blood rushing into both of their shafts might well have been better spent on invigorating their muscles, but that too was a part of strength: to have such an excess of vitality that both the females and one's opponent had something enticing to look at. Something to help distract from the fighting spirit and encourage submission before the struggle got too far out of hand.

Larn compared himself to his foe. Their shafts and balls were as evenly matched as the rest of their bodies, and only the ebb and flow of the fighting seemed to make either look bigger or more vascular.

The dark-furred warrior grunted with determination. He felt himself tiring, but he refused to lose.

* * *

Grawtooth had been watching with a slowly widening smile as the totem's magic took effect. Judging by the tauren bull's reaction -- glazed eyes, lack of awareness of words being spoken near him, and an increasing sexual arousal and erratic struggling within his bonds -- its effect was working even better than the orc had hoped.

Its effect was also not precisely what Grawtooth had told Larn to expect for it to be. It was not merely a totem intended to distract foes in combat by arousing them -- or at least, it wasn't yet. In order for it to become that, one final ingredient was needed: a primal charge of sexual desire. Casual arousal would not suffice, nor would the infatuated flame of a young couple of the present age. No, the flame he sought to capture needed to have the strength and force of a volcano: fire and earth joining forces within one furiously horny man.

That was what the orc sought: to use this totem to record, honor, and replicate the effects of an arousal born of desperation. His totem required inspiration -- from an arousal felt by someone whose entire life's worth depended upon it, while in the heat of a potentially life-or-death situation such as battle. Only then would the totem's magic be strong enough to do what he wanted it to be able to accomplish on demand, with complete strangers.

The orc had known no better place to turn than a tauren warrior whose tribe's ancestors were known to be quite brutishly selective in their breeding.

Judging by the way Larn's arms and abs were flexing, and the way the precum was beading up, Larn was getting a taste of that brutishness first hand.

The shaman dared not intervene too much, and dared not touch himself either for fear of disrupting the ritual, but he gazed with closely attentive eyes at every twitching fiber of his friend's body, and at the way the erect shaft occasionally bounced to slap at the belly. Such strong muscles in that groin, and so fiercely invested in their current course of action…

The totem's power over the tauren deepened, accompanied by a brightening of glow along its top. Its power was synchronizing with the male's strong arousal and preparing to take in everything the tauren had to give.

Much as the shaman, too, was taking in every sight and scent and savoring it. He would remember this evening on many others down the road -- of that, he felt quite lustfully certain.

* * *

The tauren warriors had been struggling for several minutes with no victor. Most other pairs in the field today had already sorted themselves into winners and losers. Those who remained in the running for strongest male watched this remaining contest from a distance -- silently, as was custom. All of the observing warriors had spent their seed during their encounters, as was also according to tradition.

Larn's seed felt hot inside him. His muscles burned with fatigue. His breaths came to hot, exhausted lungs that had already reached their second wind earlier and were now leaving it behind.

Two sweaty, horny bodies, locked and struggling as they had been for so long. It seemed a miracle that they hadn't both collapsed already, and that neither's horns had chipped or broken from their frequent, clattering advances.

Then, in one of those moments in life that simply came without evident rhyme or reason, something changed. The stalemate broke. The red-furred tauren tried to thrash his horns to his left during a deadlock, and his body could no longer coordinate properly.

A rush of bestial strength returned to Larn's body as he sensed the weakness. His adrenaline gave him one more moment of force. Just one more instant of power with which to send his opponent sprawling.

Larn lifted his head and skull-bashed toward the red tauren's overextended neck. As the latter had nearly been tripping on himself already, this sent him stumbling, to land prone and pathetic on the grass a moment later, his strength completely spent.

Then, like the horny bull he was, Larn dropped to his knees behind the other male and began thrusting with maniacal need. His cock glided over the other's rump while the balls hung low and rested against the buttocks' lower curve.

Some thought of getting the cock inside the hole might've occurred to Larn, if he hadn't been so consumed by primitive, lusty magma right now to have anything but ritualized climax on his mind. Down -- the opponent was down, and now the opponent owed him pleasure and servitude.

Larn grunted. Larn let out a sound almost like a moo, but darker and commanding. And then, with the last of his strength about to give out, he climaxed: he sent a hot scattering of seed all over the humiliated red-furred tauren's back.

His mind swam with orgasm. It was a case of the hardest-earned bliss tasting the sweetest.

Caught as he was in this world -- two parts ancestral memory, one part fabricated illusion -- Larn felt like a god among males. His opponent had been so strong, the longest-enduring of any who had struggled in the field today.

As Larn, too, collapsed sideways in exhaustion with his scent markings all over his foe to make clear what had transpired and who had won, he felt secure of his right to breed. He felt peace, rushing through him with his orgasm. The greatest struggle of his life as a male was leading him into perfect happiness.

* * *

At least, those were the things the bull was experiencing. To the one standing outside Larn's physical body and observing, the climax looked a bit different.

It began with several repetitive thrashings of the tauren's head. He kept turning, angling, as if trying to make the horns strike an imagined opponent. Then his erection reached the raging-hardest size it had ever achieved during the session, with the glans puffing up boldly, the pre flowing in a steady stream down the length…

"Mm, truly you are a great warrior, the very embodiment of what a male should be," murmured the shaman, quite secure that his friend's mind was not present to comprehend him. "I was right to choose you to empower this totem."

The bulge in the orc's loincloth had become quite pronounced and continually clamored for satisfaction, yet for now he showed restraint. There would be time -- soon. His friend would not take long now.

Primitive grunts and low groans escaped Larn's jaws. His nostrils flared, and his glazed eyes began to shudder, as if dreaming of something fantastic.

The shaman felt the energy of the moment shifting -- the tauren's force of will and arousal uniting strongly within the persona he had been made to experience.

The totem glowed its brightest, and a single, lightning-like spark of power coursed between it and the tauren's shaft.

The tauren's balls sagged -- then tightened hard toward his taint. Seconds later his abs and chest were spasming in climax, his cock bouncing up and down and volleying strand after strand of semen onto the totem.

The climax lasted longer than the tauren's usually did, firing onward until the sixteenth shot gave way to the seventeenth as a mere dribble. Steady, dry pulsations continued after that, the bull's head hung low and breathed slowly through the nose, with the nostrils more peaceful in their motions now. He had released his cum… and more. He had infused the totem with what it meant to be a tauren male desperate to prove himself in strength and in sex.

Grawtooth could already feel it reaching out to touch his own mind. It was, even beyond his hopes, one of the most powerful arousals he had ever sensed in any creature.

"Mmm, rest for a while, my friend," said the shaman, while giving the sleeping Larn a soft pat on the shoulder. "You have done well. So very, very well."

The bulge in the shaman's loincloth tightened with a growing urgency, and so he undid his friend's bindings with haste, allowing the spent tauren to rest easy against the tree.

"Now that I've put you through that, it's only fair that I also test it on myself," said the shaman. It was an improvisation, but one which seemed to make sense within the aura of masculine competition the totem was giving off. "I will take it away to my tent and subject myself to its full effects, and then we will see if this totem has been made powerful enough to stop enemies in their tracks.”

Grawtooth tugged subconsciously at his loincloth. The need was growing. Snarling to himself, he realized there was no point in waiting. He had watched his friend do this, he reasoned, and so fair was fair: he would display himself right here for his friend to see as well. There was no need to move the totem from its current location.

The orc removed his loincloth and all ritual girdings from his waist, sank to his knees, and stared deep into the light of the totem. His breaths quickened, and his needy shaft rose tall and proud as he sank into the desire assailing his mind.
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