The room was dark, lit only by the dying glow of the hearth. The fire crackled faintly, casting long shadows that stretched and crawled over the walls, twisting into shapes that made the silence feel heavier.
Arthur lay restless on his bed, the wooden frame creaking under his shifting weight, his mind turning over Merlin's words and the grotesque logic of his farm.
The cattle-girl was nothing more than livestock, wasn't she? Yet Merlin's insistence had left a bitter taste in him, and he couldn't settle.
A faint creak disturbed the stillness. The door slid open slowly, hesitantly, and the silhouette of Rebecca—Beca—stepped in.
Her hooves clicked softly on the floorboards, the sound echoing louder than it should in the hush of the room. Her tail swished nervously behind her, a nervous twitch betraying what her lips had not yet said.
"Arthur…" Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile, trembling.
She stepped closer, each hoof-fall hesitant, and in the faint firelight her voluptuous form glowed with warmth, soft and round in every place his logic told him was just cattle.
She approached his bed, then lowered herself to her knees beside him, the horns casting sharp arcs of shadow across the wall. Her hands clutched the sheets as if she needed to anchor herself against being swept away.
"Please… not goblins. I'm… I'm scared of them."
Arthur blinked, surprised. Scared? His mouth opened to speak, but she continued, rushing as if the words themselves would crumble if she hesitated.
"They're ugly. Disgusting. The way their faces twist, their eyes—those teeth… I can't. Just looking at them makes my stomach turn. Please, Arthur, don't make me."
Her large breasts heaved with each nervous breath, pressing against his arm as she leaned closer, her horns dipping low, her eyes shimmering wet with fear.
They weren't the wild, fevered eyes of Merlin.
No.
These were wide, almost childlike, her terror real, her pleading voice dripping with sincerity.
"You're so handsome…" she whispered, swallowing hard as her cheeks flushed crimson. "Let it be you… not them. Please… Arthur."
Arthur sat up, taken aback, his hand brushing against her trembling shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her skin, the way her body shivered—not with heat, not yet, but with dread.
She wasn't like Merlin, twisted by obsession. This one was innocent. This one was desperate. This one, though shaped like livestock, felt painfully human in her terror.
For a long moment, he stared at her—at the cattle-girl pressing herself closer, whispering,
"moooh… please…" against his ear.
"I don't want to be touched by those ugly things."
The sound wavered, caught between a sob and a moan. His mind wavered, too—between cold practicality and the primal heat that stirred despite himself.
She's a milky-girl, he thought. Just that. Soft flesh. Breeding stock.
His hand lingered on her skin, despite himself.
Just livestock. Just a cow.
Her eyes shone at him — wet, wide, shimmering with that same blind devotion.
Just cattle.
Her lips trembled against his ear, voice barely a breath.
Just cattle… but begging.
Arthur's breath caught as Beca slid onto the bed, the frame groaning under the added weight. Her soft warmth pressed beside him, her flushed face lowering toward his lap.
Her hands trembled as they pushed the sheets aside, her horns brushing dangerously near his chest.
She had a spectacular body.
Big tits. Wide hips. Soft skin.
Built to breed.
Her eyes begged. Her lips parted.
When his length sprang free, the firelight gleamed on the exposed skin. Her eyes widened, her breath hitched, and a helpless gasp slipped from her lips.
"M-Mooooo…" she moaned, low and broken, her whole face burning red.
The thought made Beca shudder. She shook her head quickly, desperation in her eyes as her hands wrapped around him.
"No… Arthur… please… only you…"
Her voice quivered, but her gaze was determined, locked onto him with devotion and fear intermingled.
It was too much—thick, long, almost monstrous in proportion.
Arthur himself stared down with a conflicted frown.
Would it even fit inside her? Or… would he still need the goblin for this?
Her tongue darted across her lips, an instinctive, trembling motion, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Her throat worked as she swallowed, staring at it—too thick, too long, monstrously so.
Her hands wrapped around him, tentative at first, then firmer, her warmth undeniable. She whispered again, as if the repetition itself might shield her from the goblins' faces still haunting her imagination:
"Only you… only you… only you…"
Then, as if driven by some buried instinct, she leaned down and pressed her lips against the swollen tip.
Her kiss was trembling, hesitant, but the heat of her breath rolled over him. A thin string of saliva stretched as she parted her lips, her tongue slipping out, circling.
A thin trail of saliva glistened as she began licking slowly, her tongue circling. Soon she was taking him into her mouth, struggling, gagging faintly, yet refusing to stop.
He looked down at her, not with tenderness, not with hesitation. Her head moved steadily, her breath warm against him, and he felt the tension rising in his gut.
Slrp.Schlk.Her voice broke into muffled sounds: "Mmmmoooohh~"
She began licking slowly, her tongue tracing him, then taking him into her mouth, inch by inch, her throat convulsing as she gagged faintly.
Fuck, that's good.
Her horns knocked softly against his thighs as she forced herself further, her whole body quivering—but she refused to stop.
Drool slipped down her chin, glistening in the firelight, dripping onto his stomach, onto the sheets. The noises grew wetter, heavier.
Slrrrp… schlkkk… glrk.
Her eyes watered, tears streaking her cheeks, but she didn't pull back. She pressed harder, swallowed harder, the vibration of her muffled "Mmmmmooohhh~" sending a shiver up Arthur's spine.
Arthur exhaled heavily, his hand tangling in her hair as he stared down at her, caught between revulsion and intoxication, doubt and hunger.
Just cattle, he thought again.But her mouth was warm.Just livestock.But she was moaning his name.Just a cow.But she was worshipping him, lips and tongue slick with desperation.
She's not Merlin. She doesn't lie. She doesn't betray.
He stared at her, breathing slow. She wasn't Merlin. She wasn't twisted. She wasn't some treacherous whore who smiled while stabbing backs.
This one was different.
Quiet. Soft.
And maybe that's why it was harder to look away.
His pulse thundered, his hand tightened, and the weight of her pleading devotion pressed harder and harder on his chest. The repetition echoed in his head as much as it poured from her lips:
"Only you… only you… only you…"
And for a moment, Arthur believed it.
Her eyes watered, her throat working desperately as she sucked, drooled, and slurped around him, trying to soften and slick him enough to make it possible.
Her horns brushed against his thighs as she pushed herself deeper, her muffled "Mmmmoooohh~" vibrating against him.
Arthur exhaled heavily, his hand tightening in her hair as he watched her, torn between doubt and the intoxicating sight of her—this cattle-girl, innocent and needy, worshipping him with every desperate stroke of her lips.
Arthur's grip on her hair loosened. At first, he had held her like he might hold reins—firm, unthinking, treating her as an animal. But as she worked over him, gagging and moaning, he caught sight of her tear-streaked cheeks, the way her lashes clung together with wetness, the way her trembling hands pressed against his thighs for balance.
She wasn't faceless.She wasn't just livestock.She was Beca.
The name whispered itself into his mind, heavier with each thought.Beca… not cattle. Beca… not meat. Beca… begging for me, only me.
Her muffled moos vibrated around him, the firelight flashing across the strings of drool dripping from her lips. She pulled back just long enough to breathe, coughing faintly, her lips swollen, wet, red. Then she dove back down, lips sealing around him, her throat working furiously.
[Glrk… shlkk… slrrp.]"Mmmoooohhh…"
Arthur groaned, his body tensing. Each slick stroke of her lips, each desperate gulp, drove him closer, until his chest heaved with ragged breaths. He no longer saw "a cow" on her knees. He saw Beca—pleading, innocent Beca—offering everything she had, everything she was, just to keep the goblins away.
The bed creaked under his weight as he bucked once against her mouth. His fingers tangled deeper in her hair, his jaw clenched, and then—
He came.
Hot, pulsing, flooding her mouth in sudden violent spurts.
Beca's eyes flew wide, her cheeks bulging as the torrent filled her. A muffled whimper escaped, yet she didn't pull back. She swallowed once, twice, carefully, tilting her throat to take it down without spilling. Drool mixed with seed at the corner of her lips, dripping onto her breasts, but she persisted, gulp after gulp, until her throat bobbed empty.
When he pulled back, gasping, she opened her mouth just slightly—showing him she had taken it all—then shut her lips, swallowing the last with a small, shuddering breath.
Her hands rose to her lips, delicate, careful, and she licked her fingers clean, slow and hesitant, as if savoring and reassuring herself she had truly done it.
"Mmm… m-moooo…" she whimpered, her cheeks glowing with heat, her eyes heavy-lidded yet shimmering with shy pride.
Then, without pause, she leaned forward again. Her lips closed once more around the still-sensitive length, her tongue circling softly as if she hadn't finished, as if she couldn't stop.
Arthur shuddered, gripping the sheets. His mind screamed that it was too much, that she was livestock, that this was wrong. But his body… his body pulsed, his name echoing in her throat as she suckled, licked, worshipped.
And in that dizzying heat, he no longer thought cow.He only thought Beca.