On a cold and silent night, a minotaur was in his living room, sitting comfortably in his favorite chair, enjoying the warmth coming from his fireplace, while enjoying all the things he had acquired in his life. He was a retired war chief, one who had brought many victories to his people, with scars all over his body as symbols of the battles he fought, and for his service he had been rewarded greatly by his king. While not of old age, he was past the point of being suited for battle, and was happy to live the rest of his life reflecting on his deeds, and his many trophies.

One such trophy knelt before him in submission; a deer prince of a civilization that had been brought to heel years prior, his people enslaved and put to use by their now minotaur masters. As leader of the raid, the war chief was privy to any prize he desired, and what he had desired was the prince. The name of that kingdom slipped the minotaur’s mind, lost to time like so many others that met unfortunate fates at the hands of his tribe. He didn’t even remember the prince’s name, or at least not his original name. As while at one point the stag might have been known as “Prince Bramble of Thicket”, now he was known only as “Rubus”.

It was the name the deer had learned to accept, as well as his position in life as a slave to a superior male. He had gone from a privileged and pampered member of royalty, to a servant who attended to the every desire and need of the one who held his leash. The transition wasn’t easy for the boy, but with the right training, the prince took to his role as well as could be expected, if not a bit more. Now happily he sat in submissive pose, wearing only what bits of clothing that were provided to him, neck collared, penis caged, and will bent to that of his master.

“You’re looking cute tonight,” the bovine said, admiring the way the light of the fire flickered off his deer’s body.

“Thank you, master,” Rubus replied, blushing a little at the compliment, “I’m glad you enjoy looking at my meek form.”

The minotaur smiled. The line was a generic expression of submission, but submission was all that was needed. The satisfaction of knowing the prince belonged to him in every sense of the word brought satisfaction that only those who had absolute power over another creature could understand.

“Come to me, Rubus,” the minotaur commanded, feeling a swell from between his legs.

The deer obeyed immediately, crawling before his master, until his body was between the minotaur’s legs. He had noticed the arousal the bovine was getting, and assuming it would need attending to. Any other night, he would have been correct, but tonight the deer found himself being picked and brought into the minotaur’s lap.

“Rubus, do you know why I picked you tonight out of all of my boys?” the minotaur asked.

“Because Gallus is out on leave?” Rubus said, mentioning one of the minotaur’s contractual servants.

“No,” the minotaur said, chuckling, “It’s because tonight is that anniversary of the night I claimed you.”

“Oh?” the deer said, his blush intensifying, not realizing that the minotaur took note of that day. In many ways he felt that he was no more special than any of the other slaves his master had, which was an intential trait instilled on the prince to keep him humble.

“And since it is our anniversary,” the minotaur went on to say, “I wanted to treat you to a special night. Just you and me, together, enjoying each other’s company.”

With that said, the minotaur gave his greatest prize a kiss on his lips, which was reciprocated by the deer. The minotaur, and his people, had taken everything from the stag, but either through his training, or through a secret desire he had always subconsciously had, he loved both his new life and the affection his master gave him, especially in these rare instances where the minotaur treated him extra nice.

The two embraced, the smaller deer held tightly in the arms of the larger minotaur, and snuggling up against the bull’s muscular chest. Content with the way his life turned out, at least in this moment, the former prince of Thicket could only think of two words to express his gratitude to the one who enslaved him.

“Happy Anniversary.”

Image of an older Bramble after being a submissive slave to a minotaur for years. Hope you all enjoy.