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That day had been a long one for the stallion. First was twelve hours of work at the field, same as any other day, but today under a particularly angry sun. Then came another four hours of digging, and the chore seemed it would never end. He had been putting four hours of his personal time (which he normally spent either reading or seducing the mares and cows who worked on the farm with him) into digging the hole for the last three weeks. The thought which kept him going through it all was his reward.

Tonight the adventurer would ideally be waiting in the loft as instructed, having gotten notice by courier that the artifact had at long last been unearthed. She would be waiting and ready to trade. It was to be a simple exchange of skills: he went to the trouble of excavating the accursed thing, and she would provide anything he desired of her. She was a warrior and could settle any issues he had, she told him. Samson had thought, as he looked upon her body that day so many weeks ago, that he could think of a great many issues for her to attend to.

Samson stepped through the gaping door of the barn, cutting a shadow in the golden dusklight. He hung his worn-out hat on a nail jutting crookedly from a beam. He rubbed his neck and stretched, popping his back in a crescendo which he found very satisfying. A thought suddenly tugged at him, simple but worrying: what if she's not waiting for me? It wasn't a big leap of logic from that to maybe she already found it and she's gone. Be another night with my fist if that's the case.

It turned out she wasn't there, nor had she been, and as he settled into his cot and watched the pink glow of sunset pock with stars, the farmhand began to think there would be no adventurer visiting him that night.

Moonlight glowed on the sleeping field when Cleo neared the farm. Ordinarily such a journey would have left her tired, but the thought of claiming the artifact filled her with energy. Her armor clattered against the hilts of her blades, giving her brisk walk an arrhythmic tempo. She had long since learned to tune out the sounds, but it would have been distracting to a companion.

The lioness stayed out of view of the farmhouse. She didn't know if the land's owner was privy to her deal and had no intent of finding out. Quietly as her gear would allow, she entered the barn and gazed around beams and empty stables, looking for Samson. When she did not see the farmhand, she called in a low voice, "Are you here, horse?"

Samson awoke with a snort. He rolled to the edge of his cot, peered over the edge of the loft and smiled. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come back. Climb up here."

"Have you got the artifact?" Although her voice was firm, as if the deal could end then and there if she didn't like his reply, she started climbing the wooden ladder.

"I do," said Samson, sitting up. He scratched himself through his trousers, then plucked a blade of hay which was poking his knee. "But are you prepared to render your services?"

Cleo knelt carefully on the loft's floor. The scabbards of her blades sprawled at either side of her like the legs of a tripod. "I saw no beasts on your farm, nor on my way here. What services could I possibly offer you?"

That the lioness was rather indecent seemed to have no meaning to her. In her culture, breasts were not a taboo thing which required covering, and so she did not find herself aware of Samson's gaze. "I don't need any beasts slain," he explained, his easy smile widening. "But I do need you to take off that armor and all those swords."

A laugh from the lioness silenced a cricket chirping elsewhere in the barn. Her laugh was a harsh, condescending sound. "Disarm myself? For you? And why would I do such a thing?"

"Well, because you want that cute little artifact, and you don't know where it is, and you won't know if you don't do what I ask of you." He made a point of keeping eye contact with her as he slid down his trousers. A fat, black rod of equine cockflesh waited between his legs, flaccid but still of threatening size. "You may not be giving up the services you intended, but you'll give me service just the same, adventurer."

Cleo hissed acrimoniously. She began to unclasp her belts, letting the scabbards loose from her hips. Then, piece by piece, she stripped off her beaten armor until all her smoke-hued body was naked for the stallion save the ties in her braided hair. "Have at me as you will, then, farmhand," said the lioness. Already, Samson's eyes partook hungrily of her taut muscular form, juxtaposed with the soft perfection of fair, round breasts and hips which, although not quite large enough for a common breeder, were nevertheless serviceable. "But if I find you don't truly have the artifact, I'll make that," she pointed sharply at his penis, "into a fine bracelet."

Though the threat was enough to make Samson press his legs together, he knew he had what the warrior was after. He pushed himself up to his knees much as she waited before him, and he reached tentatively for a breast. "I'm going to touch you," he said. "All right?"

"Do what you will." Indifference.

And so Samson cupped one of the lion's modest breasts, thinking how long it had been since he'd touched any woman like so; the cows and mares were often frigid to him, believing themselves worthy of only certified studs. He licked his lips and huffed through his nostrils. "Nice. That's very nice."

"If I intended to have a cub, they would have their uses," Cleo said defensively. "As it stands, they merely get in the way when I draw a bowstring."

"I suppose you would feel that way about them." Samson pushed his craggy lips into a breast, kissing, then sucking the stiffening black nub of a nipple. Despite her stoicism, Cleo huffed in what he thought was some pleasure. "You taste of sweat and labor," the horse said reverently. "You smell it, as well."

Cleo rolled her eyes. "Will you be much longer?"

The horse chuckled. He palmed his cock which had begun to swell, soon to throb. "If you wish to hurry this along, lie back on my bed."

After a moment's trepidation, Cleo did as he suggested. She was eager to get away from his rubbing hand and kissing lips, though she rightly guessed he had far more lewd things in mind for her. "I haven't mated since I became a woman," she said defiantly. "Do not let your expectations get the better of you."

"Don't you mind my expectations," clucked Samson, a grin spreading across his face as he he knelt near the prone head of the lioness. She lifted her head somewhat and made to roll, her intent to glare at him accusingly, but Samson gently pushed her down. "Nah-ah, stay put. This is where I want you. Open your mouth."

"My mouth, full of sharp teeth," said Cleo dryly, and flashed him a toothy sneer. "You're a brave one."

"Bite it, and you'll never find that artifact." Samson rubbed the feline's chin, which had the effect of coaxing her to purr. Cleo seemed annoyed by her instinctive reaction and swatted his arm away, but opened her maw obediently. The wet cavern of her mouth awaited, her tongue held against the floor of her maw.

As though gripping a blade's hilt, Samson held his cock at the base and nudged its head, which had not yet flared, into her lips. Swollen yet malleable flesh wedged between her fangs. Flesh ripe of sweat and musk ground against Cleo's tongue, inspiring revulsion in the lioness, but her desire for the artifact was greater than her hate of the farmhand's earthy flavor.

Samson was a typical stallion and therefore sported a profound endowment. He was halfway buried in the now-drooling feline's maw when he hit the back of her throat. He felt her jaws tighten, heard her gag, and wondered for one horrible moment if she'd bite down in reflex. But as a warrior, she had a greater tolerance for discomfort than a normal lady; she weathered the obstruction with only an annoyed grumble.

"You're taking that well," Samson said, smiling wide. His tail flicked. "Let's see if you can take it deeper. Remember that that precious artifact of yours rides on this..."

You don't need to remind me, thought Cleo bitterly, staring into the horse's balls.

He licked his craggy lips and inclined over Cleo, one hand bracing his weight on the boards, its twin cupping a breast lecherously. He pushed forward with a roll of his hips, grinding against the taut entrance to the lion's throat. Again he felt Cleo clench and heard a gag from her, and he eased off a moment only to grind it in a second time. Her reaction was not as strong, and he took that as his cue to try a third time. Then her reaction was at its most subdued, and Samson, grinning huge and toothy, pushed into her throat implacably. The big cat gagged, and he even heard a whine from her. She pawed at his hips and bottom, raking her claws into his flesh without opening wounds. The scrapes sent shivers up his spine and coaxed him to force it deeper still until his balls mashed into her nostrils. Cleo was impaled on his cock.

"Oh my, that is good," Samson crooned, then let out a stifled laugh. "I didn't think you'd be able to take it." He played with her breast, squeezing it in his grubby hand. Her black nipple was hard as a rock under his palm and would have been great fun to tease, but his interest in the feline saw him slide his fingers down her body, past her navel and into the clandestine area of her groin. He hardly traced the lips of her cunt before she clenched her thighs together, precluding all but the most stunted molestation. To Samson's disappointment, she wasn't wet anyway.

Samson pulled back his dense cock, noting how the lioness relaxed as he freed it. He could feel the entrance to her throat just behind the growing flare of his cock, and he chose not to pop it free, instead ramming it down her throat again. Her sudden gag was as sharp as it was exciting to him. With both hands then on the boards, he gyrated slowly and fucked her gulping throat, his smile enormous.

"Not often I get to do this," he said, and sighed wistfully. "If only desperate warriors came to me for things more often, I might not be in such a drought."

Cleo grumbled between her gags. She held on tightly to Samson's rear, only just resisting the urge to dig in with her claws. She thought about castrating him with her most blunt of swords, and the idea calmed her somewhat.

With surprising care and after so few grinds, Samson eased back his flared cock. The bulge of the head wedged briefly in the abused opening to her throat, and it was only with a firm tug that he managed to work it free. Immediately the lioness began to sputter and cough, drool running from the corners of her mouth. She finally did rake her claws down his ass, opening weeping cuts but nothing more severe. Samson hardly noticed the pain.

He pulled it out all of the way and dropped it on her chin, letting its precum drool into her fur. Beneath, she still choked and coughed, feeling profound hatred. You still need that artifact, no matter how badly you'd like to kill this knave, she reminded herself, though that reasonable voice was almost something she could ignore.

"You're doing well. I'd say we're almost done." Samson rocked back on his knees and his penis jutted obscenely from his loins, dripping saliva and oozing pre. "Turn around on the bed, and lie on your stomach this time."

"My god," Cleo asked between sputters. She brought them under control only through a great feat of willpower. As she turned around, feeling fatigued, she asked, "Why? What now?"

Samson took a look at the lion's bottom. The cheeks of her ass were not as pronounced as he might have hoped, for she was a creature more of muscle and athleticism than feminine softness, but he decided it would work for him. Straddling her thighs, he said, "Fornication, naturally."

Cleo was allowed to think he might have her vaginally for just a moment. His grip on her ass cheeks shattered the notion and left her wincing in anticipation of the pain. "I swear to you, horse, if you didn't have what I need, you'd be buried in that corn field just outside."

"I'm well aware of that, Miss Adventurer," Samson said politely, gazing on the small, pink pucker of Cleo's anus. It winked in the cooler air outside her cheeks, virginally tight and certainly not prepared for such a beastly insertion, but there was Samson's flared cockhead resting on her taint, and he inched closer until it rubbed the small button of her entrance. "This might hurt a little bit. Want something to bite on?"

"I do," she growled. "But you're using it, bastard."

The stallion grinned, wanting to laugh. He liked the attitude and thought it was a shame he had to take advantage of her like so, but needs were needs. "Maybe when we're done," he said noncommittally.

With necessary slowness, Samson ground against the big cat's small anal entrance. He pushed and rubbed and worked at her until, gradually, he achieved some hard-earned penetration. The small pink ring of Cleo's asshole opened to permit his big, black cock and she hissed with the pain. In times of great duress, Cleo reminded herself of agonies and hardships suffered as a warrior. Thinking back on such hard times gave her strength now, but still she raked her claws into the loft's planks, digging furrows in the wood and scraping out curling strands like thin pencil shavings.

The entry of the flare was the worst part, and soon over, though the shaft was still a thick obstacle to contend with, and the flare was now gouging open a passage Cleo had not previously used as an entrance. Hunkering down over the large cat, Samson rode his cock into her like driving his shovel into the earth. His meat rode on her saliva and his precum. The hisses and grumbles from the warrior's mouth were little concern to the stallion whom had all but broken his back searching for and unearthing the unholy thing Cleo had sought. He had suffered his pain, and now she suffered hers for his pleasure.

Hips coming to the rest on the lion's taut ass, Samson asked with pleasure and indulgence smoothing his voice, "Do you still want that artifact, warrior?"

"Yes," Cleo answered, her voice a dangerous, low rasp. "Hurry and finish."

"Why, gladly, Miss Adventurer," chuckled Samson, and the sodomy properly began. He was a fellow of strong muscle, not speed nor grace, and his lovemaking was in accordance. Every bounce on the feisty cat was utilitarian, simply yanking it back and burying it home. He fucked her with no flair, and it was as pleasant for him as it was simply bearable for her.

Ignoring Cleo's grouses, Samson uttered above the tired creak of the boards, "Some importance that artifact must be to you, woman. Can safely say I would never lift my tail for such a thing. But then I'd imagine you're used to making deals like this - aren't you?"

Cleo began to grin. Pain and anger pulled the expression unnaturally wide, making a grimace of it. She dug her ruts again, picturing the horse's eyes under her claws instead of this unyielding wood. "So far, I've promised myself I wouldn't kill you after receiving what I came for," said Cleo, the hate in her voice understated like a slow boil. "Every word you say leaves me reconsidering that promise, horse."

"I know when I'm beat," Samson said, smiling. "Let me just finish up... but I plan to do so inside of you, you understand."

Distastefully she replied, "I would expect nothing less."

Samson chanced a kiss on the back of her neck, nosing around the white braids of her hair to reach flesh past thin gray fur. Though Cleo grumbled, she seemed resigned to the affection.

Still the horse humped her, reaming her in his plain way. He was decidedly lazy about his work, pulling back just a few of his many inches with each stroke. It was enough that the lioness, whose pain tolerance seemed to cover up her discomfort, still twitched and winced when his flared cockhead tweaked flesh she had forgotten even existed.

"If I might--, ah, goodness," Samson huffed and sighed. He tried again: "If I might ask... what's that device for, in the first place?"

"You wouldn't understand if I explained it," Cleo smartly answered, and added with a huff, "Not sure I understand it myself. It's best if you simply forgot about it."

Samson shuddered against the lioness, slamming into her so his pelvis spanked her fair bottom and caused her to gasp. He exhaled against her neck, warm breath flowing lewdly through the fur. "Say no more. You and I are--, goodness me. We're just about through here."

Cleo didn't ask, finding the fat throb of Samson's cock telling enough. She put her head down and plunged her claws into the planks, breaking one and flinching with the pain but finding it inconsequential. It was not the pain of the penetration which made it feel small by comparison, but the thrill of the artifact and how soon it would be in her hands. She bit her lip and told herself that all of her work would soon be rewarded, and perhaps it might, but then the horse came.

Samson's body quaked, and so did Cleo's by contact. His tail lashed, dusty locks swinging in the air, whipping the motes of dust into eddies. He pressed fast to the warrior feline and suffered his orgasm in near-silence, breathing heavily against the lioness as he shot powerful, fertile ropes into the tight and previously unfucked passage of her ass. Cleo, whom found the experience vulgar, grumbled well under her breath and forced herself to think of the artifact, how it would be worth the trouble.

Slowly, Samson straightened himself out. He touched Cleo warily, rubbing her shoulder. Semen leaked around his pulsing cock despite the skintight seal her gouged pink anus forced upon him. "Everything all right, warrior?" he asked with insufferable patronization.

"Yes," Cleo impatiently growled. "Now give me what is mine."

Samson grinned and chuckled. Carefully he pulled out of the big cat, unleashing a gush of discarded cum which washed across her cuntlips, leaving them glazed and the feline with the most vague feeling of arousal - something she would never admit to. "Of course, Miss Adventurer," he said softly, shifting to sit on his sweaty behind. He found a dusty, but relatively clean rag in the loft and passed it to the feline whom went about awkwardly blotting herself, sopping up the mess of semen oozing from her gaped, throbbing asshole.

"Thank you," she said, clearly not meaning it.

"You're welcome," Samson replied, genuinely friendly. "Well... come this way. Down the ladder, out towards the river. Left it where I found it."

Cleo followed Samson eagerly, her full attire helping to ease the indignity but not the pain. She watched the nude stallion walk, feeling mild envy for the peace he had with his nudity. But when she saw the pit he had dug, and the artifact waiting at the center like a meteorite in its crater, everything else ceased to matter.

Samson, watching Cleo scramble to the artifact, only shrugged. He didn't care what the lion did with the damned thing. He turned on his hoof and walked back to the loft, feeling sleepy. A hard day's work with overtime and a good fuck left him very tired.