A narrow victory

You begin to draw your blades and look down at the ground to see the earth churned up in a line beside you where the minotaur tried to run you down. The beast charges again, and you somersault out of the way before he can reach you. You get an idea, and drop your weapon-belt, leaving only your trusty iron dagger in your hand; anything else would get in the way.

Again the minotaur runs at you, and this time as you flip out of the way you manage to stab him in the shoulder. He bellows in pain and lashes backward, his momentum causing him to slip and fall over. He scrambles to his hooves and clobbers toward you again. This time you flip the other way and catch him in the back, and he stops his charge to punch down clouds of dirt.

He huffs and puffs and glares at you, and decides to walk one step at a time toward his rival. You casually match his pace and lead him in circles as he fumes with frustration. Eventually, he looks behind him to see your weapon belt, with your longsword laying there for the taking. He throws a fistful of dirt at your head that you narrowly duck, and you both barrel toward the sword. With a **** leap you bound onto his back and plunge the blade into his heart. He gives a great mighty yell before collapsing to the ground, his single fist clenching the two-handed hilt of your sword.

You walk back away from the scene to catch your breath, only to be tackled to the ground by the other minotaur. Betsy presses her leaking, juicy udders onto your chest and lays big wet kisses all over your face. You've impressed her like nobody else before.

Some time later, you approach the gates of the village and announce your arrival by blowing on the red bull's hollowed out sounding-horn. The gates open and you take a slow sip of amasi from the other horn before grabbing the wagon-handle and striding forth. Betsy sits behind you, encouraging you with pats and rubs on the back. She's strong enough to help pull this cart, but you wouldn't dare subject her to physical labor in her condition - her belly is now almost as big and round as her breasts, which are hooked up to an automatic milking contraption.

You've made a fortune off of her milk, which flows even stronger since you impregnated her. Jars of her precious white honey clank around the wagon for those with silver in their pockets, and Betsy's buxom body belongs to you, her brave Human bull.