Evil Inc After Dark #77, Page 3

Brax is bursting with more than just feelings...

In this week’s steamy installment, our favorite college-aged minotaur shares his very personal struggles at a Minotaurs Without Mates support group. He's horny, he's hopeless, and he's one awkward boner away from a full-on crisis.

💦 How did it get this bad?
🐂 Will he finally find relief?

Read the full, unfiltered story in the EiAD #77 Collection—or tap the "Minotaurs Without Mates" tag to dive straight into Brax’s milky misadventures!

⬇️ I thought it would be fun to take a look at Brax's journal entry from earlier that same week. You can read it below. ⬇️

💡 Don't forget to nominate Evil Inc in the Best Humor Webcomic category of the ’Ringo Awards! 💡

📓 Brax’s Journal – Entry #47

Date: April 2

Time: 3:12 AM

Mood: … swollen

Okay. Okayokayokay. I need to write this down before I lose my mind — or accidentally punch a hole in my dorm wall just trying to stretch. I’m so backed up it feels like I’ve got a thunderstorm brewing in my lap. My balls are tight, hot, and heavy like they’re made of molten lead, and every step feels like I’m walking with a time bomb between my legs. This is unsustainable. I’m not okay.

I don’t know how it got this bad.

It started with harmless stuff. A few cute glances in Psych 101, some light flirting in the hallway with that witch girl who always smells like cinnamon and danger. I kept it together. I was fine.

Then the Equinox Festival happened. There was dancing. There were flower crowns. I got bodypainted. Body. Painted. I’ve had a chubby for two weeks straight. My jeans hate me. My jockstrap is holding on by threads and dark magic.

I haven’t... y'know... released... since February. I tried! I really tried. But every time I even think about it, I’m terrified I’m going to gum up the dorm plumbing. Y’know… again. 🙄

Today I almost cried during algebra because I brushed against the corner of a desk. A DESK.

My scent’s getting out of hand. People are noticing. That centaur in my Lit class gave me a look like she was about to climb me like a jungle gym. But I’m trying to be a decent dude, right? Not just some walking hard-on with horns.

...That didn’t stop my brain from spinning the moment she flicked her tail.

In my head, the classroom melted away—just me and her in one of the stables behind the ag building, golden afternoon light slipping through the boards. She’d trot in slow, confident, her hooves clicking with that lazy dominance that made my chest tighten.

She’d circle me once, eyes half-lidded, then stop just in front of me, her human half tall and strong, arms crossing under her chest.

"You reek of need, bull boy," she’d say, with that low, teasing tone.
And I wouldn’t deny it.

She’d grab my horns—not rough, but firm—and tilt my head up, making me hold her gaze. Her fingers would curl behind my ears while her chest pressed into mine, her body heat like a furnace. Her lower half would shift closer, brushing against my thigh, the weight of her massive form grounding me completely.

Then she’d turn, slowly, deliberately, tail flicking across my abs, hips angled just enough for me to see everything from behind. She’d glance back over her shoulder and smirk.
"Well? You gonna do something about it, or just stand there throbbing?"

Snap. I came back to reality when I cracked my pen in half.

My notebook was a mess of smeared ink and twitchy doodles of centaur thighs. I had to excuse myself from class. Said I had to use the restroom. I did, but there was no relief. Just another cold rinse, another frustrated growl, and a promise to myself: something has to give.

So I did what anyone would do in my situation: I Googled

“What to do if your minotaur balls feel like they’re gonna explode.”

Buried under some furry fanfics and weird forums, I found a listing. The Nascosta Institute. No frills. No fluff. Just:

"Clinical relief and wellness support for minotaur males experiencing reproductive strain. By appointment only."

I called. I barely said two sentences before the woman on the line said,

"Yeah, we’ve got a stall open tomorrow. You sound... urgent."

I don’t know what to expect. I imagine white walls, quiet hums, probably lab coats and fluorescent lights. Nothing sexy about it. But honestly? That’s better. I don’t need seduction. I need someone to hook me up to a pump and drain me like a cursed keg.

If this doesn’t work... I’m going to have to start attending class standing up. Or wearing a kilt. Or... something.

Wish me luck.

Please.

Gods.

— Brax