Propitiating the Minotaur

Propitiating the Minotaur A Horror Story by rw4uij

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Author's Note:

This is a HORROR STORY. As all horror stories, it is expected to give you bad dreams If you do want bad dreams, DON'T READ IT. If it is illegal for you to read it, DON'T READ IT. If you are a minotaur, you may be offended by the representation of minotaurs in this story. In that case, DON'T READ IT.

You have been warned.

I.

The midday bell tolls dolefully, as it has every day in our village since time immemorial, signifying the time for food and rest under the hot sun; but today it continues to peel, slowly, rhythmically, dreadfully.

All of us in the village, and in all the land to the south as far as the shimmering sea in the distance, know this sound and what it portends. Everywhere, people stop their work, look up toward the mountain in dread, and return to their homes; mothers cling to their children and fathers load their carts with the tithe, as the tolling bell summons everyone - every man, woman and child, up to the green sward on the mountainside, where the temple sits beside the cave-mouth.

By the time my parents and I arrive people are already gathering, handing their goods to the priests, who tick off the tithe on their slates. As the afternoon wears on, the village elders confirm that the entire population is in attendance.

The produce we have brought is carefully weighed and packaged into crates, barrels and bundles, and the priests solemnly anoint it with oils and incense before carrying it into the depths of the cave, whose black mouth gapes open at the head of the grassy sward next to the temple colonnade.

When the tithe is all stacked inside the cave, the priests begin their incantations, and slowly the ancient story unfolds - the tale of the ravenous minotaurs that ravage the lands to the north; the stories of horror, of missing children spirited away in the night, of human bone, gnawed and chewed, found in the morning.

And then the priests chant on, describing the mystery of the gods' kindness, smiling upon us, just us, in this small plain that leads from the mountain down to the sea. They sing of the blessing, the propitiation.

We all know the tale - it has been drummed into us and repeated endlessly, and we all are grateful to the gods; for here, in our land, alone of all neighboring lands, we have never been troubled by the minotaurs. Our babies are safe at night, our lives are free and secure. And all because of the propitiation and the kindness granted by the gods.

So once a year, at the equinox, we gather here, bringing our gifts, and wait for the sacrifices to be selected, that we all may live in peace another year.

My father clings tightly to me, for he knows, I suppose, that I am of the age - we have never spoken a word of it, but we know.

As dusk spreads, the priests sound their horns and slowly the young men and women of the community are thrust forward for selection. "One virgin," the priests chant, "one virgin of each sex, shall be the sacrifice, that all may live."

The high priest looms among us, the scared, embarrassed youth of the community, before placing his hand on the shoulder of a beautiful young girl, whom I know but by sight.

Her parents burst into tears, but the high priest rebukes them for their selfishness, and leads her away.

Then he returns and starts circling and swaying amongst us once more.

I feel a hand upon my shoulder, but my mind cuts out the rest, the wailing and weeping, the cymbals clashing and horns blowing, and before I know what is happening I am, with the girl, at the mouth of the cave.

"You will ever be honored amongst us," the priest tells us gravely. He leads us into the cave, past the barrels and crates of the tithe, and in the half-light we see two poles planted firmly in the ground.

Each of us is strung to a pole with our wrists above our heads, glancing at each other in fear, and then the priest pulls forth a fearsome sharp dagger.

We both gasp in terror.

"Fear not," he whispers, "it is not as you expect." He reaches toward the girl and uses the knife to cut from her the coarse tunic she wears, and then comes to me and slices the belt holding up my own half-tunic. He bends to the ground and cuts away the straps of our sandals, leaving us as naked as the day we were born.

Finally, he brings out a small bottle and pours a few drops of liquid into each of our throats. "It will make you sleep. It will be easier for you."

He delivers a final blessing, douses us with oil and incense as libation, and departs. Twisting round, I see him pull a long black curtain across the mouth of the cave, and outside I hear the drums start to beat, announcing the start of the night of dancing and feasting that will help the villagers bear their pain by morning.

I remember the ritual from every year of my life till now; how, in the morning, the curtain will be pulled aside to reveal to the amazed villagers an empty cave, with nothing but two stark poles, and a pile of clothes upon the ground. The gods will have claimed their propitiation.

I'm beginning to feel drowsy already, and am on the verge of passing out, but as I drift away I could swear I feel a movement in the dry air of the cave, and hear a muffled sound passing me, moving down toward the mouth of the cave.

II.

I don't know how long I was asleep, but when I wake I am stretched out on my back, naked, on what feels like a leather covering. There are torches, burning dimly, and I can tell I'm in a rough-shaped rock-cavern. I feel the weight of the mountain pressing down upon me.

I try to raise myself but my body is restrained. Wriggling around, I realize I am held down by leather straps around my elbows and wrists, and as I establish, my waist, knees and ankles. But I can raise myself slightly and can see I am on some kind of pallet, a few inches from the ground.

"Are you there," I hear the girl's frightened whisper.

"Yes," I whisper back, and strain to see her.

She is on a bed alongside me on my left, and like me she's restrained by leather straps; but her bed is different. It's higher than mine, but small - only half-length, and the girl is strapped face-down along it with her ankles and wrists firmly bound to its legs, her head hanging over the far edge away down by knees, and her rear likewise, above and to the side of me, and just a few inches in front. I blush furiously as I can see her sex exposed - her legs are spread wide and she is revealed.

"You're blushing," she whispers.

"I can see... you," I stutter.

"Well, from here, I can see... you, too," she giggles, and I realize her head, hanging forward over the front of the padded half-bed, has a clear and close-up view of my privates. "You're hard."

"I'm Costas," I whisper.

"Elena," she replies, and then suddenly she goes "shush," as we hear movement.

Straining my neck to my right, I can see an opening in the rock wall, next to which are piled the crates and barrels that were left in the cave with us. Slowly I can make out the outline of another crate moving our way, as if someone were carrying it ahead of them up some steps. I catch a glimpse of a massively muscled arm, and then drop my head back to my pallet, feigning sleep.

There's the sound of something heavy being dropped and shoved forward, and then silence.

"Still asleep, my pretties?" The voice is guttural and coarse and cruel, scarcely human, and my eyes jerk open in terror.

At the entrance, a figure is resting its arms on the newly deposited crate: great forearms glistening with exertion lay on top of the crate, and in the semi-shadow I can see a head. It seems huge to me, and I have a vague impression that it's surmounted by a horned helmet.

Then the figure stands up tall, stepping around the crate.

The girl, Elena, is further from the entranceway than me, and lets out a shrill, terrified scream.

The creature hobbling toward us is half-man, half-beast; its torso and arms are those of a man, but its legs and feet are of a bull; a long tail sweeps behind it as it moves. Its head is like a mixture of man and bull - flat and squat, with a human mouth and nose but a bull's ears and horns. The creature seems gigantic to me - and quite hideous.

Nothing is more hideous than the enormous member swaying between its legs - this at least is entirely animal.

The thing pays no attention to the screaming girl, but comes and sits on the floor right next to me. Its massive member sits up between its legs and casts a shadow over me. The thing opens its mouth and leans forward; I'm sure it is going to bite my throat.

But it doesn't bite. Instead, a huge tongue lolls out of its mouth - and licks my face!

Now I'm screaming too, half in fright and half in shock.

The creature's tongue drools over me, covering me with saliva, all over my face. I screw my eyes shut as fast as I can, and feel it lick me eyelids, my ears, my nose, my cheeks. It licks my forehead and my chin and my hair. It licks and licks and licks - for what seems like hours.

Eventually I realize I have not been eaten, and nervously open my eyes.

The light must be better - or else all I saw before was distorted by shadows - because what now I look up at is the most handsome face I have ever seen.

"Welcome, precious one," he says to me in a harmonious, melodic voice.

I gasp in wonder, but he smiles tenderly. "Lie back, you taste so good; let me taste you some more."

Somewhere in the distance I can still hear the girl screaming, but far, far away, as I surrender once more into the most beautiful caress ever known to man. It seems to continue forever, as every inch of my face is showered with kisses by this beautiful being.

Eventually I realize it has stopped, and open my eyes. He's sitting there, leaning back now, his towering penis between me and him, straining upward into the air. "Wait patiently, precious one; I'll be back for you, but I have work to do first."

Slowly, he stands, and my eyes feast on his beauty. His chest is huge and strong, his arms immensely muscled. But it's where he transforms into bull that he is so beautiful. From his navel down, thick black hair steadily widens till it reaches his hips, and from there on he is densely covered in black fur. His hairy legs are as strong as... well, as strong as an ox; so powerful, so full of energy.

But my eyes are drawn again and again to the massive throbbing member that stands up so hard and strong between his legs. The head is square and pink, and is pressing urgently out of the enclosing sheath, which is densely covered in thick black hair. The sheath seems to continue forever, widening steadily down its immense length. Beneath, swinging heavily, his ball-sac dangles, with two enormous spheres that seem to bounce and bobble as he stands there.

My mouth opens and I strain to raise myself toward him, but he pushes me back down playfully. "Wait patiently; I have work to do."

I nod in understanding. Of course he has work to do, one so fine and beautiful; of course he has work to do.

"You can clean me when I'm done," he promises, and suddenly I'm full of pride that I can be of help to him, even in such a small way.

He moves past my head to stand at the other bed, behind the girl.

For some reason the stupid girl is still weeping. Surely she can realize how blessed we are to be here, with this beautiful master.

As he bends toward her, I suddenly realize that's what he is - my master. I am to serve him till the day I die, and I shall be grateful for every moment.

Still the girl screams, and slowly my master comes closer to her displayed sex, and sticks out his tongue. He lathers her and licks her, and her screams dissipate into groans and gasps. His tongue seems to unroll and extend further out of his mouth, gently forcing itself into her, as she squirms and writhes in the restraints.

Eventually, he stands upright once more, and steps closer.

As I watch him press the huge squat head of his penis against her, I'm suddenly reduced to tears. Of course, I can't serve my master like that - of course only this girl, this Elena, can service him this way - but I'm distraught and devastated that I can be of so little use to him.

The girl gasps as he gains access and eases the first few inches inside. Now she's mewling and purring like a pussycat as he holds himself there.

But it seems my master needs to rut, and his caress was intended just to open her. As soon as the girl is quiet beneath him, he throws his magnificent head back and cries out as he thrusts the rest of his length inside her. The girl's screams are intense and piercing as he starts to buck inside her, pulling back and pushing forward, thumping and pounding and pressing.

All I can see now is his back, and the way his muscles move as he goes about his work.

He has closely curled hair on his head, and from the nape of the neck downward there's a line of thick black hair that extends down his spine to his buttocks; from that point his body is entirely clad in hair. His tail is about two feet long and swings magnificently back and forth as he works. He's sweating heavily, and the nectar of his scent overpowers me.

I must have lost all track of time, for it seems to me he's been working for hours before he finally bellows his completion. The girl is sobbing inconsolably as he finally pulls out, desperately gasping for breath amid her hysterical weeping.

But he has not forgotten me.

He stands over the head of my pallet, and peers down at me. "Do you still want to clean me after my work, little precious?"

"Yes, master," I gasp. "Please let me, please..."

He smiles and lowers himself to his knees.

My tongue greedily cleans him, inch by inch, hair by hair, up his entire length, amazed at how huge he is around. How could he have fitted this beautiful thing into that little space, I wonder, enrapt, as I work furiously to clean him. Eventually I get to the head, and open my mouth wide, desperate to enclose him.

"Not yet," he stops me. "There's work to do, before that..."

And then, abruptly, he stands, grabs one of the crates, and moves off out of sight.

III.

I must have drowsed off, but am awoken by the girl on the contraption next to me.

"You're disgusting," she states, and I realize she's talking to me. "You just let that, that thing, that monster do that to you, and you begged for it!! You little pig."

"What do you mean? What monster?" I gasp, shaking myself awake.

"You know what I mean! That disgusting creature - my goodness, the stench, the ... the ... Oh, for all the gods!"

"It was inside you," I state, blankly.

"Oh!" She bursts into tears. "Oh, gods have mercy. It was inside me!"

I think she eventually cries herself to sleep, as there's silence once more. Far in the distance, I hear the tolling of a bell, and I realize it's the midday bell in the village outside. The silence is intense, and again I feel the weight of rock pressing down on me. From somewhere beyond my field of vision, I hear a high-pitched voice shouting "Ma-maa!" with great insistence, and then silence again.

And then my master comes into sight again, and sits beside my pallet. He places his finger to my lips and whispers, "Let's not wake her yet." As I nod my agreement, he leans over and starts to work me with his tongue once more, and I surrender into the heaven of his touch.

It seems to me the hours go by, just lying there under the caress of my master's tongue. Eventually he stops, and I shudder from the sadness of the loss. "Be patient, precious one. Your time will come," he whispers, and then he stands in all his magnificence, and moves behind the girl.

She purrs again at the entry, but screams incessantly as he ruts.

To try to drive the sound from my brain, I count silently in my head, hoping he'll come to me again. I count the seconds passing by. It's something I learned before... in my old life, out on the slopes of the mountains minding the goats.

I know something must be wrong - maybe I drifted off; but my count is approaching four hours before my master finally bellows his triumph and judders to a halt. The girl is still screaming.

Then he steps forward and presents himself to me for cleaning, and I promptly and happily get to work.

Just as abruptly, he stands and leaves, passing into the inner regions I can't see.

Eventually the girl stops crying and we drift off into silence. Again the silence is periodically broken by that distant shout, "Ma-maa!" and then all is quiet again. I'm scared that I can't seem to track the passage of time, but I know my stomach is telling me I need food.

When next my master returns, he ruts the girl once more, and again I count, and again it seems like four hours have passed before I can clean him, loving every hair on his sheath.

This time, however, he doesn't walk away. I feel him unbuckling the straps that tie me down, and then he lifts me to my feet.

Every muscle in my body howls in pain - how long have I been lying restrained there? I cling to him as I recover, raising my face to his chest and longingly licking his breast.

When I am recovered, he leads me away from the girl and whispers confidentially in my ear, licking it every now and again.

"You both need food, little pretties. That one needs strength to rut, and you need strength to serve." I agree with him avidly. He shows me an area of the cavern where water seeps down the rock walls, and where metal dishes are set out. He shows me to fill them with food - I recognize the kind of grains we use to feed our mules and goats, and realize this is part of our village's tithe - and catch water to add to them, to make gruel. He shows me to place a bowl on a stool in front of the girl's head as it hangs down, and to place the other on the floor for me to eat from, like a dog.

"I need you both clean," he continues, and shows me how to clean the urine and defecation from around the contraption the girl is buckled to (he calls it the rutting bed). He shows me where I can defecate and urinate, but I know, even before he tells me, that I must never touch my own member. "You want to orgasm," he tells me, and suddenly I know it to be true, "but you must not." He gives me a playful lick on the cheek. "You must save it all up; you'll have desperate need for that, when the time is right."

As he turns to leave, he tells me to feed myself and the girl now. "Then, after that, listen for the bell in the valley. When you hear the bell, feed the livestock."

And then he withdraws - I can now see there's an opening at the far end of the cavern, shrouded in darkness, in the direction that the cries of "Ma-maa!" have issued from.

I mix the gruel and set the bowls down, one in front of the girl on the rutting bed, and the other on the floor for me, and then get down on all-fours, balancing myself on my forearms, and hungrily lower my face into the mess.

"You are such a pig!" the girl says, but when I glance up with one eye, I notice she too has her face buried in the bowl of gruel, hungrily sucking it up.

It's so long since I ate, even digesting the food makes me tired and I collapse on my pallet in exhaustion.

I know he's come to us again - in my dreams I know he was licking me, his caress bearing such promises, and I know I heard the girl screaming for hours, and I know I heard that insistent yell, "Ma-maa," somewhere in the distance a few times. But I think I slept through it.

Next time I'm awake, I hear a voice.

"Wake up! You! Wake up! Oh, what was your name? Wake up!"

I open my eyes, not knowing where I am.

"Come on! Quick!"

I look over at the girl on the rutting bed.

"What's your name again?" she gasps.

"Costas."

"Then come on, Costas. You can move! Now, get me out of this thing and let's escape! Undo these straps, quickly now. We have to get out of here. Move, Costas, come on."

I sit up and look at her, dazed.

"Oh come on Costas! We have to hurry! The monster will be back... come on!"

I can't seem to get my bearings. What monster is the girl talking about? Why have we got to run away?

Then, in the far distance, I hear the bell.

"Time to feed the livestock," I announce, happily, and move off to fix the gruel.

"No! Costas! Get me out of here! Please! Please!"

I hear the girl wailing, but I know I have to do my duty, so I just put her out of my mind.

As I set the dishes down and get onto all-fours to start eating, she sobs hideously. I can't see why - the food is delicious to me.

After eating, I clean the bowls and then clean the girl up, before washing myself out like my master has told me. When I return to my pallet, the girl is studying me thoughtfully.

"It's the saliva, isn't it?" she states with a sudden finality. "That thing, it only licked me once, it licks you all the time..."

But she shuts up as my master strides into the chamber, his beautiful cloven feet clacking over the rock floor. I race to present myself, and he gives me an indulgent pat on the head, but today he's got work to do and quickly starts rutting the girl.

I shut out the screams by counting in my head again, hoping he'll let me clean him when he's done.

IV.

The girl seems to find the time burdensome, but not me.

I've counted to one hundred the number of times I've heard the bell down in the valley - I may have missed a few in the early days.

I keep the girl fed and clean for rutting, but otherwise shut her nagging out of my mind. I keep myself ready for my master's caresses and commands. Usually, now, I'm waiting at the far end of the chamber for him to arrive, and I keep time well. Every four hours I hear the cry "Ma-maa!" in the distance, insistent, demanding. Sitting here, waiting for my master, I sometimes think I can hear also an answering noise, anguished, a loathing, dread-filled groan.

Exactly twice a day my master comes and ruts the girl. Sometimes he caresses me, sometimes not, but he always lets me clean him. My first calculation was right; it takes him four hours to rut.

I find her screams annoying. Maybe annoying isn't the right word; sometimes I feel envious of her - she gets four hours of my master's time, everyday, twice a day - and how dearly I'd love him to give me that much time. But sometimes he licks me for hours at a time, and I treasure those days beyond enduring. He only licks my face, and I've learned he won't touch my lips, although I crave to have his tongue touch me there. But he licks my eyes, he licks my ears, and he licks my nose, until I lose consciousness in the heaven he brings to me.

Then, one day, everything changes. My master comes into our chamber, ruts the girl, gives himself to me for cleaning; and then he commands me to unbuckle the straps that confine her.

She hasn't moved from that position in more than three months and at first can't stand. He has me hold her upright until she can move.

When I step away, I can see how beautiful she is - and with a sudden realization, that she is pregnant. Her flesh curves out with a fullness I can't escape, and I place my hands on her belly.

"You idiot!" she screams. "Open your eyes, you pig! What do you think I'm carrying in here!" She bursts into tears again.

But my master comes and caresses my ears. "I'll be back soon, my precious one. Don't mind her! My work is almost done now; this one goes to the birthing chamber, and after that it's just you and me in the pleasure chamber."

Then he throws the girl over his shoulder and marches off into the recesses where, somehow, I know I can't follow.

As she stares back at me, slung over my master's broad shoulder, the girl looks so desolate. "Costas!" she screams, "Costas! I'm so sorry! Help me, Costas, please! Help me!"

I hear the bell tolling in the valley below, and as I put my lonely bowl on the floor I wonder who this 'Costas' person might be.

It's longer than usual before my master returns - I hear the bell tolling again, I place my bowl on the floor and lap it up; I go as far toward the birthing room as I'm allowed and listen; it seems the "Ma-maa!" yell is less high-pitched now, but just as frequent, every four hours around the clock, and the strange echoing moan more utterly desolate - but still my master doesn't come.

I think he's forsaken me; he rutted her, as his right, and now she's in the birthing room. Why should he return to me? He's done his work now...

I remember the girl's final plea, and I almost remember who she meant when she made that tragic appeal to 'Costas.' I almost remember - but not quite.

And then one day, my master returns, resplendent in all his beauty.

I whimper in relief and grab his hairy legs in my arms.

He raises me up and licks my face. "My little precious... Are you ready for me?"

"Master, master... you came back to me!"

His little black eyes stare into mine. "Of course I came for you. More work, much more work to be done..."

And then he leans forward and kisses my lips! How I've longed to feel his caress on my lips! My mouth opens to him, and my tongue flicks forward to welcome my master inside.

For ages we stand there, embracing. My tongue circles my master's; his circles and encloses mine. He slowly pushes his tongue into my mouth, and my senses reel from the heaven he gives me. I suck hard on his tongue, but only it makes me want to suck harder. He coats my cheeks, probing and prodding. He releases more and more of his tongue - I know, unfurled, it must be six inches long at least - filling my mouth, filling me with his taste. It pushes against my throat and eagerly I open to accommodate it. It pushes down, and the further it goes the more I suck upon it, desperate for its juices, its power. At last I know I belong.

When finally his tongue withdraws, my legs are weak and my body shaking. "Little precious," his melodic voice drives me wild, "it will be better, if you are on the rutting bed."

Happily I let him carry me; happily I let him strap my ankles and wrists, and then my chest - oh! so firmly; so firmly, I can't move. And then he stands before me, my master in all his glory, and I greedily open my mouth to receive him.

The explosion of taste as he moves the head between my lips! My jaws seem to burst as I open to him, and every taste-bud in my mouth responds in ecstasy to his presence. My tongue swirls around him, desperate to give him every pleasure he could desire, and my cheeks suck eagerly.

My eyes focus on the furry sheath that stretches ahead of me, and every cell in my body wants to feel that hairy length within me.

I feel the squat head pressing against my throat - this is where his tongue came and my throat opens, desperate to know him. And then I feel his hands grasp me by the hair; I hear his great bellow as he thrusts, and then he forces himself within.

Somehow, the back of my throat registers pain.

My mouth is in ecstasy, but I feel pain deep inside. I open my eyes to see the long inches, waiting to force themselves into me, and I know I can't possibly open my mouth that wide. Suddenly, I feel panic and fear. My master couldn't hurt me, could he? I struggle desperately against the bindings, but I can't move. And that huge fat penis continues to press itself forward, and the pain just seems to increase.

I want to tell my master I'm in pain, but something seems to possess me and I find my cheeks sucking more furiously, my tongue working more arduously. It's as if my body won't obey me... and still there are more inches of fur-clad sheath forcing themselves into my mouth. "Four hours," my mind tells me, "four hours..."

Eventually it is over; a distant recess in my brain registers a primal scream as my master completes his work, and then the huge hairy thing is being withdrawn from my throat. Still my tongue wants to taste its nectars, but my master is unbuckling me and lifting me from the rutting bed, and onto my old pallet.

And then he leans over me and I feel his tongue on my stomach, down where he deposited his load. His tongue is massaging me and shaping me, down there, down deep. My body craves for his touch, and for an hour he kneels there, licking and kneading me.

"It'll take time, my precious..." He rises above me. "But soon, your work will begin, too."

V.

If the girl found time dragging over the first hundred days, it's my turn over the months that follow. My master comes for me, twice a day, every day, and drives his immense member down my throat; he spends an age, afterwards, slowly licking my stomach till the touch of it is so sensitive it hurts and I feel reshaped; but the rest of the time I'm left alone, with nothing to do but listen for the distant tolling of the bell outside in the sunlight, and the strange noises from the other chamber, the "birthing chamber," to which I'm not admitted.

He kissed me so furiously the first time, but since then he just straps me to the rutting bed and gets to work.

But how I love the taste of him in my mouth; and although the pain in my throat lasts for hours, my mouth always has more inches of him to welcome and worship as he forces himself inside me.

I don't know why he spends so long licking my stomach after depositing his load - it's almost as if this is more important to him than the pleasure I crave to give him with my mouth. There's one point in my belly that he seems to thrust at with his tongue every day, shaping and forming it, and he won't stop until he's satisfied, every time. But it means we spend hours on the pallet together, afterward, and he lets me wrap my limbs around his hairy legs and love him as he works.

After a while, my master starts letting me show him my love in little ways before strapping me to the rutting bed; soon I'm eagerly kneeling before him, his cock in my mouth as I lovingly stroke his furry legs and run my fingers through the hair of his buttocks. He lets me straddle him as I try to force my head down onto him, with his ball-sac in front of my eyes so I can watch the way it responds as I pleasure him. I kneel behind him, my nose wedged into his ass crack, with his cock driving down into me.

But all that is just foreplay, the little gift he gives to me; eventually, he straps me to the rutting bed, seizes my hair and bellows before he gets to work and the pain begins.

And it's always followed by the tonguing - he doesn't lick my face now, just that one area of my stomach, shaping it into a new alignment, helping it receive his load - twice a day, every day...

The time passes - I've given up counting the days, but I think I've been alone in the pleasure chamber for about four months.

Today, as always, he strides into the chamber for me, and I pull him down to the pallet, to claim for myself my moments of love before the pain begins.

I lay him on his back and climb between his hairy legs, his powerful member standing up before me. I kiss it devotedly, and run my tongue longingly up the length of the great hairy sheath. As I rise up him, I move myself so my balls bump against my master's - so huge and potent compared to mine. My dick presses against the base of his huge sheath as I suck on the head.

I want to swallow him whole, but first I rise up, urgently needing to lean forward and kiss him.

And then it happens. As I lean over him, the head of his cock grinds into the area of my belly where he has been licking me for so long, and suddenly my senses explode. I gasp in delight, and rub myself against him again. It's as if color and light and sound redefine, and I'm taken to a new place, a perfect place. I grab him and grind him into me, gasping and squealing in pleasure.

My mouth hangs open in shock as I grind at him, looking to him for explanation - what's happening?

There's a smile on his beautiful face as he lifts me from him and stands up, a smile that combines triumph and disdain and power.

"Boy is ready to rut," he announces, and he carries me toward the rutting bed, resolute, fixed, urgent.

As he throws me onto the rutting bed, my back upon the hard leather, and starts to strap me down, I feel an answering voice in my head. "Boy is ready to rut," the voice tells me.

He doesn't caress me as he ties the straps tightly around my waist, and then around my chest, and then my wrists - leaving my legs dangling in the air. He just states, with grim finality, "Your time to start working," and then he grabs my legs under my knees and pushes them far apart.

"Noooooooo!" I scream, as I feel his head at the entrance to my ass, exposed and unlubricated and tight.

He leans over me. "You expect me to lick you there?" he sneers, as that massive head presses against me. "My tongue has done its job on you. Now it's just my dick that has to work - do what it's been waiting to do all this time."

"Noooooooo!" I scream, again, but he's not listening to me.

It feels I'm split in half as he pushes himself into me. My screams are constant and piercing, and somewhere in the distance I think I hear - although maybe I just imagine it - the girl, Elena, crying too, in pity.

I scream and I scream. I know I'll scream for four hours, before he bellows and releases himself into me, but still I count, deep in my head, as the hours pass.

But four hours pass, and still he's hard at work. I realize he was waiting for me, to stop counting and return to the pain, as he is looking into my eyes when I look up.

"Now your job begins," my master states, coldly.

And when he knows he has my full attention, he presses in again, more powerful, more painful, more determined.

And suddenly I know, with a horror I can't explain, that this rutting won't stop until he's found, deep inside my stomach, the place he's been forming and creating all these months - and I know I have much, much more to endure until he can rut me so deep.

He loosens the strap around my waist, rutting away all the time, and climbs up onto the rutting bed, folding me in pained convolutions as he seeks to drive himself deeper and deeper, approaching that secret target. His sweat pours upon me in rivulets, his hooves pounding and his tail swaying behind him in intense need.

And still I wail and gasp, although I no longer have the strength to scream, as I realize the completeness of my master's possession of me.

It's not for me to count the hours until he bellows his triumph. All I can feel, as the burning heat explodes in me and his triumph roars through me, is that I could never live through that again.

My master collapses upon me, finished, exhausted, complete, and I, like my master, surrender to sleep.

I awake to know he is still inside me.

He's also awake, and leaning over me. "Hard work?" he asks, pitilessly.

I want to tell him how much it hurt, how much pain it gave me, but he grins - a grimace of lust and ownership - and nods. "Hard work. More work, now; more work, every day. Hard, hard work."

And then he sneers at me, and I feel him stretching and pulsing within me, as he starts up once more.

In the distance, I hear the midday bell tolling down in the valley, strapped into my rutting bed, as my master and I get to work, and I wonder how many times I'll hear it before our job is finished.

For endless hours, I know agony. I believe the pain gets worse each time, as if he's penetrating further every day, although I feel his hairy thighs pounding mercilessly against my buttocks and know he is completely impaled. He rarely speaks to me now.

Once, I told him I was hungry. "Stomach not full?" he grunted. "More work, fill the stomach."

He did; and after that I knew it wasn't for me to voice my needs - only my master's needs matter when he's working,

But still I love him; I marvel at his strength and endurance. The more it hurts me, the more I tell myself it shows how much he loves me, to want me so much. He never worked so hard when he was rutting the girl - she never got more than four hours of rutting, but me, I get days not hours; he must love me so much more.

Eventually he relents and feeds me, spooning the gruel into my mouth; and he too takes time off, returning to the other chamber for a few hours - but always he's back, relentlessly at work. My conception of time changes - there's time when we're apart, and my body knows peace; and there's time we're joined, and my body knows pain. But how much time? More pain than peace, of that alone I am certain.

And then, one day, as he once more completes his task with a roar and falls heavily upon me, we hear a new, terrible moaning, coming from the end of the chamber, from the birthing chamber.

He pulls out of me and places his ear on my stomach. He lies there like that, scarcely breathing, and then stands up, satisfied. He reaches down and unbuckles my straps, lets me lean against him as I learn to stand again, and then seizes me by the hair and drags me behind him into the birthing chamber.

VI.

Nothing could have prepared me for the full horrors I would see in the birthing chamber.

I knew I'd see Elena there, naked, tumescent, and, as expected, strapped to a bed. She must be near her time now.

What I wasn't expecting was the second bed, the second pregnant body covered in a rough blanket, lying alongside her, moaning horribly.

The other thing I wasn't expecting was the monster that comes hurrying forward to greet my master. It's grotesque - horrid beyond belief. It seems to be more bull than human - its horns pointing angrily forward, its flat face, its horrible animal legs, bristling with spiny hairs and its tail wagging furiously behind it. But its smell - that's the worst thing - it smells of animal, of cow, of feces.

It hobbles up as my master drags me into the chamber and leers at me - it's indescribably ugly.

"That's my son," my master states; and then, as he pushes me further into the chamber, the blanket slips off the pregnant belly of the body on the second bed.

If ever I screamed in my life, I'm screaming now.

The thing in the next bed has a belly doubly as tumescent as Elena; the skin is stretched and broken and distended. But what makes me scream, as I stare at it, is that it has a proudly erect penis - it's a pregnant boy, not a pregnant girl.

The revolting thing hobbling forward to us on cloven heels starts pawing at me and lasciviously rubs its sheath, and I try to recoil into the reassuring warmth and strength of my master, to hide myself between his powerful hairy legs, but I can't get away as it prods and squeezes at me.

"My son," my master repeats, and then the thing in the bed next to Elena moans again.

"Getting close," my master says, and he steers me over to the side of the bed, with the monster hobbling along behind. "Come and see the birthing-boy. Come," my master orders me, "feel it kick."

My master places my hands on the distended stomach of the pregnant form on the bed in front of me.

I feel my gut in my throat, but I feel a kick - a dull thud that is painful even to my hands.

I look at the remains of the boy. He looks slightly familiar - maybe I saw him, before... His face is hollow and the lines under his eyes express extreme suffering. He's thin beyond reasoning around his face, his arms, his ribs, his legs. It seems all the nutrient he gets goes to the thing growing in his stomach.

"How long, father?" the revolting creature asks, and I can scarcely understand the words - they sound like animal growls and snarls.

"Two days, maybe three," my master answers, and I can't understand how someone so astonishingly beautiful could have a son so disgustingly revolting, nor how someone with such a melodic voice could have a son that can scarcely speak.

In the back of my mind I hear a whisper - maybe a memory of a forgotten conversation - I can't grasp it; but it seems to be Elena's voice I'm hearing.

"But why?" I gasp suddenly, looking up from the straining stomach of the pregnant boy to my master. "Why?"

"You still don't understand?"

"No," I cry. "I've loved you so much..." Again, like a deep-forgotten memory, I hear Elena trying to tell me something, a long time ago.

"You know who I am?" my master demands, and at that moment he looks more beautiful than I have ever imagined.

"You are my master," I reply, and I mean it beyond all the utterings of my soul.

"Your master?" He sneers. "You mean, I think, the father of your child."

His hand reaches down to my stomach, and at that moment I know. My master's child is starting to grow in there.

Elena groans as a wave of pain convulses her.

The monster hobbles around the room to her - its movements revolting to the eye as the cloven feet claw for footing.

"It's close, father," the thing says.

"Then its time to prepare for the birthing," my master replies.

My master moves to Elena's feet, and the disgusting thing he claims as his son moves to her head. They start unbuckling the straps that hold her down.

When all the straps are released, they grab her by the limbs and lift her weight effortlessly into the air. They toss her over so her head is hanging down, and then lower her onto the tumescent belly of the boy that lies there.

Pregnant stomach against pregnant stomach, they hold her there.

My master looks at me. "Attached to the birthing table there is a strap," he tells me, and without hesitation I dive down to find it, a long leather strap nearly a foot in width. "Throw the end over her, to the other side," he commands.

"Now go there and fasten it," he continues, and I run round to comply.

"Fasten it tighter," he orders, and I tighten it until Elena screams. "Tighter!" he orders. The boy beneath her seems too wasted to produce more than a sad moan.

When my master is satisfied, he dismisses his son with a wave of his horns, and then comes to me. He lifts me onto the bed Elena had been lying on.

"The birthing won't happen yet," he states. "I will use the time."

And then he mounts the bed and starts rutting me violently, as I gaze up into his eyes. Why would my master hurt me like this, I ask myself; but still I love him as he forces himself into me.

Through my own screams, I somehow register that Elena, too is moaning. "Labor pains," my master grunts as he leans over me. "You'll never have to worry about that."

How I wish for his tongue to swoop down and enfold me like it used to... but it's been a long time since he licked my face. Recently, he only licks my belly.

I look over at the bed next to me, at the boy there, with the distended stomach, as my master's sweat drips down upon me.

VII.

Elena's labor pains bring me back to consciousness, but they also bring the monster into the chamber.

I hear it bellow, and its sounds reconcile into words: "Father, the milk-brood is close. We are ready for the birthing."

My master lifts me to my feet.

"See," he points. "Her contractions are advancing."

I still don't understand.

"Why, master?"

He looks at me for a while, deciding whether to explain. "Minotaurs need thirteen months to grow before the birthing; humans only need nine."

"But, master, why this way?"

"Human female ends the pregnancy at nine months - the body is made that way. Embryo can't remain within any longer."

I look at Elena. "Then, what she's carrying..."

"Waste." My master looks at her. "But that was never her purpose."

He feels my stomach. "You, however, are precious..."

Elena screams again. The monster hovering over her grimaces. "Close, now."

Again Elena screams, and the boy underneath her screams too, a horrible wail, such as I've never heard before.

My master rubs greedily at my stomach. "The birthing-boy's body doesn't know when it's time..."

I look again at the two tumescent bellies strapped together.

One is responding naturally to the birth contractions. The other needs to be told when to respond. It feels the contractions above it, and knows. It all seems so natural to me, all of a sudden.

Another hideous scream from Elena is echoed by the boy beneath her.

"The milk-brood is ready," my master announces. "Undo the strap."

My body responds although I don't know it was me he was addressing.

The monster and his father lift Elena onto the other bed and quickly buckle her down.

"The birthing-boy will be first," my master announces. "Come here!"

I move to him unquestioningly.

He places my hand on the upraised stomach of the boy in front of me. "Feel that?"

Suddenly something sharp hits my finger, and I taste blood. "It begins!" my master announces, and I see a razor-sharp point breaking the skin. The birthing-boy screams, an endless howl of pain, and another sharp point breaks through the skin, and starts to stab upward.

"Minotaurs have horns," my master states flatly, as those two points of sharpness begin to move and wriggle. "The baby is coming out."

At that moment Elena howls, and I see a head breaking through between her legs - it makes me feel sick.

The revolting creature with the animal legs grabs the head of Elena's baby and tugs as she screams - and it comes clear, the afterbirth ripped from her with it.

He tosses it to the floor without a glance, and then climbs onto the bed and impales his cock in her.

"Been waiting so long for this," my master states. "I told him he couldn't have her till she'd delivered."

And now the two vicious spikes carving up the distended belly of the birthing-boy in front of us have shredded the skin enough. Grotesque little fingers break through, pulling the skin apart, and then the head bursts out. It's totally covered in hair, its flat bull-face looking out meanly as it thrusts forward and tries to rise.

My master lovingly pulls the creature out and licks it clean, before presenting it to Elena's breast.

"You see," he murmurs, "a new-born needs its milk."

I know the birthing-boy is looking at me as he dies.

VIII.

"Costas."

I hear the voice, but it means nothing to me.

"Costas! Can you hear me?"

I'm lying, exhausted, on the birthing bed.

"Costas, please. Listen to me."

Drowsily, I look at her. "Yes, Elena. I hear you."

"Costas, I'm so sorry I was horrid to you... You see, the minotaur changed you, and I didn't understand."

"No, Elena. Nothing changed me."

"Costas. I'm so sorry. But I talked with the boy who used to lie in that bed. His name was Angelo. He told me how he used to feel about the minotaur. How he thought the minotaur was beautiful, his master; how he smelt so good, tasted so good...

"Costas, when did he last lick you?"

"He licks my stomach all the time..."

"Your stomach? Of course, he's got his baby in there... When did he last lick your face?"

But while I'm trying to remember the answer, my master comes back. He's carrying the hideous creature that came out of the boy, Angelo's, stomach.

"Hungry, my child," he croons. "Here's food!"

He lays the creature on Elena's breast and teases the nipple into the monster's mouth.

"Oh yes!" Elena screeches in ecstasy, "Oh yes! Feed my little beauty! Feed!"

It's the saliva, I finally understand, before my master forces himself into me again, but after that there's only pain.

I've been strapped to the birthing bed for two months now - they took away the body of the previous birthing-boy, Angelo, as soon as it stopped twitching, and strapped me in his place. I can raise my head, but my arms are firmly strapped from elbow to wrist; my feet are also strapped, but my master releases them when he needs to rut.

Elena has to feed the baby six times a day - it seems extremely hungry, but it's growing fast. At this rate, I can see how it would grow as big as the vile creature, its brother, in just a year.

My master comes to rut me when he has the time - he tells me it's no longer to get me with child, just to hear my screams, but he enjoys it just as much.

The monster, his son, seems to be insatiable in its attentions to Elena - my master is more powerful, but the adolescent seems to be able to keep going hour after hour after hour.

"Always there, to bring the baby to the breast," my master sneers.

"Costas," she calls across to me when we are left alone.

"I want to apologize for hating you so much, when I thought you were stopping us from escaping."

"No one's ever escaped," I say, flatly.

"Angelo - you know, the other boy," she starts. "Oh, Costas, I'm so sorry for you; but Angelo told me what it was like, you see; the saliva, in your eyes and nose and mouth, and what it feels like... after it wears off...

"Costas, I'm not going to live very long now - the baby has sucked me dry, my job is done. But you still have a long time to go. That thing, growing in your stomach... Costas, I know you think you love the monster for everything you're worth, and I understand that now; but when it wears off, remember me, please. When the saliva in your nose wears off, and you start to smell him... when the saliva in your eyes wears off, and you start to see him... remember me, Costas. You must focus on my memory, you mustn't let the horror consume you. Promise me, Costas."

I don't know what she's talking about, and try to put her out of my mind - there's so much I have to figure out... my master hurt me... I love him, but he hurt me...

The adolescent comes into the chamber, carrying my master's baby. He places it on Elena's breast, and moves round the bed to get ready to rut her again. The baby starts to suck... but it looks up in anger, its horrid face screwed up in fury. The monster goes back and moves the baby to the other breast and the baby sucks again, but again it turns around in fury.

"Father," the monster shouts, "Father, the milk-brood is dry!"

The disgusting creature that I watched being birthed is punching Elena's breasts, furious they have no more milk to offer.

My master takes the little thing in his arms and consoles it. My master is such a caring father.

"Come, little baby, daddy's going to get you some food." He looks over at his son. "If the milk-brood is used up, get rid of her."

The monster unbuckles Elena and throws her over his shoulder. Our eyes meet one last time, in terrible silence.

My master returns to comforting the little monster hanging on his shoulder.

"Don't you cry, little baby," he croons. "Time to move on to better feed. Make you big and strong."

Slowly my master moves toward me.

He places the deformed creature on the bed between my legs, and encourages it to find food, holding my legs apart to give it access.

The first touch is revolting as it examines my balls, but then it sticks out its tongue in enquiry. By the time its tongue has worked its way up my shaft and it starts sucking me, I'm in heaven, and the longer it continues, the more intense it becomes.

IX.

Ever since Elena was taken away, I've had to do her job as well as my own.

Of course my master needs to rut me as often as he desires - my master has to do his work.

But it's the demands of the adolescent thing, his son, that are the worst. My master won't let it lick me or rut me; he says only he can own a birthing-boy. But he's decided to let it use my mouth whenever it wants. He helped the foul creature to force my mouth open, and then it unrolled its tongue and let its saliva dribble into me until my mouth was full of it. Then I was ready.

The monster stinks of bull - it tastes like an animal - it disgusts me. But still, as it spends hours every day forcing its horrid dick down my throat, I suck furiously on it, desperate to please it and pleasure it, hating it all the time.

Meanwhile, the revolting thing that I watched being born sucks my cock as if it was its mother's nipple and demands fulfillment every hour of the day. When I feel I'm sucked dry, it starts to lick my balls demandingly, until I'm straining in need to feed it again, craving to be able to give it the nourishment it needs, although my balls are so empty it will take hours to satisfy it. Soon I'll have nothing more to give it.

When they're not using me, my master and his son seem busy, and I realize the empty crates and barrels are being removed.

As they work, I notice how similar they look, the father just a larger, more powerful version of the son...

The creature is rutting me when its son carries the baby forward. "Baby hungry," it states flatly.

And then the bell, down in the valley, starts tolling, steadily, mournfully...

"Just a few hours, now," the creature rutting me tells its son. Over the swelling in my stomach - I must be nearly four months' gone now, and it's starting to show - I watch as the thing rutting me continues to transform in my eyes - every day, more hideous and vile; its beady black eyes cruel and totally animal. The stench assaults me, and the pain from its rutting is overpowering.

"Enjoy the birthing-boy one last time," it orders its son, but the words are now guttural and misformed.

The adolescent leaps onto the bed above my head, lowering itself into my oh-so-eager mouth.

"Baby hungry," it repeats, and places the little thing on my chest. The creature starts crawling over my swollen stomach, hungrily searching for its feed.

"Soon it will be time to go!" the father instructs the son. "Remember what I told you! Find your brothers and enjoy fresh meat! Children are the best!

"Sneak outside when the idiots start singing and dancing. Move north; you'll find your brothers there. Never come south of the mountain - that's my land, and the idiots offer me their best livestock to keep it so. Go north."

"Yes father, I'll go north; leave the idiots for you."

My mind closes to their bellows and grunts, and focuses on the creature that my predecessor, Angelo, birthed.

The tolling of the bell - how I've been looking forward to that sound! From tonight, the monster will be busy, rutting a new girl, the milk-brood that the creature I'm carrying will feed from. The monster's son will be gone, and I shall be left in peace, at last, with just the swelling of my stomach to keep me company.

The baby humps my tender belly with its knees as it crawls; for the first time I feel an answering stirring inside.

It reaches my dick, limp and exhausted. I've no more to give it, no more feed. It grabs me with its little hands and starts to pull and tug, but there's no reaction - I'm used up.

Then it leans forward and its tongue swirls around my aching balls, awakening them, enclosing them, stimulating them. Its tongue licks angrily at my cock, forcing it to rise and respond, desperate to please the little monster.

As it works me to hardness again, it yelps, demandingly, insistently, "Ma-maa!"

"His first word!" the monster rutting me proclaims, and at last I know the completeness of my misery.