Archive-name: Fantasy/minotar.txt
Archive-author: 
Archive-title: Minotaur


     Once, there was a young warrior, who took his trusty sword and
ventured into a minotaur's cave to slay the dread beast, and take the
treasures that the immortal creature has acquired over the years of
tribute.  Armed, armored, and provisioned, the young warrior entered
the maze, wandered, mapped, and gradually came to the realization that
his map made no sense, no matter how he measured or re-measured it.

     Three days of research, of walking endless corridors measuring,
and his water begins to run low, as does his food.  Then, down a long
corridor, he sees a shape, the glint of ivory high upon it's head.
The minotaur!  He dashes, seeing the beast step out of sight, and
finds only a dead end.  However, the dead end contains a note; written
in odd script that somehow, the warrior can read.

     The note informs the warrior of his choices: The maze is magical,
and only the Minotaur can pass through it.  Remain determined to
fight, and the Minotaur will let him starve to death, and then take
his belongings and add them to his trove.  Surrender himself into the
Minotaur's service, by stripping himself of all his belongings and
walking far enough so that he can no longer see them; and the Minotaur
will accept him, feed him, and eventually release him, for eventually,
the immortal will tire of his pet.

     He ponders this another day, searching, attempting to reach the
'center,' trying to escape, but it is no use.  In his foolish pride,
he attempts to plot against the Minotaur, divesting himself of all but
his clothing and a cleverly hidden dagger, and walks away from his
fine armor and sword.  As soon as he turns a corner, he hears the
sound of ponderous hooves against stone.  Yet, upon turning, he finds
only blank wall, and no matter the passageways he takes, maddeningly,
none allow him any more than the sounds of the Minotaur gathering up
his belongings, and slowly walking off, unhindered in his own Maze.

     Time passes, and the young warrior is now without food or water,
and it doesn't take long to figure out that the Minotaur is not taken
in by his attempted ruse.  Conquering his pride, again he divests
himself, and now walks the maze naked, figuring that life with a
chance of possible future success is better than an ignoble death of
thirst.  Again, the maze shuts him off, and again he hears the
ponderous, heavy sounds of the Minotaur's hooves through the thin,
unyielding rock.  But this time, it would seem that the Minotaur's
desires are assuaged, for he hears the echoes of the hooves closer and
closer still, then further for a moment, and around the corner looks
up at what rough beast now owns him, eight foot tall or higher, with
black, short fur delineating his every line, and his head, fabled,
inhuman, with golden, undying eyes.

     A heavy, thick hand rests upon his shoulder, forcing him to his
knees, and a golden circlet, seemingly delicate, yet with imponderable
weight, closes about his neck.  Low, growled tones rumbling from the
Minotaur's chest order him to rise, and he dares not refuse the
strength before him; that locks his arms behind his back with chains
and bracers of beaten gold, chastened with platinum.  Bound, he is led
around three short corners, and enters the center of the Maze, the
Minotaur's abode.  Strange demense of cavern and garden, with millenia
of tribute from kings, warriors, philosophers, and aesthetes all
arrayed.

     He is taken to a large, satin, flat couch (no back) and lain upon
it, on his stomach, the Minotaur besides him large, and regal in every
line.  Reaching out from the couch, ponderous still but with the grace
of the inexorable, the Minotaur plucks a single grape, and feeds it to
his slave.  Then, a fragile crystal goblet is brought to his lips, in
the thick-fingered hands that could splinter stone as easily, and he
is made to drink.  Again, he is fed, and given only another swallow;
after his hunger, surfeit must not be rushed.  The Minotaur's hands
rest upon his shoulders, and trace his sleek, bound, warrior's lines,
testing them, hands large enough to encircle his ankles with ease and
spread them effortlessly, locking them apart with a bar no doubt also
of precious metals, cool against his skin.  Skin warmed by the
Minotaur's touch.

     The Minotaur moves to the head of the couch, where the warrior's
head lies over the edge, where he was fed by his Master's kindness.
Now he is fed again, as ten inches of sheathed cock is rubbed over his
face, and he is helpless to pull away, the scent filling his nostrils.
The bull penis telescopes and elongates, engorging as he is made to
taste its fleshy length, opening his mouth wide.  The Minotaur
instructs his slave in the proper usage of his tongue, and begins his
training in the opening of his throat, pressing against it, making
the young warrior feel and taste his power and size.

     Soon enough, and thankfully, the warrior's mouth is freed,
aching; his submission having brought the Minotaur to his complete,
unsheathed length, cock-head wet, and flaring wide.  Again, the
powerful hands trace his body, arranging him upon the couch so that he
rests upon his gaping, spread knees, the bar keeping his ankles wide
chained to his golden collar and his arms fastened in the bracers
behind his back.  His face rests upon the couch, and he cries out at
the feel of the thick, oiled fingers entering him.  Struggling only
pulls at unyielding bindings, and no matter how he tries to squirm,
grasp, and close himself; his legs remain wide, and the Minotaur
continues to oil and open his slave.

     Then, the flared, oiled cock-head of the Minotaur is pressed
against the young warrior's opened, readied anus, with the merciless
strength of the beast.  Pain shoots across the young warrior in waves
as his body is stretched to fit around the huge cock, and he screams,
again and again, until the breath is forced out of him by the width
and length pushing him open.  The great weight of his Master moves
relentlessly above him, the short black fur of the taut belly rubbing
his back as, with each stroke, the cock-head reams him to his depth
and his ass is pressed flush to the crotch of the beast.  His cries
slowly diminish to whimpers as the Minotaur's lusts fill him, time and
time again humbling him as the rock-hard flesh pounds into him, until
he can only use what strength remains to him to push back against the
hugeness that invades him, unable anymore to resist the sensations
that wash over him.  Finally, the Minotaur's flared cock-head
penetrates him completely, and the young warrior is skewered with the
geyserlike force of his Master's climax, each pulse rocketing into his
well-plumbed depths and driven home by the next brutal thrust.  Crying
and begging, covered with sweat, oil, and the provenance of the great
bull; the young warrior is released from the brutality of the bull's
penis, and the bar removed so that he could close his aching legs.

     Again, the warrior is handled, lain out by the strong, yet gentle
hands of the Minotaur, who lies him upon his warm, blackfurred chest
and stomach, reversed.  A rumble from the beast's chest convinces the
broken warrior to lick the come from the soft, fleshy, heavy length,
And the Minotaur, satisfied, allows his slave to sleep and recover,
held safe in his arms.

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