Pasiphaë's Seduction
There is a story on this site: Minotaur. I loved it! It tells of a warrior's experience with the half-man bull. This story, my story, tells of how the Minotaur was created. Rather interesting, if you know your Greek mythology.
Pasiphaë's Seduction
"The god Poseidon had given a beautiful bull to King Minos for Minos to sacrifice to him. But Minos could not bear to kill such a magnificent creature. To punish Minos, Poseidon made Minos' wife, Pasiphaë, fall passionately in love with the bull. . ."
The gorgeous white bull snorted. Pawed the ground. Leveled long, gleaming ebony horns at the human that crouched before him. The bull was angry. He had been taken from his cows in the wild by a god that rose from the sea and bound him. Gave him as a pet to a human king. A pet. The bull rumbles in his broad chest. That is no way to treat a king, a king of bulls. He snorts again. Another human has bound him, lured him into a huge, empty room, where his hooves clack noisily against a hard, unnatural surface. It smells of strange things, such as incense and female human, moonlight and arousal. Arousal. Coming from the she-human. In luscious waves. The bull snorts. His fierce golden eyes settle on the human. The king he was given to called her Pasiphaë. What makes her act so?
"Menthectes?"
She has named him. A name. The bull scoffs inwardly. Does she not know that a king cannot be named? He has no name. The sound makes him angrier still. The human lifts a pale, furless face to him. Her long black headfur, much like lengthy, soft horns, falls about her ashen front. She is bare. No human clothing hangs from her slender body. That smell. The bull scents the air, lowers his muzzle, and snorts warm breath over the human. She shivers. "Menthectes, I. . . I desire you. I do not know why but I have. . . this longing for you." Her words are frightened, low, but heated with passion. She is like an unsure calf. Her smooth hand touches his hoof. He starts. Snorts. Paws. Then allows her to stroke his kingly foot. She does. The bull rumbles again, but this time, it is a friendlier sound. Pasiphaë smiles nervously. "Will. . . will you. . . mate me, Menthectes?" He steps back. Gazes at her. Mate with her? Mate with a human? Unheard of! Pasiphaë looks saddened by his rejection, and drops her head. "I. . . I just thought. . . please." The last word is whispered low under her breath, but the bull hears it. Flicks an ear toward her. Lets his muzzle touch her sweet-smelling hair. Perhaps he will. Pasiphaë looks up. Her face is streaked with tears. She reaches a tenative hand toward his muzzle. He glares. She bows. He sighs and nudges his broad muzzle against her palm. She cups his chin in her hand and kisses his nose. He inhales her scent, does not pull away. Their eyes meet. His, regal and golden. Hers, blue and lustfully frightened. He shakes his head suddenly. Pasiphaë slips her hand from his chin to his cheek, skimming her slender fingers through the short, clean fur there. He shudders with delight. Nuzzles her cheek. She quivers like an eager dog. "Menthectes?" The bull faces into her eyes, breathes in her fresh scent. "Menthectes, will you. . .?" The bull agrees inwardly, and answers Pasiphaë by nuzzling the hollow of her throat. She shudders, and gives herself up to him, raising her naked breasts to meet his questing muzzle. He sniffs at them. Licks one. She shudders. The bull runs his tongue over the other, tasting the salt on her skin. He licks harder. She moans. Her fingers reach up through his fur to latch around his horns. He snorts, but permits her to hold on while he covers her breasts in bovine saliva and licks the small nubs of flesh atop each breast to full, stiff attention. Pasiphaë moans again. "Menthectes."
The bull smells her arousal. So wonderful and distracting. He nuzzles her chest under her breasts. She pulls his face into her stomach. He clacks forward. She hugs his head, then slips away. The bull raises his muzzle and stares at her in lust and disbelief as she lies down before him, spreading her slender, tanned pillars of thighs. He gazes hungrily at her dripping orfice. His long tongue flicks out. Tastes her. Amazing. Not too different from an aroused cow's scent and taste, but not too similar either. The bull snorts and shoves his muzzle between her thighs. She gasps. His forehooves are planted squarely on both sides of her body, near her hips. He runs his tongue up her soaked trough. Licks her tangy salt from his cold, wet nose. Delicious. He moves forward a few inches. Licks her again; deeper. Pasiphaë clutches his whitefurred head between her thighs. Grabs his horns. The bull is growing aroused. Twenty-seven inches of slick black member slide from his long, wide sheath. Points toward the floor. His huge testes dangle behind it. He scoops a tongueful of wonderfully tasting womanness from Pasiphaë's slit and swallows. Intoxicating. The human cries out. The bull snorts, his voice low with arousal. Laps at her again. Rumbles when her inner walls clamp down around his tongue. "Ohhhh. . ." she moans.
The bull breathes in her scent. She wants to mate. So badly. His body screams at him to oblige her, to bury himself to the fullest in Pasiphaë. A human. Unnatural and disgusting. He backs away. The woman moans and opens her eyes. "Me. . .Menthectes?" The bull snorts. Turns away. Ignores her panted pleas for him to mate her. His member slowly sheathes itself and his testicles soften as his arousal dies. He shakes his great head. Looks around at the four walls. Studies the carved pictures of the gods there. Pasiphaë rises. Kneels. Her flesh hot and unfullfilled. Her bull, her wonderful, seductive white bull, refuses to mate her. Refuses. She falls to her knees and elbows. The cold tiles of the floor press against her breasts, making her shiver with cold. "Menthectes, please!" The bull snorts. Tosses his horns. Ignores her. Pasiphaë shudders again. "Please, I beg of you! I need you, Menthectes!" The bull turns. Gazes at her with his regal golden eyes. Snorts. Pasiphaë is crying now. "Oh, Menthectes, Menthectes! How I love you! How my flesh aches for you! My heart is raw for your love, and y black hair cascading in waves around her as she weeps. "I am bewitched," she moans quietly. "I am bewitched. A spell has been cast upon me; yes, a spell! I love a bull. Not a man, but an animal." She buries her beautiful, pale face in her hands. "Oh, Menthectes!" she cries. She sobs quietly into her hands. The bull nudges her carefully. Snorts. The room is cold. Her flesh is bumpy from the cold. He lies down beside her. Presses his huge, whitefurred body against hers. She buries her face in his side and weeps. He lies his head across her back, holding her close to him. Pasiphaë knots her fingers into his pelt, hiccuping and crying like a small child. "Oh, my bull, my wonderful bull." She sobs again. Her cheek against his side. His body heat is warming her. The bull snorts. Nuzzles her bare back. Snuffles at her hair. Pasiphaë smiles sadly into his fur. "When I was but a child, Menthectes, I dreamed of falling in love, as any girl would do. I grew up. I became the queen of all Crete. But now, I find myself under a spell. An evil spell, for us both. Who has done this, my bull? Who would do it?" The bull nudges the base of his smooth ebony horn against her back. Licks her shoulder with the same lovingness he would a hurt calf, not a lover. Pasiphaë rolls to face him, her face tearstained. She smiles. Strokes a hand across his muzzle. Her hair falls across her breasts.
The room is cold. The bull looks about himself. There is a couch in the corner. He rumbles low in his throat. Begins to get to his feet. Pushes his horns against Pasiphaë's side. She grabs them. He lifts her to her feet. Leads her to the couch of cushions. Lies down in the same position across the silken pillows and beckons to her. She goes to him. Reclines in the shelter of his embrace. Pulls a glossy black pantherskin across the pillows and rolls onto her stomach upon it. Gazes into his golden eyes. Traces the line of his strong muzzle. The bull snorts. Pasiphaë smiles at him. "Now I find myself with an almost-lover." She cups his chin in her right palm and kisses his broad, wet black nose. "What will it take, Menthectes, my bull? What will it take for you to love me in return?" She nuzzles into his warm fur. Drapes her arms across his back. Faces into the corner. The bull rumbles. Noses her lower back, sending a shiver through her. He can smell her arousal. It almost fires his own; almost. Pasiphaë giggles and rolls over. He licks at her breasts. He wants to mate her, but his conscience tells him no. Mating with a human is bestiality. Wicked. Offensive.
She wraps her arms around his thick, muscular neck. She cannot stay still. Gazes into his eyes. "You have a beautiful face, my bull." She is happy, but her face is still wet with tears. He whisks his tail across his spotless white flank to dislodge a nonexistent fly and licks the salt from her face. She smiles under his long, smooth tongue. The bull rumbles and nuzzles her neck. She reaches for a bottle. Holds it up. Wine. Red. Sweet. The bull snorts agreement. Pasiphaë pours a copious amount into two golden goblets. Holds one under the bull's muzzle and sips from the other. There is a table beside the couch. Laden with fruits, breads, meats. All in golden dishes. Pasiphaë breaks off a piece of bread and lies it upon the cushions beside the goblet of wine. The bull laps at the drink. Strangely intoxicating, like the human's scent of arousal. He laps another tongueful. Swishes it around his broad palate. Swallows. Nibbles at the bread. Pasiphaë lifts a heavy cluster of dark purple grapes above her mouth. Bites into them and takes a gulp of wine. By her heady laughter and her clouded eyes, the bull can see that she is becoming drunk. She giggles like a schoolgirl. Gulps her wine and devours the grapes messily. The bull downs the rest of his wine. Ignores the bread; it is pushed away. He gazes hungrily and drunkenly at her slender, naked body. Pasiphaë is giggling at her wine-sodden hiccups. Swinging the grapes above her. Swaying slightly.
His conscience's voice begins to die away into the clouds of lust and wine. The room is scented with arousal and wine. Intoxicating. The bull inhales the mixture. Pasiphaë grins. "My bull," she slurs. The bull laps at the sides of the goblet in hopes of finding more wine. Pasiphaë sways again. Giggles. "Would my bull like some more wine?" The bull snorts. Inhales her scent. His member begins to swell once again, sliding out of his large sheath to lie wetly across the pillows. Pasiphaë stares at it. "By Zeus," she breathes. Her arousal becomes deeper. She wants to mate; the bull want to mate. She kneels. Turns. Postures like a cow in heat. "Menthectes." She giggles again, not knowing what she is asking for. The bull rises. Shoves his broad muzzle against her wetness. Pasiphaë cries out as he laps at her. Rolls over onto her back. The bull sees her spread thighs, her pulsing opening. He bellows as he thrusts and finds his target. Pasiphaë screams.
The bull stretches her with five of his twenty-seven inch length. The human writhes beneath him. Tries to push him off. The bull snorts. Rumbles. So tight. He shoves more of himself inside of her, Pasiphaë screeching all the while. His great hindquarters rock forward, shove his thickness deeper inside of her. It is like a whale mating a rabbit. Pasiphaë screams to the gods, but not one answers. The bull stops once he is fully buried inside of her. Her slit throbs and spasms around the tremendous shaft. Tries to push it out. The bull pulls himself out to the head. Snorts loudly. Plunges back inside and begins to work the human quickly. Pasiphaë shrieks and writhes. She curses him. Fights. Hits his chest with her small fists. The pain must be intense for her. But she has asked for this. Begged him. He thrusts again and again and again, his huge crown scraping along her walls. Using her wetness for lubrication. Slips past the cervix and deep into her. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In.
Pasiphaë is weeping. Begging him to stop. Accusing him of rape. He ignores her. For ten minutes her pumps the human firmly. Punishing her for asking him to mate her. Suddenly, his testes tighten. He bellows yet again as he gives one final plunge and floods her with his seed. It streaks the length of his shaft and coats her inner thighs. He pulls out. Snorts. Pasiphaë lies on her back, sobbing. In pain and now pregnant. Poseidon's spell has worn off. Pasiphaë, King Minos' wife, is pregnant with the spawn of a bull.
Nine months later, she gives birth to an abomination, a half-human, half-bull creature.
The Minotaur. . . . .
the end