The Minotaur and the Maiden
Posted in Crimson Writ on October 28th, 2019 by D'jaevleAlright, little girl, it is time for sleep.
Oh? You want to hear a story first?.
Are you nestled into your bed, nice and cozy?
Do you have your favorite stuffed animal? No? I suggest you get it and hold on tight.
This story can be rather scary.
Everyone knows about Theseus, the Greek hero who slew the Minotaur in his labyrinth.
But he was only the last in a line of sacrifices Athens sent to King Minos in tribute. For years, seven men and seven women were sent to slake the Minotaur’s lust for flesh.
This is the story of one them, a young maiden by the name of Clio.
Do you think you know darkness?
You do not know darkness.
Even before fire was invented, there were stars to light up the night sky.
Within the Labyrinth, there were no night, there were no stars. Just walls.
To be in darkness is to be lost.
And Clio was completely, utterly, lost.
She could not see anything. Not her hands in front of her face. Not the water she could hear dripping along the stone walls.
Not the creature whose breathing she could hear echoing around her. Deep, almost labored breaths, like a bellows. The kind of breaths that swallowed the air around it and came out as a gutteral release of power.
The breathing of a beast.
A very large and hungry beast.
A large, hungry, beast who was very close.
His scent was almost overwhelming, a mix of animal musk and human sweat.
And to poor Clio’s horror, her body responded. Base instinct of fear warred with an even baser instinct to rut with something capable of dismantling her.
The line between what is powerful enough to protect and powerful enough to destroy was too thin for her id to decide upon.
Which left her terrified, trembling, and in heat.
Clio didn’t need sight to know when He was close; his presence was palpable. His labored breaths felt as well as heard. He towered over her, his breath heating her skin as he drew in her own scent.
His hands. His hands were remarkably human. Human, but so very large. They lifted her as if she was a toy and pinned her against the stone wall. Rough fingers rested atop her hips and she knew.
She knew she was his.
She knew she was to be sacrificed to his hunger.
And she was.
He drove inside of her without pause, without question. A claiming in the basest sense.
He wasn’t just inside her. He owned her. She could feel him in a way that made everything else in her life less real. This. Him. His cock. Was everything.
She could feel him driving into her, over and over again until she was driven outside her body, his presence enough to fill the absence she left.
And yet.
And yet.
She could feel everything.
Every vein on his cock.
Every bellowing breath against the top of her head.
His hands, his large hands, holding her there.
It took forever.
And it didn’t take long at all.
She didn’t remember blacking out.
She didn’t remember anything after that.
Because that kind of hunger.
Takes everything.