Pasiphae

Pasiphae

It was a glorious morning the day they lead me out to my sacrifice. It was clearly going to be a hot day with a sizzling blue sky, and the blood to come would surely smoke on the sands. From my room in my father's palace, I could see crowds streaming in through the city gates, many bearing something to sell on their backs. Profits would be made, marriage pacts sealed, wine drunk, quarrels resolved, on this happiest day of the year.

I sat near the open window looking out, apathetically, as my maids brushed and curled my hair till it gleamed like that of a newborn black lamb, the kind the easterners call Kar-a-kul. They had led me quiescently to my bath earlier, and sponged my naked limbs with a milk and honey mixture that left me scented and creamy. I did not care, for why should I care when my father had decided I would be the sacrifice that would make this day a joyous one for everyone else. The dress they pulled over my head was indecently short, it ended at the crease of my buttocks, but no matter, for no one would see it. My arms and legs they left bare, but upon my curls they set a wedding band, for today I was going to wed the bull, symbol of my people.

I had lived, sixteen summers, in innocence and bliss, and it might not have come to this had my older sister Niobe not caught a strange pox that left her, not disfigured, but less than perfect, and the bull, (pfaugh I spit upon him in my mind) would have nothing less than perfection. Another sister had managed to get herself abducted by Scythian pirates and was now fat and happily surrounded by babes on the farther side of the sea. And so it had come to an announcement one night earlier in the year, over my screams and my mother's sobbing. I was her favorite, and the one she most hoped to see dandle a child in her arms. Now, with this sacred wedding, all of those cherished ideas were blown away with the winds that play around the Aeolian harp.

"Drink, my sweet," and a golden chased cup of thick wine sweetened with honey was pressed into my hand.

There was a strange fragrance about it, clearly, my mother who was a dab hand at medicines (and poisons, father was currently sleeping on another couch and diligently using his tester) had drugged it to make the coming ordeal less, er, painful. "The time has come my darling, " she whispered, and pulled me to my feet, leading me down the pathways of our palace, to the base, where a curious conveyance awaited me.

It was a wooden construction in the shape of a cow, painted a pure shining white. From her horns were looped wreaths of myrtle and laurel, and her likeness included a red painted udder with four teats. A clever door was opened into the side and I was gently pushed inside a cavity. My arms went into the likeness of the front legs, and my legs, somewhat awkwardly spread, went into the back. Now the purpose of the short dress was clear, for it was hoisted above my hips, while my nether regions fitted up against a rather large hole, positioned where the cow's would be.

The door closed, and I was alone in darkness scented of cedar. A creaking sound began and I felt my vessel begin to move. It was on wheels and slowly I was wheeled out of the palace precinct and down into the city proper.

"Hurrah!" shouted the crowd, "The cow comes to be mated!"

Under my breath I muttered curses and imprecations at them, "Miscreants, dolts!"

Thuds sounded against my sides, as people hurled small sacrifices. Children ran up and daringly added crude bouquets to my horns. The creaking and the yelling went on and on, and I almost dozed off under the effect of the darkness and the wine, when suddenly I realized that we were no longer moving.

A hush surrounded me, and then, horrors, a finger inserted itself into my cunny! Seemingly dipped in olive oil, it stroked me briskly, up and down, and then vanished. It was as quickly replaced by another finger, also oiled, that fluttered against my nether regions, and then disappeared.

So it went, with only a susurrus of sandaled feet against sand as an accompaniment. Men's fingers roughly probed me, then women's hands soothed me, as I squirmed in discomfort and embarrassment, my hips bumping against the wood of my enclosure as I struggled away from the invasion. I was soon oily and could feel it dripping down my thighs, while at the same time I was beginning to feel decidedly inflamed.

After a hundred hands had their way with me, learning me more intimately in that moment than I had myself, I was beginning to push towards them, aching to receive one more stroke, one that would push me over some shining edge that seemed to be just beyond my reach. Once again, everything stopped, all was silence, one punctuated only by the seemingly audible pulsing of my cunt. I could almost see it, red, and swollen, and seeking. I rolled my hips in frustration within my contraption.

There was a collected intake of breath, of lust perhaps? Fear? Awe at the sight of a living god? I am now aged and have seen the ceremony for myself many more times, and I cannot say for sure what one feels. Remember, at the time, I was cowering, somewhat sleepily, inside a cedar-scented and cow shaped container, unable to see, madly distracted by a newly awakened slit.

From somewhere close I heard a snort, and then a hoof pawed the sand. The crowd was seemingly released from their paralysis and began shouting and screaming and clapping as they offered advice and instructions aimed at something of a struggle happening around me.

The snorting grew louder, and closer, and then, with a thud, my cow shelter became much warmer. And then, ah, then, there was a breach of my shell. Something hot and round and fat was poking into the hole that framed my cunt. Oooooh, it felt like velvet as it slipped up and down against me. It was sooooo hot and slick. I rubbed back against it and was rewarded with a bellow that shook my container. This was followed by an echoing bellow from the crowds in the arena, for that is where I was, naturally. In the center of the arena, on the sand, about to be pierced and mated by a red bull, the finest of my father's herds.

Footsteps retreated, it was the god and me alone together. Heaving his bulk atop me, I felt the first tip of cock slide into me. It was far wider and thicker than my virgin cunt was ready for, and I grew concerned under the winy haze. Luckily, the oil that had been stroked into me was easing the passage of the long hot shaft.

Once he had his target fixed, the bull had no more compunction, and began to thrust himself mightily into me. I shrieked and wriggled as I was spitted, but alas, my legs were trapped, wide apart in the false legs of his mate.

It was indescribable, that moment, joined with my god. I remember every inch as if it were yesterday. First the widening feeling, that was mirrored in my eyes as I felt the hot member probing my oiled lips. Then immense pressure bearing down upon me, angling into me, forever tearing me open, I had been a sealed package until then, and with this invasion I was no longer, would never be again, inviolate, immune, my own person. I would from this moment belong to the world and to whomever was privileged to take the consort of a god, bucking and crying beneath him.

Oh, I was crying. Tears were running down my face, as inch after hot inch of animal plunged inside of me. At the same time, after the initial pain wore off, I was crying from some sort of transcendental pleasure. Was that, fur I could feel softly rubbing against me? My legs, spread as they were, did not allow for the instinctual attempt to close them tightly, I was suspended, forced to take every heaving thrust, lubricated by virgin's blood and olive oil, of a massive god/beast. The fingers had earlier awakened me to sensation, and now I was alive to it, screaming every time the bulk filled me to my utmost, sighing when it would be withdrawn.

The crowd was going crazy, I later heard people were shredding each other's clothes and mounting one another indiscriminately in the stands.

My sounds must have translated through the wood as the lowing of a cow to her rightful mate, because the bull went into a frenzy driving into me in a manner many thought I would not survive. But the cow contraption was well devised, it kept the bulk off of me and the full length out of me, despite which I could feel the thick head of his member deep inside, jammed against my womb. It was this, I think, that was my ultimate undoing.

The pleasure I felt as the massive head rotated brutally inside of me tipped me over that shining waterfall I had glimpsed before, and I shuddered wildly over and over, trapped and skewered by my god-beast lover. At the same time, likely maddened with my sudden slickness, I felt his cock convulse and fill me with a spray of hot liquid. My crazed womb sucked at this eagerly in my own madness, like a throat swallowing cream. Oh god, it was bliss, soothing all former outrages.

Weakly, still jolting by waves of sensation, I could feel the withdrawal of the giant bull cock as it shrank. I felt so open, so empty. Hot bull semen trickled down my thighs inside of my sacred chamber. I sagged forward, and finally slept, belly full of cum.

I was wheeled back to the palace, and put to bed, thighs rubbed with ointment. I do believe a mischievous maid or two took an opportunity to swipe some of the cream and rubbed it against themselves, but none were as lucky as me.

I was clearly swollen with divine child within a few weeks and spent the rest of my confinement eating figs and honey and white cheese to bursting. It was odd, though, seeing as every other ceremony I have seen in my long life, the bull-god is played by a man in a bull's flayed head, fucking some countrified maiden to within an inch of her thrilled life. Most of the time they marry before summer's end, and many is the blessed child borne of that union.

So why was it that no man ever stepped up to marry the princess of Minos, and my child the only one I ever bore, had the head of a bull? Who fucked me and gave me such pleasure? Was it a man, a bull, or a god? Did my father really honor the old ways that one time and gave his loveliest daughter to be rutted by an animal? Almost as inconceivably, no pun intended, did he allow any criminal or commoner to don the headdress and fuck a princess to screaming, crying conception on the public sands of the arena? Or, as people whisper, was I truly visited by a twelve foot tall, bronze skinned, male god with a bull head, hooves and tail, and flaming eyes, who pleasured himself for an hour with a pale human virgin as a throng of humanity worshipped him with their bodies and souls?

I know which one I think happened.

The End