The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was during the first three months of her pregnancy that she learned to truly despise the visits of her so called servants for they were unable to disguise the horror and repulsion that her pregnancy caused in them. They sat as far back in their chairs as possible, their eyes always suspiciously upon her belly. She tried to engage them in trivial conversations to set them at ease—the weather, upcoming festivals, court gossip—but it was no use. Their thoughts were easy enough to read—she was unnatural, an abomination against nature. And really, how could she disagree? By her fourth month she had decided to save them both the discomfort and asked for a long cord.

One was duly procured, brought to her on a platter as part of her next meal. Minos obviously assumed that she planned to do the honorable thing and hang herself with it. But she had asked for another reason. She knew why it was that these visits were paid to her each day, and it wasn’t to discuss pleasantries.

“Here,” she would tell them, holding out the cord just as they had sat down. “It is a full knot greater today. Take this newest measurement to my husband and let him know how fat his cow has become.”

At first they balked.

“Your highness, the King has given the strictest orders, I am to stay for a full hour. We…we must talk.”

“I see. Well, then let us discuss this.” She parted her long silk robe to reveal a stomach round and extended with life. “Perhaps you would like to feel the baby for yourself? I think I just felt a kick.”

Even Minos’ power was not terrible enough to keep the bravest of servants from fleeing. They all turned white at the sight of the queen’s naked, bulging belly and ran. And no servant who had seen her pregnant stomach ever did return, no matter how great Minos might bribe them, or how terrible his threats were.

It was not long before they learned. Soon the servants just took her measurements and left, grateful to leave the Queen’s sight as quickly as possible. In the end it saved them both a great deal of time and pain.

“Tell the king to come look upon me himself,” she called after each one. “If he has the courage to face his wife!”

But Minos never did come. Just more of his lowly servants.

That too was just as well. She preferred the honestly of a lonely room to the company of deceitful servants or an unloving husband. Or so she told herself anyway.

Whore!

But was she ever alone so long as she had the mirror? Ever it mocked her. Even seated with her back turned toward it, the mirror somehow always found a way to catch her attention. She tried taking the drapes from the balcony and wrapping them over the mirror, but these were taken away by servants while she slept, no doubt on Minos’ orders. She tried spending more time on the balcony, but the sun seemed just as reproachful and the night sky only brought the cold judgment of the stars. She could feel the whole world waiting and wondering with her. It felt as if it too dreaded what she might carrying within her womb.

She looked at her round belly, cradling it in both arms for added support and wondered whose seed she carried.

Why?

It had been then, at the end of her fourth month, that bored and alone, she gave in to dark fascination and ceased trying to avoid the unavoidable. She did something she had not done before and she sat down in front of the mirror and began to spend much of her time there. Others might be able to flee from it, she told her, but she could not and so she might as well learn to accept it, if not understand it. In those days she watched her belly grow, rubbing it gently, running her hands over her smooth, tight flesh, and whispering soothing words, more for herself than anyone else. It was the calmest moments she had known since Minos first decided to keep the bull. She whispered to the baby that grew within her that it would be all right. She tried to believe it herself.

That had been a month ago. Now in her fifth month Pasiphae sat on the bed, hands wrapped beneath her ever expanding belly, as tears staining her cheeks. As always she wondered only one thing.

Why?

With difficulty she stood up and made her way clumsily toward the mirror. It was getting harder to move about and she worried that soon she might be bed ridden. But that is silly, she told herself, she was not even at six month yet. She pulled at her linen robe, trying to wrap it around the great expanse that was her stomach. It was getting more and more difficult to stay covered—her gowns were no longer wide enough to stay wrapped around her enormous belly on their own, forcing her to hold them together.

She clutched tightly at her gown as she stood in front of the mirror. Her reflection was sympathetic for a change, smiling sadly back at her. It knew the pain and torment she was going through and no longer saw the need to act as her accuser. It knew how difficult it was to carry the seed that had been sired upon her.

So this was the queen who had made Minos the envy of the world, once upon a time.

The poets had said she was more beautiful than Helen of Troy and the artists had claimed her features more graceful than Aphrodite’s. Her’s had been a storybook marriage and a legendary reign. She had been called Pasiphae the All Shining. But since then her name had become attached to a rather different legend. The legend of the white bull.

She turned to see her profile, but she was too big now for her entire reflection to fit in the mirror. Pasiphae took a few steps back so that she could see the entirety of her stomach. She could only marvel at what she saw—so big and so large! Almost impossibly large. She held her hands under her burgeoning stomach—soon they would no longer be able to meet.

How much larger can I get?

She was far too large. She was huge.

Minos, where are you? Even if you were to storm in here now just to throw me off the balcony it would be better than this. Why won’t you speak to me?

Her legs grew weak from the strain of standing. A chair was nearby—she hobbled toward it and lowered herself into it, albeit it with difficulty. She breathed a great sigh of relief. Soon she would no longer be able to fit in the chair. She wondered if she could get the servants to bring her a wider one.

She looked in the mirror just in time to see her robe give up at the effort of trying to cover her, slithering to either side of her belly. It was just as well, she had grown tired of pulling at it. She let it stay that way.

She looked at the mirror. The reflection that greeted her was obscene. She was more cow now than when she had worn the dreadful costume.

So big, so impossibly big. How can one woman be so big?

And so it was that in her fifth and sixth months Pasiphae became convinced that she would not carry to a full term. She looked in these months as women do when they are past due—long past due. Standing took all her strength, and she could only move a few feet at a time and even then with the greatest of effort. She had to grip tightly to the furniture if she wanted to go anywhere and even moving from one side of the room to the other was exhausting, requiring extraordinary effort on her part. A thought occurred to her—perhaps the midwives had been wrong about the date of conception? Perhaps she had really conceived much earlier and would deliver sooner than everyone thought? Yes, that was possible. And if that were true then maybe the baby was her husband’s or even the inventor’s? Yes, yes, she knew this was possible. It could be true!

Please, let it be true.

She rubbed a worried hand over her stomach, to sooth both the child within and herself. But for it be her husband’s or the inventor’s it had to happen soon. And it had too, she was too large for it not to happen.

It must happen soon!

Even her breasts seemed to have grown larger. They weren’t just bigger, but rounder and wider, resting on the shelf that her belly had become. It was as if they expanding in anticipation of an unquenchable appetite to come. Pasiphae swallowed hard. She did not like the thought of that. She quickly reminded herself that queen’s never nurse their own, wet-nurses are employed for that. Still, she thought it might be better to think of something else.

But the mirror always knew better, and never allowed Pasiphae such distractions. She could not help but notice the glint of the gold bands at the base of her nipples. It was a gold as bright and as gaudy as the gold on the mirror. The Queen had first discovered them when she had woken up from her torment, here in her bedchamber, unable to recall ever owning them or putting them on. But then she had come to learn from listening to the door and spying on the conversation of her guards that she had done many a strange thing that she had no memory of. She had long since given up trying to remove the rings, no matter how she worked at them they never would slide off. They seemed to cling to her with an almost magical power.

Pasiphae ran a finger over each of them, noticing how similar they were to a wedding band. She looked at her finger where she had once worn such a ring, but now was bare.

I am wedded to another now.

She placed her hands over her breasts. She did not like to be reminded of the vow she had broken, or the one she had made in its place. And of all her memories, that was the one she dreaded the most.

I am alone, shrouded in darkness, the baleful light of the moon my only illumination. My breasts—my udders—hang heavy beneath me, like ripe fruit, while behind me my fleshy pedals are open and in full bloom. The air is thick with portents. Tonight something new shall be brought into this world.

I am in the field of Gorton. It is here where my husband broke his promise and penned the white bull. Few dare to enter this sacred ground, much less tarry in it. Tonight, I plan to do much more than just tarry.

I had taken little interest in the white bull when he first arrived to our shores. Indeed, I found myself resenting the way my husband seemed to be more interested in his new pet than in me. In those days I spent an increasing amount of time with the inventor for he seemed to be all those things my husband was not and wished he was. We discussed art, philosophy, and world affairs. Daedalus seemed to listen to me, not because I was his queen, but because he cared. My husband never listened to me, not like that. I was a prize taht he has won by placing a ring on my finger. I was to be pampered and spoiled, but never really listened too. In that sense I was like the bull, I was Minos’ pet, only a prettier version.

The inventor was perceptive in ways my husband was not. Perhaps that was my downfall in the end for he came to sense my growing tedium with life in the palace and my dislike of the bull. It was he who first suggested we travel to Gorton to see the legendary creature first hand.

“What harm can there be in it?” He had asked me. “Besides, a little time spent in the countryside might do your highness good.”

“My husband talks of nothing else but his prized bull. Indeed, it is all anyone ever talks about. It is quite tiresome, really. What is so special about a bull? I see little reason to go traipsing around just to see some creature eating grass.”

“I think that is why you should see it. That way you can rightly dismiss it. Or perhaps once you see the white bull for yourself you will see why the king covets it so. It is said to be from the sea, after all.”

“Yes, and I hear that it breaths fire, too.” I answered dryly. “But perhaps you are right. Anyway, we can make a day of it.”

I was glad to be away from the palace and glad too to spend the day with my inventor. That day Daedalus and I journeyed with servants in tow to see the fabled taurus and with plans for a courtly picnic at Gorton. We chatted happily the entire way, of this and that and of all sorts of pleasant things until we arrived at the fencing that marked the pasture of the white bull.

My ladies busied themselves, setting up the picnic while Daedalus and I went to catch a glance of the much talked about white bull. It was far off in the distance, just on the horizon, yet even so far as that I was taken by the sheer immensity of the beast. He shined brighter than the evening star, his hide the most brilliant white I have ever seen. It was like the sun was meant just for him. For the first time in my queenly life, I felt myself in the presence of something far greater than myself. To my surprise, I found it difficult to take a breath and my knees felt weak.

The white bull seemed to sense our presence and strode with purposeful steps in our direction. It was then that I knew. It was then that my heart started to pound. It was then that I could first hear the sea filling my mind with its mad whisperings. It was then that for the first time in my life I knew what lust felt like. I was in its tight, powerful grip and it was squeezing me tight.

Daedalus was talking, saying something about the sky, or the field or…something. I could not hear him, nor did I care a whit what he had to say. He could have told me the palace was on fire and I would not have cared. I could only hear another voice now, speaking to me, speaking to me in my mind, speaking to be like the sea.

It took me like a great rush, strangling me with uncontrolled desire like none any mortal woman has ever known. My knees grew weaker as the beast approached so that I felt as if I might swoon. And I might have had I not I dug my nails deep into the fencing, clinging to it as hard as I could both out of desire, and to keep myself from entering that forbidden field. The voice of the sea told me what I needed to do. I had to enter that field. I had to do it now, in front of everyone. I had to.

In a voice hoarse with the effort of keeping it my own, I ordered Daedalus and my ladies to return me to the palace at once, without delay. One of my ladies protested, saying something about having just laid out the food. I think I shouted at her, hysterically perhaps, something about having her hanged on the spot if she did not do as she was told. I cannot be sure. I knew only that to wait a moment longer might make my leaving impossible.

When we had arrived back at the place I slumped down miserably in my throne, dejected, and looking positively dreadful. I could think of only one thing, but I dared not give word to it. I dismissed Daedalus, for fear that his perceptive mind might realize what that one thing was. But I made sure to extract a promise from him, before he left.

“Listen to me well inventor, for it is important that you heed what I have to say while I can still say it. Promise me that you will never take me to the field of Gorton again. No matter how much I may beg and plead, you must never allow me to set foot in that field again.”

“Your highness, are you—”

“Promise me!”

“I promise, your majesty,” he said. “I obey only your will, you know that. By my hand you shall never set foot in the field of Gorton.”

Minos broke his promise and now so too has Daedalus. He placed me here, not but an hour ago, near an olive tree. He said it would keep me company so that I would not be alone in the bull’s field. He checked over my straps, made sure all the buckles on my suit were tight and that everything was ready. He even made sure to straighten my hood so that my ears were straight. He whispered a few words to me, most of which I was unable to understand. At last he told me I was ready and that he would return for me with the first rays of light. And with that he gave me a light pat on my rear, wished me luck and then he was gone.

And so I wait.

Beneath me my forelocks shimmer in the pale moonlight, my hooves staked into the fertile field to keep me in place. Perhaps Daedelus had his promise in mind when he designed my cow-suit, making it so that my feet never would actually touch the sacred ground below. That is more than can be said of Minos. Or soon of me.

Nearby a dove lands on an outstretched branch of the olive tree, not far from where I am. It greets me in a voice mockingly bright and cheerful for so black a night. It reminds me somehow of the voice of the woman from the workshop. The dove seems interested in me, turning its head quizzically as it takes me in. Her eyes are dark and impenetrable, but she seems to look upon me with studied interest.

But just then I hear a crunching sound come not far behind me. It is the sound of dry grass being crushed, crushed beneath something big and powerful. The dove notices it too, her head turns in the direction from where the sound came. I look at her for a reaction, hoping to see in her a clue that it is my beloved who stalks this dry ground. Another crunch. My heart beats faster. I listen carefully and hear it again, only closer this time. I feel a slight tremor in the ground. Then stillness. I hear it again as the ground shakes even harder. Above me the dove slowly turns her gaze back upon me. Is it possible for a bird to look smug?

My heart is pounding, beating like the hammer of Hephaestus as it echoes loudly against the heavy padding that holds me trapped. My limbs tense in the cushioned padding. Instinctively I try to spread my legs only to remember that they are already held properly in place. I realize now that I am holding my breath, waiting in anticipation for what I know must come. I weep. But these are not tears of dread, but of love, for I wish for nothing more than to throw my arms around my beloved’s broad shoulders, plant kisses upon him his great coarse hide, while running my hands through his beautiful white fur and whispering the sweetest words ever uttered by a woman into his gentle ear. This is why I weep for trapped as I am I must await the embrace of my god-ordained lover. I pray that the bull-god will at least show himself to me first, for I cannot bear the thought of not seeing him. Please, bull-god, please let me see you at least once before this time! Please, great god in bull flesh please let me—

Your lover is not a god.

No. I know it is a god! I know this deep in my heart. He is too magnificent a creature to be mere beast. He is a bull-god.

It is a bull that approaches you. Nothing more.

But he has to be a god! I know the myths, I have read all the stories. Europa and Io were both seduced by gods in bull form. Why else my love for this creature unless his flesh houses a god within it? Tonight I shall take my place in legend, beside Europa and Io.

You shall be remembered in legend, but as a woman who loved a bull.

But…no, that is impossible! Why would I have willed any of this if it were just a mere bull!?

Because it was never your will that brought you to this moment, Pasiphae. It was mine.

No, please, not a bull! It must be more than that. Please—

Shh. Now tell yourself how deeply you love your magnificent bull. I command you.

The white bull paws at the ground behind me and I glory at the thought of being mounted by such a magnificent beast. My flesh quivers at the thought of his—all corded muscle beneath a coarse hide of white. I can smell his animal musk as he nears and my hunger grows. He is a force of nature that none can tame, yet tonight I shall try as only a woman knows how. No mere man could ever excite such passion in my heart. Indeed if a god were to stand before me now I would think him a pale shadow in comparison to the raw, pure, untapped power of this beautiful animal. I glory at the thought of it, I Pasiphae have excited lust in a beast! What woman can attest to a power such as mine?

In the shadow of the moon I see two great wide horns spread beneath me, covering the ground in their long embrace. I want to cry out to the bull to take me, take me now, but I worry that the sound of my human voice might frighten the animal away. I bite my lip to keep my silence, hoping, praying, willing him to claim what is eagerly offered to him.

A blast of hot air lets me know that he is very near, sniffing at the night air which is heavy with the scent of my desire. My heart pounds, my body stiffens, I await like a true cow in heat. There will be no courtship. This is not to be a storied palace romance, but a union of two animals, one in heat, the other eager to rut.

I hear a great snort and then the clattering of hooves as the bull rears up and his hooves come crashing down over the small of my back. My cow shakes under the pressure and I am jostled back and forth. I unwittingly moan with a desire that sounds more cow than woman. The bull shifts its weight and with a start I realize for the first time how heavy my lover is as I feel the padding sink in around me. I have the weight of a small house over my back, but the wooden shell holds, protecting me safely within. He pins me with two great hooves of ebony and I want to swoon.

The dove watches, her dark eyes curious and almost...malevolent. She is to bear witness to my act of savage desire.

More clacking of hooves, the bull is gripping the sides of the cow, drawing himself nearer to his intended conquest, covering me like an actual cow. I wish all my kingdom could see me at this moment so that they might see me as I am, not as their queen, but as a cow—a cow who can excite the passions of the white bull.

I hold my breath, waiting for the fatal plunge. Please, now, do it now! My lust must be quenched!

He grunts, then snorts and then pushes against my thighs. At last! Its member feels like a man’s forearm, only thicker and many times more powerful. Its tip is hardened like dark mountain rock, brushing against the soft flesh of my inner thigh. Even this merest touch is enough to radiate within in me ecstasy and desire as I feel the merest hint of his raw, animal power. But what my lover has in strength and girth he lacks in finesse—his engorged member misses the intended mark, pushing along the side of my ravenous desire.

The bull blasts a snort of frustration and I wonder if the rumors of it breathing fire are true. I care not—let him do what he likes, let him breath fire while he humps me, so long as he does so while humping me. He tries again, this time pushing too far on the opposite side. His bellow is one of frustration and rage. His is the mightiest of all weapons, but meant for targets far larger than mine. My subtly alludes him as I feel him brush over my ever eager pedals yet again. I decide to risk the sound of my voice and soothe the beast with a gentle lull of my voice. I will my lover still with a honeyed moo, like that of a love sick young heifer, hoping that I might help us both.

My costume affords me little maneuverability, but with some effort I am able to move my hips, adjusting them so as to work my dark hunger into place before his even darker offering. My rings pull at me, insisting that I move forward again, but I pay them little mind. The bull is respondent to my movements, seeming to understand what it is that I am doing. He keeps himself obediently still as I continue my song of bovine love to him while at the same time twisting and shifting my thighs to meet him. The bull’s shaft stays perfectly still and I can hear his hooves digging in tight to prevent himself from reacting. I marvel at how still the beast can be, so much untamed power and raw muscle and yet he obeys my commands so willingly!

With delicate grace I work my hungry lips over the bulging tip of his offered punishment, dancing up and over it, moving side to side, until I am able to open myself enough to wrap my dewy lips around his heaven-sent staff. I call out to him again, to let him know my passion for him. I want to linger here for a moment, to feel my triumph as it waits at the edge of my gates, but my lover has other plans. The bull at once senses that my slick entryway now lays parted before him and he loses all restraint, pushing forward with a ferocious, ungodly might.

The screams that I had made in that moment defy all description as they broke the bounds of what a human voice may do. The bull pushed into me with all his might, his wide, tapered head working its way up into the tight, narrow confines of all my eager little cunt.

Cunt? Yes! A word I once detested and forbad Minos from using and one that I now relish in—can there be any other word for it when a bull has laid claim to it? My body tightens, as if it senses the unnaturalness of our pairing, but the bull’s phallus is insistent making its way deep into me with an unholy strength, forcing my walls to part as I let loose cry after cry into the night sky.

I screamed with rage for the violations to my being, I wailed from the agony of the pain, and I cried out in lamentation for innocence lost. But more than anything I cried out in elation, an elation for a passion that would finally know consummation.

I felt his tapered head work its way into me as I let loose scream after scream, the types of sounds that no mortal lips should ever utter. But the animal was undeterred by my pleas for mercy, hearing only my demands for more. The bull continued its remorseless journey, grunting and snorting as he forced ever greater entry, his desire unabated and showing little care for my comfort.

I cry out in torment for the passion that is between my thighs, my inner flesh gripping the gift of my lover with hateful abandon. I am made harlot and whore, all the sins in Crete cannot equal those of its lustful queen. I laugh deliriously at my most cherished fate, to harden a beast with a passion as powerful as this!

My wail of anguish becomes one of greatest joy as I feel the coarse prickle of bullhide upon my soft flesh and I know that we are at last fully united. The bull stays here, deep within me, allowing me this moment to experience the full horror and magnificence of its enormity. Skewered, I writhe before my new master, each twist and turn eliciting more screams from my once royal lips, the pain of the nipple-rings a distant memory compared to this. I look at up the dove that sits so calmly above me, as if in search for answers to a question I know not to ask.

Just then the bull pulls back and I let out a cry of relief and tears of sorrow as his great phallus nearly leaves me. But to my increasingly horror and even greater relief the bull pushes forward again, plowing back into me and forcing me hard against the front end of the cow. The rings that had earlier pulled my nipples forward were now tugging backward, pulling my udders behind me. I scream. The rutting beast pulls back again, bringing me with it, then slams into me again, once more sending me hard into the front padding. I do not scream this time but grunt instead. I feel him pulling back for another thrust, but this time I am ready—I push my palms flat against the built up platforms in the front legs, grit my teeth and let out a roar of my own. It comes at me again, but this time I hold my ground, though just barely. I grunt in pain and satisfaction. He does so again and again and I can feel his tempo increasing, the thrusts are coming faster now and I lock my arms to stay I place. We establish a good rhythm this way, one that is good for both of us and he we rut with abandon, bull and queen, just as fate has decreed it.

My strength is nothing compared to that of my lovers, but I am just as determined to tame him as he is to own me. As he comes at me again and again I wonder which of us is the more mad, the bull who would own a queen or the queen who would tame a bull? I laugh between gritted teeth, knowing that only together can we each obtain our mad desire.

I am driving the bull mad, just as he has driven me mad with lust. Above me he is grunting and bellowing and I can hear the strain in his voice just as I can feel it in the increasingly savage thrusts of his member—his frustration is reaching unbearable heights. His staff was meant for wider passageways than mine and my womanly tightness is making him savage with the need for a release that has yet to come. He roars up at the heavens with his need, but it is almost a plaintive cry, like that of a man on the edge of a culmination that will not come. I grunt and snort beneath him, increasingly sounded more animal than my bull. I smile and buck back hard with my hips—I shall tame this wild beast yet! I start to goad him, mooing at him almost mockingly. I am flirting, flirting with a bull in full rut.

We drive one another to increasing madness as I let out a cry of desperation of my own—I shall surely be destroyed if I take anymore and yet I can only demand more and more. It slams into me again and again as I push back angrily at it, as if each thrust were not enough. I will tame this bull! It shall be made tame! My cunt will tame this wild beast!

But he refuses to be made tame. His thrusts are punishing, as if each one were sent by the gods themselves for some great misdeed. I cry out at that knowledge. It is part lament, and part determination to take what ever punishment the gods have to give me. Give it to me! I Want more! More! MORE!

It builds! That terrible, wonderful, long dreaded, much hoped for relief approaches! The pressure now builds in me like a primordial geyser, buried deep in the darkest recesses of the earth, about to explode, bursting free into the bright of day. With each thrust into me the bull sets something in motion that takes on a life of its own. I can feel it building and building. I clench my teeth to stop from screaming but it is no good.

“MORE!”

My voice is not my own. It is deep and throaty, pure animal desire. I have never heard such raw desire come from a human voice before. I implore my lover to increase his exertions, flapping my fuzzy ears furiously from side to side as I scream, my cow ears a furry blur off white, while shaking my milky udders back and forth in their terrible contraption. Every thrust brings me ever closer to a brink I have not crossed in many ages. I roar now like the beast inside of me.

“I SAID MORE!”

Oh gods, I can feel it! It fast approaches. It is building, taking on a life of its own and all of it is inside of me. It is dark and terrible, ungodly, something no mortal should ever feel or know! And I can feel it, I can feel all of it! So wonderful, so needed! My bull pounds into me again and again with its ungodly might. I push back with all mine, determined to give as much as I receive. If anyone were to see us, they would not know which one of us the more animal of the two.

“GIVE IT TO ME!”

I see a blast of fire shoot out into the night sky above me and I know the rumors are true and I have maddened the bull, turning him into a blazing inferno of desire. I another wave of red erupt from my fiery lover as the bull bellows in need of release.

“FUCK ME!”

The stars and the earth become one in my mind, all the cosmos is within me, I a mortal woman for the briefest moment contain all that there is within me and I know I cannot hold it in for long. All shall burst asunder from me, all the heavens above and the earth below.

“FUCK ME HARDER!”

I teeter on the age of something momentous, something no man or woman has ever known and cry for my bull to drive deeper into me, to take me over that edge, to release this universe that swells within me. I can see our coupling foretold in the night sky. I can see it told for all of time to come. I cry out to meet my fate.

“FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! FUCK ME LIKE A BULL FUCKS A COW! FUCK ME LIKE A COW!”

His hardened member suddenly stiffens, somehow becoming even harder than before, it quivers within me, a tremor that indicates a coming seismatic quake. I call out for my lover to give us what we both need. The fatal plunge comes at last, this time he does not pull back but instead leans into me with all his heavenly might, bellowing as he drives his cock the full length of me. The white bull roars in triumphant as his member convulses, shaking with power of an earthquake inside of my tormented cunt, shooting into me a thick white, potent foam, like that of the sea. This is to be my gift from the gods, a gift on my wedding night, on the night of my betrothal to the white bull. It hits me with the power of a tidal wave as I let out a cry worthy of my tormentors in Olympus, knowing that I have an audience eager to hear my culmination. My voice reaches an inhuman pitch letting the gods know that their dark design is done, that I, a mortal queen, have achieved satisfaction from a bull. I accept their gift.

As the sounds of my culmination echo about the fields and the valleys, the bull holds me pinned, but I can tell he too is spent. His foam was more than I could hold, filling me completely and so much more. I can feel its life giving force within me, binding us, its sticky white foam between the two of us, foaming out of me, foaming out of my cunt and over his dark shaft, and spilling like specks of the sea to the fertile ground below.

Tears fall from my cheeks to stain the ground in front of my cow. Tears of joy, for I have at last achieved my cherished desire.

At last I hear it grunt. It is the grunt of a bull, strong and powerful, yes, but I have come to know my lover well in these few moments of intimacy. It is more than just a grunt of satisfaction—the great white fire breathing bull is spent. I somehow know that he will always be a little less savage now, a little less wild. I know that he will never be able to breath fire again, nor will he cause anymore trouble for his handlers, I can see this deep in my mind. I have tamed the white bull. The price was my virtue.

My eyes grow weary with the need for much deserved sleep. The white dove is still there, the sole witness to my savage act of penance. The bull’s member begins to soften and with what sounds like a weary grunt he pulls back, sliding out of me, although not without some difficulty. I let out a cry of my own as his enormity leaves me. His hoofs release me from their pinning embrace, clattering back to the ground. I smile—even the crash of his hooves seems more docile now. The bull is spent, and not in a way he will ever fully recover from. Beauty has tamed the savage beast. I fear the flutter of wings and look up to see the dove vanishing into the night sky.

I smile. At last, I have known true love. I close my eyes to the most deserved sleep I have ever known.

I lift my curse from upon your head. No longer shall you lust after the white bull.

…curse…lust…bull…

The white bull shall take you twice more before the night is over.

…twice more…

And it will claim once more when the sun rises so that Helios may see your shame.

…see all…shame...

You will be confused and frightened. But you will be too scared to call out for help.

…confused…frightened…

When the first rays of light reach you, your mind will be your own again and all your memories will return.

…my own again…memories…

You will remember your lust. How you wanted the bull. How you disguised yourself as a cow.

…lust…bull…disguised myself as a cow…

You will remember everything you did…

…everything I did…

…everything except for why.

…why?…

You are forget that my voice ever filled your mind. When you remember it at all, you will only remember the gentle sound of waves. My voice and control that it had over your will shall be forgotten.

…gentle sounds of waves…forgotten.

I close my eyes and hear the gentle sound of waves recede from my mind at long, long last. I wonder why I ever heard them at all, but sleep is too powerful and tell myself I can think about it later. I give myself over to the darkness.

“It was my will,” I whisper deliriously to myself as I fall asleep. “I wanted this. I wanted to fuck the white bull.”

“Why? Why did I will such a thing? Why?”

Pasiphae looked in the mirror, eyes searching for answers that never came. She un-cupped her breasts, the gold rings sparkling mischievously in the mirror. She looked at the stomach that bulged out beneath her breasts.

It was too round. She would birth soon, she was certain of it. She had to have conceived before her indiscretion with the bull. After all it was impossible for a woman to conceive from a bull. Pasiphae had to prepare herself for the coming birth, she knew it would be difficult and she knew it had to be soon. Very soon.

Minos, please, why won’t you come? Please, don’t leave me alone like this. I am scared!