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Right, left, straight, left...
Ariadne retraces each step in her mind as her bare feet pad along the cold stone floor. In the flicker of her torchlight, each wall is identical - hard grey stone carved into the heart of the mountain. Anyone but her would be lost in the twisting tunnels, never again to see the light of day. An army of men could search this forsaken place for a lifetime and never find anything but unyielding stone.
No one but her would dare to enter.
Right, right, left...
The knowledge of the labyrinth’s secret was a hard won prize for her; wrested from Daedalus’ son Icarus with her words and her mouth and her body. Locked in his tower with his father, he had not seen a woman for years. Even still, he did not give up the secrets of his father’s maze easily. Only when she had him on his knees, head in her hands, begging her to be his... only then did he give her what she sought.
But she had to know; had to see him for herself. The shame and terror of Crete. The horror of which mothers warn their children in the night, and men fear to mention aloud lest ill omens follow them.
Asterion.
The minotaur.
Her brother.
Left, left, straight, right, left...
By now she knows the route by heart, stamped indelibly upon her memory by a hundred repetitions.
Her heart beats faster in her chest as each twist and turn brings her closer. He knows she is here. She can hear him breathing ahead. He can smell her. He knows her scent; knows the soft whisper of her footfalls on the rough-hewn, granite floor. Not like the panicked scramble of the sacrifices that come to feed him.
Right, left, right.
She is here.
She stands in the doorway, looking into the darkness of the cavernous chamber. Her torch’s light cannot pierce the deep darkness of this place, the heart of the labyrinth. Along the walls, piles of bones, picked clean, lie scattered haphazardly. Slowly, she steps inside the chamber.
He’s here. She can feel him watching her.
She trembles with need. It has been so long. Only in the dark of the new moon does she feel safe attempting to enter here without being seen. Being caught would mean certain death.
“Brother...” she says, without fear in her voice, “I’m here.”
His breathing is close now, and louder. She can feel the force of it stirring the air. She can smell him approach, dank and musty, but not unpleasant.
With a snort he emerges from the darkness, his massive frame looming over her. Thick, copperish hair covers the muscles of his body. His breathing is hard and fast, belying his excitement. He moves towards her cautiously. She places the torch in a metal holder on the wall and waits patiently for him to approach.
“Have you missed me?” she asks, the ghost of a smile crossing her lips. He does not understand her, but it pleases her to imagine he does.
He leans down, his bovine nose sniffing and snuffling at her, pressing against the bare skin of her neck, taking in her scent. Her hand reaches out to him and he flinches only slightly. She traces her fingers over the hard bulges of his muscular arms. There is a fresh wound there. Most likely a lucky blow by some recent victim, now no more than carrion bones.
She continues upwards over the fur of his neck and up further still to his face. She pets him gently, the thick fur soft beneath her fingers. Her hand runs over the smooth bone of his horns, up to the sharpened tips.
He presses against her, forcing her backward. He’s growing impatient. His thick, swelling erection pushes against the thin fabric of her nightgown, warm against her stomach.
“So forceful...” she says with a smile, “...so strong. You did miss me, brother.”
His cock grows harder and her hand reaches down to stroke it. He huffs and pushes against her, but she knows he will not force her. Not until she allows it.
“I missed you,” she whispers.
His hands grasp her hips, pulling her into him, his cock caught between them. It is fully swollen now, and it juts up obscenely, the tip of it rubbing against her breasts.
She looks up into his milky, bloodshot eyes.
“Fuck me...” she whispers.
This he understands. The response is immediate, the change in his demeanor uncanny. He roars savagely and shoves her back. With immense strength he lifts her lithe frame, shoving her against the wall. She gasps as the breath is knocked from her lungs, and before she has a chance to catch it he is crushing her, shoving his heavy, hirsute body against her porcelain skin.
She feels herself being lifted higher. Harsh, quick thrusts of his giant cock probe at the front of her gown. With no effort at all he spreads her legs wide. Her mind reels with his power as she manages to reach down and lift her dress, revealing her slick cunt in the faint torchlight. Within a moment he has found her entrance, and within another he is forcing himself into her.
There is pain, agonizing pain. His thick shaft was not made for her, not made for any mortal woman; only a goddess could possibly withstand his might and size without fear of pain and blood. But there is pleasure, too, indescribable and deep, welling up inside her as his massive cock invades her body, thrusting into her over and over again.
His rage is insatiable as he forces himself on her, and she goes limp in his arms. She knows that trying to direct his primal lust would be like trying to steer a hurricane. It was a lesson she learned the hard way. Explaining the broken bones to her father had been tricky. Now she is content to be used, buffeted about by animal instincts out of her control.
His rutting lasts for an eternity, thrusting over and over inside of her channel, slick with her own blood and juices. She grinds her hips against him as best she can, trying to take all of him inside of her, though she knows it would never be possible.
Finally he roars out his triumph into the echoing labyrinth as his seed spills out, filling the emptiness inside of her. She screams with him, lost in her own animal needs, clawing at the thick skin of his hide like a wild thing. As his monstrous semen bathes her womb she climaxes, her vision going black as the new moon, her consciousness all but fading.
Afterwards he sleeps. He is always tired after fucking her. She lies next to him, sore and spent on the cold, hard floor. Her hand rests on his side, feeling the powerful rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
“Brother...” she says aloud, and he does not stir.
“Our time is ending.”
She shivers. The chill of the dank labyrinth is only partially at fault.
“A man has come to Knossos. He is strong and wise. His name is Theseus.”
She lowers her head.
“I love him...” she whispers. It is the first time she has admitted it to herself. The first time she has said it out loud.
“We were never meant to be. He will kill you, and I will help him. It was written in the stars, long ago.”
She knows it is true. She has read the signs and consulted the oracle. There is no other way. She knows better than to defy the will of fate. That way leads only to death and madness. She will not share the fate of Oedipus.
“For what it’s worth... I’m sorry.”
Carefully, quietly, she stands on shaky legs. Warm come dries against her thighs. She takes the torch from the wall and looks down at her brother, her lover, her god, one final time.
“I love you, brother,” she says.
She turns and leaves, and once again the only sound that echoes through the labyrinth is the steady breathing of a sleeping beast.