Notes from Crete

To the Reader: you may think you know this story. It's one of antiquity's hardy perennials. But a new account indicates that it might not be quite as you thought. At all...

Look, it's not like it was my fault. I wasn't even around at the time. In fact I was a result of the whole business. But that's getting a bit ahead of things.

See, it all boils down to this: I'm here because mom was... how should I put this? Okay, she was a real size queen. Big cocks made her drool. A lot. From both mouths. I don't know why she had that kink. I mean, dad was no shrinking violet; I saw his todger often when we bathed in the sea while I was little -- it was respectable, 8 or 9 inches, I guess. But no -- mom wasn't satisfied. She wasn't satisfied with the wooden cock he made for her, either -- although it was a beauty. Thick as a man's fist, it was; almost 13 inches long and as realistic as it's possible to make wood. Which is to say, very, very realistic, right down to the three giant veins winding their way down to the base. It was made of Acacia wood, very dense and hard to work, but beautiful when smoothed and oiled. Which it was a lot. But mom wasn't satisfied with that, either.

Dad was a woodworker; a shipwright, actually. He made wood into all sorts of vessels, mostly for the navy and trade fleet of the king at Knossos. In his spare time, which he had seldom, he made wonderful furniture. And the odd fixture, like he created for mom. He was very, very good at what he did. Then it all came apart.

Did I mention that mom and dad weren't married? Yeah, sad story. She and dad were getting set to tie the knot when they got swept up in some truly evil shit. Evidently, one night late a small group of folks called on them -- mom, actually. It seems she was a sorceress and they had need of her, um, talents. They spirited her away, to the royal palace, actually. Three days later, King Asterion was dead and his shitbag son Minos was in charge. Mom never returned. When dad asked after her he was told in no uncertain terms to mind his own business. Neighbors told me much later they saw the bruises. And in a few days, sure enough, Pasiphae became Minos' queen.

The rest of the introduction you've probably heard already: to celebrate his ascension and cement Crete's ascendancy as a Mediterranean naval power, Minos asked Poseidon for a gift, and he got it: a beautiful snow-white bull. Oh, sure. Anyone else see trouble coming? I mean, never, EVER ask a god for a gift. You'll get it, and it'll bite you on the ass. Good and hard.

Obviously, Minos was expected to sacrifice the bull to celebrate the relationship between Poseidon and himself. But the twit didn't do it. Instead, he kept it and slaughtered some other poor, random bovine. Then -- surprise, surprise -- Pasiphae developed a real lust for the animal. I mean, that bull was hung. Almost like Poseidon planned the whole sordid mess in advance.

And the inevitable happened. Pestered to death, Minos had his chief designer, a very clever Greek by the name of Daedalus, draw up plans for a wooden cow that mom could pop into whenever she fancied a plowing from the bull. Who built it? Who else? Dad relished the opportunity to see mom again, whatever the circumstance. So together it went and eventually the cow was wheeled into the bull's meadow, mom inside.

From the reports I heard, it took the whole day. The bull strolled up, sniffed, liked what he smelled and spent the next ten or 12 hours fucking the decoy. From the moans, howls and eventually, screams of pain and ecstasy, mom finally met her match. When they pulled her out at nightfall, she was literally swimming in cum.

After a fairly normal pregnancy, I happened. I wasn't all that monstrous in the beginning; I was a baby, for god's sake. I was even named "Asterion," meaning "the Starry One," which I rather liked -- not knowing at the time that it was the name of the former king who was shuffled off the stage when he became, um, inconvenient.

Dad came to the palace frequently. We played and he taught me to read, write and do mathematics. It wasn't easy, mind. I couldn't speak as men do, but I could listen and I could write. I became very good at both Minoan and Greek -- and at math. Math spoke to me as the language of logic and purity; the voice of the universe. I loved it.

Dad also took me to his workshop often. He showed me the use of various tools, teaching me how to tease form out of any sort of wood. My math skills showed him how to get the most of any sort of thing out of the oddest shapes of material. It was an idyllic situation; both my mind and hands were occupied and I was at peace. Of course it couldn't last.

Mom didn't want me around; I was a living reminder of her sexual... predilections... which she still indulged using Daedalus' device. Minos couldn't abide me, for those reasons and the fact that I was beginning to terrify both his court toadies and the high-value traders who favored his ships and his harbors. But how to do it? No one was certain it hadn't been Poseidon himself shtupping mom all day that day; if one of Minos' henchmen axed me in my sleep, wouldn't that be seen as impiety at the very least? There were discussions...

Finally, it was decided to lock me up. Once again, Daedalus was involved. And betrayal.

Here's how it went: there was a huge flurry of construction on one of the tall cliffs surrounding the harbor. Fine, well-cut ashlar blocks went up with a space between, which was then filled with rubble, lime and sand. When the stuff finished settling and curing, the walls were impregnable. And what walls they were! Fifteen feet tall, polished limestone gleaming in the sun and by moonlight; the interior was also very curious: many rooms, each of an irregular size and configuration, all opening on hallways that twisted and turned in every direction, widening to near-avenues, narrowing to almost-impassible passageways and alleys, turning back on themselves... it was like a garden maze, only much, much larger and made of stone.

Two other things caught my attention: first, it had no windows. If it was a strongpoint in the city's defenses this was, to say the least, an oversight. Why build in such a way that the defenders couldn't see the enemy coming? Second, but less intriguing: it had only one door, and that looked like it was made to keep out an army of cyclopes. It was enormous, thick and heavily banded with iron; it was very impressive. When I asked Daedalus about these, he was noncommittal. But he did say that when it was all done, I'd get to see the inside. When it came down to cases, he was just another Greek weasel...

One day I went to Dad's workshop to fiddle with a project I'd been working on. I'd been corresponding with some mathematician pals in Greece; they told me about a guy from Abdura who thought that light could be bent in a way that made faraway objects appear much closer. But to do so required hard, transparent material that could be worked into a specific shape. He'd worked out the maths, but was hopeless at mechanics. I thought I'd give pure glass a try, and after searching for a bit found a few large pieces with no bubbles or color. I thought about shaping it and designed a machine that would use sand, and then finer sand, and finally, clay to put the proper shape and polish on. I was looking forward to a day of pure, mindless effort. But the shop door was open...

I went inside and found to my dismay that the whole place was empty. Cleaned out. I was not pleased. Then, like clockwork, up comes the D-man, mom's favorite designer and Minos' favorite toady.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" he simpers. "We moved all that stuff into the new building. Your father needs room for the king's new projects, and you get a much larger space for whatever it was you were working on." I waited to see if there was more. There was. "Come on. I'll show you your new workshop. I think you'll like it." He turned away and, like a chucklehead, I followed. Right into the bastion. Right into the middle. Then he disappeared around the corner, and his torch with him. A second later, I heard the huge door groan shut. I was trapped.

I'll admit, I was angry for a day or so. Maybe three. I raved. I pounded the walls. I tried to beat my way through the door. Sore hands and body were a result. Then I got smart. I noticed that when the sun was up there were imperfections in the roof that let in light. Not much, but enough to make the interior visible. I found my material in a heap near the center of whatever it was I was trapped in, and I inventoried it. I also discovered that when the workers left, a lot of their tools were not taken; I assumed they had been herded out to make room for the new resident. But they didn't leave any food, and I was getting pretty hungry.

The next night, a hatch opened in the roof and a basket of bread, fruit and vegetables was lowered down, together with two large bottles, one of wine, the other, water. I heard the process, but by the time I got there, the hatch was closed again. I tore into the food and drink, and then slept like a log.

I awoke -- the next day, I suppose -- to find a pool of light spilling onto the floor from an open hatch. I strolled over, looked up and -- lo and behold, there was Dad, standing next to the shitball king. Of course he was the one who spoke, in that wheedling, little girly voice of his.

"Well, now. Seems we have you right where we want you," he sneered. "Dad here brought you food, and right now I'm trying to decide whether to throw him off a cliff or down there with you. What do you think?" He grinned that evil little grin of his. Gods, how could his man have any kind of a following?

I had two of the wax tablets I used to communicate, so I wrote on it and threw it to dad, who caught it. "I think you're going to do exactly what you want, as you always have done, with no consideration of the consequences. How'd that work out with the bull?" he read aloud. That certainly wiped the grin off his face. I threw up the other and he continued. "Throw the old man down and batten the hatches; we'll starve to death. How do you think Poseidon's going to react to you killing his son? Or do you think the whole thing with the bull was some sort of accident? Ooooo, I wouldn't want to be King when he shreds your fleets and harbors with storms and tidal waves. Being the leader of starving, dying people is gonna be no fun at all. On the other hand, if you throw the old guy off a cliff, I'm going to kill you. I have enough tools down here to eventually make my way out. You'll be first on my list when I do. So the question is, what do you think, you bandy-legged little twit? By the way, I want those tablets back." His face was priceless. I guess he finally realized that he was riding a tiger, and the real trick would be getting off with a whole skin. The tablets sailed back down, the hatch banged shut without further ado, and I was left in the murk again.

I was organizing the tools, both mine and the abandoned ones, when the hatch opened; must have been late afternoon. Him again. "I have a proposition," was his opening gambit.

I tossed one tablet up "Where's the old guy?" A pause. He threw the thing back to me.

"Safe."

"Next time, bring him if you want to talk." No response. A whispered conversation among several at the hatch, which slammed shut while they were at it.

It didn't take long; the palace wasn't far away.

The hatch opened again. "I'm here." A wavering voice. Weak.

I tossed the last tablet up "Let me see him. And return my tablets."

The bruises were just beginning to form. He had a bandage on his head. My blood boiled -- but I kept my voice even as I caught the tablets and smoothed the wax.

"Okay, what's this proposition?" Minos appeared at the hatch.

"The Athenians killed Androgeos while he was a guest there," Minos said. His voice quavered as he spoke. The little guy was his kid after all, and from what I heard, a real slimeball chip off the old block. Good riddance. But the king continued. "We had a brief conflict, which we won easily. But my son was still dead, so I demanded the same of Athens. Every year, fourteen of their best children. To be killed by you. Here."

To say I was stunned by the gross evil was an understatement. Kids? Gods, it was twenty kinds of blasphemy. It was the worst. And Minos, that devious bastard was keeping his hands clean. He wouldn't be violating the divine law of hospitality; I would. Then, an inspiration struck me. I wrote furiously, then tossed the tablet to him.

"Fine. But I have conditions. I was the following tools and materials (it was a long list); I want more and better food and drink; torches; the following kinds of wood (another long list); proper cushions for sitting and sleeping; and a proper source of water in here. Use bronze pipes and tap into the diversion at Gypsades springs. Ten litres per minute, minimum. Oh, and I'm going to do some digging and reconstruction. Don't interfere."

Minos read the tablet, laughed and said " That's a lot of demands for someone who's in your spot." What makes you think you're in a position to demand anything, monster?"

My response was brief. "All right. Take the violation of hospitality on your own head, then. I'll wait here for the Furies to come calling. By the way, the price just went up. I want twenty wax tablets, too. And two very large chunks of slate."

It was very quiet on the roof. Finally a voice drifted down.

"You'll get what you want. The Athenians arrive in four months, with the fair winds from the north. Get ready to start killing."

My response was brief. "I'm ready now." It was true. I'd already started making lists.

The tools arrived that afternoon; the materials a bit later. I already had a plan in mind. I had drawn up a sketch, using bits of an old torch to mark out spots in the walls and the floor. It was easy to tell by sound where the sea was and, as I suspected, the walls were thin there. In a couple of days I had a series of small windows overlooking the sea; light and ventilation was very welcome. I then began the real work.

Digging and tunneling in the limestone under the labyrinth (as I heard my prison called) was pretty quick. Limestone is soft and easy to work as it comes out of the ground, but it hardens soon after exposed to air. In a couple weeks I had a complete bathroom -- latrine that dumped out over the cliff, two sinks, soaking tub, the works. That was a relief, in every sense of the word. In a month and a half, there was a narrow staircase and a tunnel that led to an opening on the sea at the base of the cliff, where there was a hidden shingle beach. No, I was not planning to escape...

At night, I wrote to people I knew in various places. In Egypt, Persia and beyond. In Syracuse, in Etruria, even a few in Damascus and Mesopotamia. I offered youths -- fourteen, because that was the number I heard. From good homes, educated (I supposed) and anonymous. All Athenian, as if that mattered. Over time, replies trickled in. Bargains were struck. Arrangements were made.

In my spare time, I made furniture. Low tables, couches, beds, chairs -- both human and my size. I enlarged the windows in my lounge -- as I began to think of it -- and in a very large bedroom next to it. I installed a fireplace and added more wood to my list of demands. I made shutters for all the windows against inclement weather. Yes, it does get cold in Crete in the winter. All in all, it was very, very comfortable.

And then the kids arrived.

There was a pounding at the door. I had been expecting it; I could keep a calendar. The massive doors creaked open and a small crowd was pushed into what appeared to be a dark, empty room. The door slammed shut. There was a shuffling of feet. Sobbing. Wailing. Kids in profound distress. I lit one of the oil lamps in the new corridor I had built with the waste limestone. It illuminated a sign on a small slate in the wall. "You have been betrayed by those you loved," it read. "But fear not. A new life awaits. Come forward." There was a shuffling as some of the bolder ones moved down the corridor.

The windows in the lounge were open and there was a fire. On a human-sized table in the middle of the room was a large basket of fruit, a pile of loaves, cheese and a was tablet that read "Eat and warm yourselves. I will be with you soon." The table was swarmed. Evidently, the children's transport wasn't big on feeding their charges...

Most of my guests appeared to be about twelve to thirteen; a couple were older, several younger. And there were... fifteen? That wasn't right... As they had eaten and were now alternatively warming themselves and looking out the windows for a means of escape -- good luck; it was over a hundred feet to the waves below -- I decided it was time to make an appearance.

I stood quietly at the bedroom door. A smaller child noticed me and screamed. The rest turned and there was a sudden rush to a corner furthest from me. The sobbing and wailing returned and I walked slowly toward them. Then one -- the largest and oldest -- stood in front of them and spoke to me. In Cretan.

"I am Britomartis," she said, voice clear and unwavering. "A companion of Artemis. These children are under my protection, monster. If you harm them you will answer to the Goddess."

I swear. The Gods. Each and every single one of them think they're all that. But from what I've seen, they're just as petty and catty and dim and prone to foibles as humans. Or monsters. Anyway...

I gave Britomartis the once-over, twice. She demanded it. About mid-twenties, I guessed. Very nice form, with long legs, ample hips, a narrow waist and pleasantly-sized breasts behind her soiled and torn peplos. A long neck and wow! A stunning face with wide-set eyes, a cute nose and a wide mouth beneath a cloud of dark curls. I fetched out a wax tablet from my bag and scribbled.

"You're no Athenian. Why are you with the kids? You're beautiful, by the way..." Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I always say. She actually blushed. And then recovered herself.

"I'm Cretan. From Phaistos. I'm a Companion of Artemis and I'm here because Minos tried to rape me and I gave him one in the stones and another in the throat. He's going to be hoarse for awhile..." She smiled, and then continued. "His guards threw me in here for you to kill. I only ask that you kill me first, so I can avoid the shame of failing to protect these children, monster." She glared and set herself, obviously intent on landing a few before I crushed her. I held up my hand and scribbled again, holding the tablet up for her to read.

"You might want to be nicer to me, Companion-of-Artemis. My name's Asterion, by the way. Yes, like the former king. And I have no intention to kill anyone -- with the possible exception of that horndog Minos. These children are bound for different lives elsewhere. Tonight. I'm not about to break the law of hospitality, especially where children are concerned. " She goggled at me as she read. She blushed again. She was cute when she did.

The children were getting drowsy after their feed and the emotional roller coaster of terror and relief. Several were already dozing on the floor. Outside, the evening breeze was rising. Suddenly, there was a faint knocking from below. I cleared the tablet and wrote. "Stay here. The transport has arrived. I'll check that all is in order..." She nodded. I descended to the beach, spoke briefly with the men and returned.

"All right. Their ride is here. We can take seven at a time, so... two trips. The porters will use the stairs, and then help take half the children down. Can you remain with the rest?" She nodded again, as men carrying large bags and crates came up the stairs. I pointed them to one of the two ample storerooms while Britomartis roused and organized the children. When the porters returned, she bade them stop and turned to the kids again.

"Okay, two groups; older kids in the second. You all will have to wait here. You others, go to the stairway by the storerooms. If you can walk down, do so; if not these men and the beast here will help. Don't worry, he's really not scary. You'll all go on a boat ride and end up living a new life..." She was good, I'll admit.

"Do you want to go with them?" I asked.

"No," she replied, looking at me intently. "Minos has spies everywhere. It wouldn't be long before he found me again and brought me back. I think he wouldn't take no for an answer twice, and he'd probably kill me himself -- and slowly. No, I'm safer here, dead." She smiled broadly. She was prettier when she smiled.

Eventually, all the children were in the low, dark ship, and all the goods for which I traded were stashed away. It was late and I was tired, but Britomartis wanted to talk. "Okay, I need to know the whole story. What's going on with the children? Are they going to spend the rest of their lives as slaves?" I shook my head.

"No." I wrote. "They have indentures, yes -- seven years' worth. After that, they will be free, either completely or as apprentices. They are going to acquaintances of mine; designers, builders, mathematicians, scientists and the like. The children will have a good life. My correspondents sent me things to compensate me for the children -- instruments, foods, spices and the like; it was a barter to lessen their debt to me. But the price was ridiculously low. I'm not a flesh-merchant." She looked at me intently and was silent for a moment. Then she spoke.

"No. No, Asterion, you're really not. And I'm very glad we met, chance though it was..." she yawned.

"Bedroom's through there, bathroom over there and down the half-stair. I'll be in the bed, but there's a nice lounge with plenty of bolsters and blankets, if you like. Or you can stay out here." I turned before she replied and went to bed.

I awoke in the morning with the lithe and charming Britomartis draped over me, one long leg trailing down my front, the other tucked behind my butt. Her pert breasts were flattened against my side, her head on my shoulder. I stirred and she came awoke, blinking at me self-consciously. "I... I'm... I" she was actually stammering. Beyond cute. And, I suddenly realized, naked. I wrote hurriedly on my night-table tablet.

"Good morning, beautiful Companion-of-Artemis. Do you think she would approve of this?" I was teasing, but she took it seriously. We would have to work on nonverbal communication.

"When I was a Companion we frequently slept with animals; it was a comfort and warmer than just on the ground. You're quite warm, by the way. It's nice." I nodded, more than a little pleased.

"And naked?" I wrote. She blushed furiously.

"Yes. It's how I was made a woman. I woke with a male Companion in me already. It hurt and I tried to scream, but he clamped his hand over my mouth to quiet me while he shoved himself in and out to finish. I bit him on the hand and he yelled. Artemis awoke, saw what he was about and was going to kill him - but I begged her not to. She smiled the cruelest smile I have ever seen, nodded and turned to him. He sprang up, but too late. She transported him into the heavens. We can see him there now -- or we could, if there was no roof. It wasn't my only experience..." she paused, and I raised an eyebrow at her.

"I had Actaeon, before she turned him into a stag. Maybe that was why she did it..."

"Why? Was she jealous? Were you her lover as well?" Britomartis' face turned a color I hadn't seen before.

"I.... I just... I..." she was having real difficulty. It was a little cruel, but also fun. And I wasn't really hurting her. I raised my hand and scribbled a bit. When she began to read what I gave her, her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open.

"Kisses and fingers? Mouths on netherlips? Toys and toying?" I was deliberately seeking to enflame her, and it seemed to work. Memory can be a powerful tool of eros...

She looked up. She nodded slightly and whispered "Yes."

I raised an eyebrow -- not easy when one is working with the head of a bull, but I had some practice. She continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Artemis likes to maintain at attitude of untouchability. People usually think she's a virgin, but they're wrong. She's just... very selective. Most of the Companions are subject only to what the Greeks call afina -- intense preference, or attachment. But a few a few are swept up in eros... I was one of those. It was a shockingly powerful feeling. I had an intense sexual want, a real lust for her -- and she for me. We would spent hours on a soft bed of moss, head to split, making each other cum again and again. We would tease each other with hands, with tongues and lips, until we each burned for release. And then we would grant it, one to the other. And she would fuck me, using a cock made from ivory; she'd bring me almost to a peak, then stop, leaving me panting, wanting, but unable to reach the prize. She'd do that until I was a babbling, mindless mess, and then she'd bring me off; sometimes, I'd come so hard I'd pass out. And then she'd wake me with kisses and caresses, and begin again. Yes. I was her lover..." She trailed off.

I scribbled. "Dearest Britomartis, you've shared a delightfully erotic anecdote, and I'm glad you did. But it involved a goddess, and that can be a real trial to face. Believe me, I know. Take your time, recover yourself. Use the washroom. I set a new peplos out for you last night, by the way. Hope you like it."

Wordlessly, she rose and walked down the short stair to the bathroom. As she departed I was treated to the delightful sight of a bottom whose owner knew how to walk in a most provoking manner.

I was sitting in my favorite chair trimming my tail when she returned. An ox's tail is mostly covered with a coat of short hair; it usually lays flat but can be raised to provide an interesting texture. And at the end is a bottle-brush of longer, slightly stiffer hair -- good for knocking flies away and useful for a myriad of other things, especially if the tail is prehensile like mine. At that moment I was putting the finishing touches on the tip with a pair of beautiful Hittite iron scissors, tapering it nicely into a point. Very aesthetic. My pretty guest watched, almost mesmerized. Finally, she spoke.

"Thank you for the peplos, Asterion. It's wonderful. Soft and... I've never felt a texture like this. It's slippery, almost like olive oil. It almost feels like... I don't know. It feels like a lover."

I turned and looked, and was repaid the price of the garment in a glance. The fabric clung to Britomartis' body; it looked as though she had been painted or oiled with a shimmering dark green that showed an outline of everything her body offered, from the crinkled aureoles and erect nipples of her modest breasts to her flat, athletic stomach; from the alluring curve of her thighs to the vee of Paradise above. She was a vision of loveliness, and I was smitten. I scribbled a quick note.

"It's a newer import, from China, I think. Long distance traders call it 'silk'. It looks very becoming on you, Companion-of-Artimis. I'm glad you like it." My unstated thought was that if she wore it often, she would not be safe in my bed. I'm mostly human, after all...

Britomartis was evidently thinking along much the same lines. She slinked over to me and ran her palm lightly down my cheek. Looking directly at me she whispered "Asterion, I need to thank you. Not only for the lovely peplos which makes me feel like I am putting on a garment made of eros itself. No, also for saving my life, and the lives of those children. For appearing to be a beast, but actually being a man, and a good one. For showing me hospitality." She was rushing forward now, a torrent of words betraying her nervousness. "But I have no money, no possessions, nothing. I have only myself, so I give you that. Please take me, and use me for the pleasure of it; it's all I can offer..." with that, she raised her hands and removed the long pins from the elaborate bronze clips on either shoulder that held her peplos in place. It fell to the floor and she was naked before me.

It was even better than the hint offered through the garment. Her skin was a light olive color everywhere, and smooth as the water of a windless lake. Her breasts were mouth watering, pert handfuls topped with inviting nipples now swollen with lust. I had seen the shape of her hips and cleft before, but now they were gloriously revealed, her slit concealed by a sweet pouf of dark curls. She knelt by my chair and rested her hands on the belt of my kilt, laying her head on my lap, eyes wide, nostrils flaring.

She whispered: "Asterion, it's not just for you, I admit. I'm... curious. I want to know what you're like, how you would... take... me." The last was almost inaudible -- but I have really good hearing. Big ears, don't you know. I could hear her breathing quicken as I began to get hard under her cheek. She was nearly panting by the time I finished writing and gave her the tablet.

"Britomartis, you're under no compulsion to do anything here. What I did for you and for the children, I did to honor hospitality and because it was right. You owe me nothing, and I won't have you think you do..." She started crying, quietly.

"You spurn me then? Should I go? Leave you alone?" Oh, my. This girl wanted an experience. Badly. I smiled as I wrote.

"Dear Britomartis, I neither wish to spurn you nor hurt you. You are beautiful and I am smitten. But I'm also cautious. You appear young, and my being in you might not be... comfortable. And are you sure this is what you want? I would be sad if you thought you were obligated. You're not." When I set the tablet down she read it, and then raised her head to look at me. There was determination in her face.

"I'm tougher than I look," she said, her voice surprisingly firm. And with that, my belt was undone and my kilt pulled down.

I know what you're thinking. But no The ox thing is really only from the neck up -- save evidently for the thought engine inside the skull. I'm sizeable, yes. Solid, yes. But I am human. Mostly. That said, what Britomartis saw between my legs made her eyes go wide. She didn't actually drool, but she certainly looked as though she'd like to. Some of Minos' female slaves did, when they had a peek. But that's another story entirely. I wrote, and handed her the tablet.

"I know. But I suggest a little preparation before you hop on. How about I lick you a little first, to get you ready? I can't really suck -- these lips don't work that way -- but I've been told my tongue is talented." She smiled when she read the last.

"So I'm not your first, Asterion?" she whispered, giving me a smile that was half coy, half seductress. "You naughty thing..."

I wiped the first tablet and wrote: "Happily, no. It'll save you the first bungling efforts. Practice does make perfect and there were no end to women in the palace willing to help me... practice. Before I ended up here."

My lovely companion reclined on my bed; languidly, seductively. Her eyes never left me as she arranged herself with her upper body propped on cushions, her shapely butt near the end of the bed, legs hanging over, knees spread wide. She reached down with both hands and spread herself open, still looking at me. "You may lick me now," she said, her voice surprisingly imperious. Was she ordering me? It didn't matter. She'd be howling soon.

I knelt on a cushion at the end of the bed and prepared to take Britomartis to visit Venus. Did I mention that an ox's tongue isn't quite like yours? It's not only bigger, but it's quite muscular and very flexible. I can do all sorts of things with it, as my paramours in the palace discovered to their joy...

I began by running just the tip of my tongue, flattened and pointed to the size of a finger, along her netherlips. She was already leaking a little and smelling of sandalwood and salt; when I touched her, she hissed on an intaken breath. I continued moving up and down along her length, teasing really, until she was moaning softly and her hips were rolling slightly, pushing herself up to meet the caress. Then I flattened my tongue and licked her with the whole, broad width from the cute star of her bottom to the hood of her pleasure button, slowly and repeatedly. She began to push herself onto my tongue, moaning and whispering incoherent curses to who knows what God. Time to introduce her to a more intense sensation.

I rounded my tongue and thrust it into her, wiggling the very tip slightly as it entered her depths. She came for the first time, thighs convulsing as they clamped either side of my head, trying to close against the intense sensation but discovering to her delighted horror that they were held wide open by its shape and size. I then flexed my tongue inside her, alternatively broadening and rounding it, pulsing its shape against her sheath. She was sweating by then, a lovely sheen covering her as she howled and curled her body, grabbing my head and forcing my face against her as she came again, smearing her lovely essence all over me.

When her grip loosened I pulled my tongue out. Her eyes opened and her smile lit up the room; she obviously thought it was all over. Not even. A tongue made to push blades of grass together to get munched can do lots of other stuff. Like curl its tip around a girl's clit and squeeze it slightly, or press it down while rolling over it. Or tug on it slightly when it stiffened from the attention. Britomartis really liked that one. Her eyes, which had been drifting languidly shut flew open, her mouth a perfect "O" of surprise at the sudden, unfamiliar, intense sensation. She came immediately, flooding my head with... herself.

She recovered herself slowly, looking about and smiling. She was obviously satisfied and, thinking we were done, began to rise from the bed. Instead, she found herself in my arms, breasts pressed against my chest, eyes level with mine. I held her to me with my left arm, my right hand cradling her bottom as I slowly lowered her until my cock was at her entrance, the head parting her netherlips. I raised an eyebrow in an unmistakable "May I?" gesture.

My sweet Britomartis whispered "Yes, Asterion. Yes, please..." as she continued to lock eyes with me. So I did.

I didn't drop her; it would have broken her, and I'm nothing if not a gentleman. I just eased her down; slowly, implacably. By the halfway point it was clear that she wasn't used to taking something so big. Her breath was coming in pants; her brow was furrowed and her eyes were screwed shut as she processed the sensation; she was groaning and her body was jerking. I paused until she quieted and opened her eyes.

"Asterion, this is... intense. You are soooo... oh, gods.... I... I..." and she came, just from the pressure. I raised her, just a little as she quieted. Her eyes flew open. "Don't.... don't you dare stop! I... oh! I... want... it... aaalllllll..." The last was halfway between a whisper and a tortured moan, and it was pure lust. So I continued.

Finally she was there; there was no more me to give her. She had her legs wrapped around me, flexing and moving herself in little jolts of ecstasy. Her arms were around my neck and she was murmuring sweet little incoherencies into my ear as I slowly began to ease her up and down my length. She had several little orgasms as I did this; the "Ooh! s" and "Ah! s" and the slow, juicy little "Oh, please, yeeessssss...."-es coming out as the gasps and whispers of a woman drowning in uncontrollable pleasure. Her sheath betrayed her excitement as well as it clenched and released around me in a delicious erotic massage. This woman was on the verge of a life-changing orgasm.

I helped. Since she was spread open with her legs locked around me, another of Venus' many playgrounds was begging for attention. I raised my tail and with the lightest of touches, tickled her cute bottom hole with the tip of the tuft of hair at the end. The effect was electric, as I knew it would be.

After a particularly tight clench Britomartis' eyes snapped open and focused on me. In a particularly even voice she said "Yes, my love. Now. Make me yours. Give meee....." and the rest was howling, moaning gibberish. She took me to the very hair, flexing her legs and forcing herself down on me. She threw her head back and moaned, then screamed; joy, unbounded pleasure and a little pain were all mixed together. She came, inundating us both with herself. As did I; I poured so much out that our last thrusts were obscenely wet and noisy. And then we collapsed.

Britomartis didn't pass out but she was exhausted, limp. She lay on the bed and sighed as I pulled out of her; the noise of a woman satisfied beyond caring. I hastened to the bathroom and removed a couple of cloths from a basin of warm water I had there in anticipation of just such a need -- and two large cotton cloths for drying after. I cleaned my lover carefully, dried her and folded a soft wool blanket over her before seeing to myself. When I returned to my bedroom she had curled up on her side. Her eyes found me as I stood in the doorway, watching her.

"Asterion," she said softly. "You're nothing like what we were told. You're thoughtful, intelligent, caring..." she paused, then looked at me. "And the best lover anyone could want. You are wonderful."

"Thank you, my love," I replied, realizing I had found my life's companion. "But what did you expect? After all -- I am the Minotaur."

And she smiled.