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Maiden In the Maze

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

28th September, 2024

All Rights Reserved.

Only in sacrifice can you truly find yourself...

The village had always needed a sacrifice.

Every few years, as the moon hung heavy and crimson in the sky, the elders would choose a maiden—a pure offering to appease the beast that dwelled deep within the labyrinth's dark corridors beneath the church. This year, they had chosen her. She hadn't expected it. Why would she? There were plenty of others who could have been chosen as the sacrifice, but the elders' decision was final.

She stood at the edge of the archway. The magically warded doors were blazing with runes that glowed with an emerald light. They were her last vision, as she was forced to her knees by cruel, strong hands. Her muzzle was bound shut with leather cords, forcing her to short, rapid breaths through her flaring nostrils. Her vision was snatched away by an impenetrable blindfold that was cruelly tied tight behind her head. The thick, ceremonial robes she had been ordered to wear felt more like a death shroud. They clung to her slender body, brushing against her soft fur as if whispering promises of what awaited her within that impenetrable darkness.

She stood, trembling, feeling the weight of her bindings, the blindfold robbing her of her last chance to see the light. The villagers who had gathered to watch remained deathly quiet, their eyes heavy with judgment. Her legs trembled beneath the thin fabric of the robes, her heart beating so loudly she feared it would echo through the church for all to hear.

The beast will claim you, they had said. A price paid in blood.

Her breath hitched. She wanted to run, to scream, but her body wouldn't move. She was powerless, bound by ropes that scraped against her wrists, and by a village that'd already forgotten her name. In their eyes, she was no longer one of them. She was a sacrifice—nothing more, nothing less.

The elders had spoken no words of comfort. Instead, they had pushed her forward, guiding her trembling steps towards the church. She balked at the entrance, crying out in fear and refusal—but all it'd ended up achieving was her legs taken from under her by a heavy staff to the back of the knees and dragged sobbing into the church.

The air was thick with incense and despair. The chants of the elders droned in the background, muffled by the suffocating blindfold tied tightly over her eyes and ears. She couldn't see them, but she could feel their gaze—the cold, indifferent eyes of those who had condemned her to this fate. Her wrists were bound cruelly behind her back, the rough ropes biting into fur and skin, her knees shaking with each passing second.

Before her lay the entrance to the labyrinth, a gaping maw of stygian blackness, swallowing the light and all hope along with it. No one had ever returned from within. Countless maidens had been offered in sacrifice, their cries for mercy swallowed by the stone halls, never to be heard again. She was next.

Don't cry, she thought, teeth clenched hard to stop their chattering. Don't cry. Hold your head up. Be strong.

But she wasn't strong. It was too much, her terrified heart pounding in her chest like a galloping horse. It was too much, too thick, pressing down on her from all sides, threatening to tear her apart. The ritual was nearing its end. The final words were spoken, the cold hands of the priests as they unsheathed their swords, the points pushing her forward, closer to the precipice of the labyrinth's darkness.

She struggled, a futile last resort effort to escape, but the sharp prick of the swords at her back reaffirmed her futility and she submit, her head bowed and body posture becoming submissive.

She heard the scraping of stone as the great doors to the labyrinth began to open. The sound alone made her blood run cold. Her cloven hooves trembled uncontrollably, barely able to support her weight as she was pushed towards the entrance, the cold steel at her lower back, her body screaming for release. Cold, fetid air, the stench of rot and decay rose from within, making her feel like she was about to be cast into a grave.

Be brave. If you are to die, do it with honour...

She failed.

The fear was primal, consuming, tearing through her resolve like brittle parchment. Warmth spread down her legs, a growing puddle of urine forming beneath her cloven hooves. She couldn't hold it back—her body had betrayed her. Her shame, her guilt, flowed as freely as the tears that now streaked her cheeks. She was no brave sacrifice. She was terrified.

I don't want to die. Please, not like this...

Her head bowed, shoulders hunched in defeat. All the defiance she had tried to summon had crumbled to dust. The villagers stood in silence behind her, with no words of comfort or murmurs of sympathy—only judgment.

With a final shove, she stumbled forward, her body nearly collapsing under her own weight as she crossed the threshold into the abyss. The frigid, rancid air of the labyrinth swallowed her whole, the heavy, magically warded stone doors grinding closed behind her, then sealed with a thunderous boom, sealing her fate.

And then, there was only darkness...

*

Faelan regained consciousness slowly, having tripped and fallen, striking her head on the cold stone, a starburst of pain lancing through her head before darkness had swept her into its embrace. Now, she awoke, the scent of blood filling her nostrils, its tacky sensation down the side of her head and neck, matting the fur. Frantically, she began to twist and writhe, hysterical and terrified—blind and virtually deaf. Her fingers twisted and her hooflets clattered against the cold, filthy stone until she gasped in surprise.

Is my fate to change? Faelan thought to herself, forcing her trembling body to calm, as her fingertips stretched almost to breaking point, her body worming backwards, feeling the rough leather and then the coldness of what she prayed she thought it was.

Is it really? Hope surged in her heart, as her fingers awkwardly pulled the object behind her, closer, its scrape echoing loudly. With difficulty, she knelt, twisting the object in her fingers until it rested between her palms and she hoped, against the rough rope that bound her wrists. Painfully, she began moving her wrists up and down, until finally, with her last strength—she flexed her wrists and the rope tore apart.

Reaching up behind her head, she pulled the blindfold off, then managed to untie the leather thongs around her muzzle, drawing great gulping breaths of stale, fetid air—but to her lungs, it felt like the clearest of mountain air.

Picking up the rusted, chipped-bladed dagger, Faelan felt a surge of confidence and vitality. She was armed now, sure, with a dagger that looked like it'd crumble to rust in her paw, but the symbolism and strength it gave her, made her feel like she wasn't the helpless, weak maiden she'd been before.

Turning around slowly, Faelan blinked, expecting to be shrouded in impenetrable darkness, but after a few moments, she became aware of a strange, eldritch light that seemed to emanate from the very stone walls. It wasn't bright, but it was enough like to push back the darkness, turning the shadows more threatening by their presence. Around her were scattered and splintered bones, crushed skulls and torn and shredded robes, similar to her own.

I'm definitely not alone down here... Faelan's fear prickled the fur from her nape to her tail tip.

Faelan's breath caught in her throat as she gripped the rusty dagger tightly, feeling the coldness of the metal press against her palm. The eerie light illuminated only the barest of her surroundings, revealing the stark reality of the labyrinth. Each crack in the stone walls whispered secrets of those who had come before her—maidens like her, perhaps, whose cries for mercy had been lost to time.

She took a tentative step forward, her hooves echoing against the stone floor, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. With every single step, her heart pounded, a rhythmic reminder of her newfound, if fragile, resolve. I'm not just a sacrifice, she thought fiercely, clenching her teeth against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her cervine form. I will not be another name on the lips of the elders.

The elder... Faelan sniffled, wiping at the tears that welled in her eyes. He promised me everything I ever desired. I thought he loved me. _Anguish surged within her as she recalled their secret moments and _how_ he'd violated his oath of celibacy with his lecherous, debauched acts! What he made me do for him, promising to keep it secret and rewarding me for my silence... But when he grew tired of me, he offered me up as the sacrifice._

Faelan trembled, then forced herself to banish the thoughts from her mind, focusing on what she could see, hear and sense. As she moved deeper into the labyrinth, Faelan's senses sharpened. The smell of decay mixed with the metallic tang of blood, filling her nostrils and reminding her of the stakes she faced. Shadows danced at the edges of the eldritch light, twisting and flickering like phantoms. She scanned the area, the remnants of despair surrounding her—skulls half-buried in dust, fragments of clothing caught in jagged, broken stones. She shivered, the cold stone beneath her delicate hooves icy-cold and each step was almost painful for her.

Suddenly, a low growl resonated from the depths of the darkness, sending daggers of ice piercing through her whole body. Faelan froze, every muscle in her body taught with fear. Her grip tightened on the dagger, the cold metal grounding her in the moment. She could feel the heartbeat of the labyrinth, pulsing with malevolence, as if it were alive and watching her every move.

With her own heart pounding in her chest like a war drum, she willed herself to breathe slowly, to think. The growl come again, closer this time, reverberating throughout the stone corridors. There was no turning back. If she was to survive, she would need to confront whatever awaited her. She couldn't afford to be a helpless maiden any longer.

Faelan moved cautiously, her hooves barely making a sound as she approached down one corridor, that split into four at an intersection. The eldritch light flickered, casting shadows that seemed to morph into sinister shapes. She peered around a crumbling wall, her breath hitching in her throat as she caught sight of a massive figure lurking in the darkness. As she blinked, it vanished like smoke in the wind, as if it'd just been her imagination...

Stupid doe, you're letting your fears run away with you, you're seeing things that aren't real...

But as she began to steady her racing heart, hot, fetid breath washed over her neck, sending a chill down her spine. The dagger slipped from her nerveless fingers, clattering on the tone floor at her hooves. Her eyes widened in terror, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream.

“Y-you're behind me... aren't you?” Faelan whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. In that instant, pure, primal terror surged through her, and her bladder betrayed her, the warmth flooding down her legs.

The air thickened with the stench of decay, the creatures presence enveloping her like a suffocating fog. Faelan could feel its hot breath against her fur, heavy and rancid, as her instincts screamed at her to flee. But her hooves were rooted to the stone floor, paralysed by fear.

In a frantic attempt to regain some semblance of control, Faelan tore her gaze from the ground and slowly turned her head, trying to catch a glimpse of her pursuer. The dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls, but she could make out the silhouette behind her—a massive bull, dark and imposing, its eyes glowing with a primal, feral intensity, burning like embers.

With each passing second, the realisation settled like a stone in her gut; she was utterly alone in this labyrinth, her dagger lying uselessly at her hooves. Her heart thundered in her chest, each beat a reminder of her vulnerability.

Suddenly the Minotaur shifted, its hulking form moving closer, and Faelan's breath hitched in her throat, escaping as a strangled wheeze. The creature loomed over her, its muscular body radiating an intimidating presence, and the air crackled with an unspoken threat.

Without warning, its massive paw closed around Faelan's neck, then slammed her savagely against the stone wall, the air crushed from her lungs, its other paw between her thighs and it lifted her effortlessly off the stone, holding her about three feet up.

“Not...” It's rank, fetid breath washed over her, smothering her senses as it leaned in close, nostrils flaring. “...doe.”

Faelan's ears went flat, panic rising as the Minotaur sharp gaze bore into her. It could smell the truth beneath her disguise, the primal recognition sending a chill down her spine. As its fingers tightened around her throat, darkness began to creep into the edges of her vision. She clawed at the iron grip, her legs kicking in a futile struggle. Desperation surged within her as she fought to draw even a tiny sip of air into her deprived lungs, each moment slipping further from consciousness.

It knows what I really am... Faelan continued to struggle, her attempts growing more futile with each passing second. I might have fooled the villagers, but I can't hide my true self from this beast.

The Minotaur's grip tightened, and she could sense its primal awareness. It knows I'm not a doe; I look like a doe...but I'm not a doe. The weight of that truth crushed down on her, mingling with her terror as desperation clawed at her insides.

Each gasp become more difficult, and with each passing moment, the darkness at the edges of her vision threatened to swallow her whole. In the grip of the beast, Faelan felt the weight of her lies and disguise press heavily upon her. She had spent years shaping herself to look like the perfect doe, but inside, the truth throbbed—she was a buck, effeminate and delicate, unable to escape the reality of who she really was.

As the Minotaur's grip constricted around her throat, Faelan's mind raced. In this moment of vulnerability, the facade she had worn for so long felt unbearably heavy. I'm not like them... I'm not a doe. Her slender form trembled in the creatures grasp, the softness of her features a stark contrast to the muscularity of her captor.

I can't hide it from him, he thought, her heart pounding with the weight of his truth. He can smell it on me—the subtle musk that betrays my true nature. I'm a buck, effeminate and delicate. Trapped in this borrowed femininity.

“You're not like others,” the Minotaur growled, its breath hot against her skin. “You're something else...”

It can see through my carefully crafted disguise, my voice, my mannerisms, how I acted and behaved like a doe for all these years. Denied who and what I truly was, because of how I was born. I am a buck, but born with a doe-like body, beyond my control...

Faelan felt a shiver run down her spine, realising that her deepest secret was laid bare before this beast. With faltering strength, he slapped at the Minotaur's grip, his vision mere pinpricks.

“Not doe... buck...” It huffed, as if thoughtful and confused. “Never... had buck.”

With a sudden, unexpected motion, it dropped Faelan. He collapsed to the floor, wheezing and gasping for air, his paws instinctively clutching his throat as he struggled to draw breath. Darkness swirled around him, the edges of his vision fading as he succumb to unconsciousness.

*

When Faelan finally stirred, the world around him come back in fragments. The damp, earthy scent of stone filled his nostrils, mingling with something more primal—something he instinctively recognised but could not place. He blinked against the dim light, his surroundings slowly coming into focus. rough-hewn walls loomed around him, dripping with moisture that fed the faintly luminous moss on which he lay, shadows dancing at the edges of his vision.

He attempted to sit up, his muscles protesting as if weighed down by the very atmosphere itself. Pain radiated through his body, a stark reminder of his previous encounter. Faelan's heart raced as memories flooded back: the terror of being captured, the overwhelming size of the creature that had taken him.

Panic surged within him again, but as he scanned what he presumed was the lair, he felt a presence looming nearby. The air thickened with anticipation, a primal energy that both frightened and fascinated him.

In the far corner of the chamber, the Minotaur stood, his powerful form illuminated by flickering torchlight. Faelan's breath hitched at the sight—massive, muscular, and undeniably commanding. Slowly, like the grinding of boulders, the massive horned head turned, glancing over its shoulder, those intense, fierce eyes met his, and in that moment, a chaotic mix of fear and something deeper churned within him.

As the Minotaur turned ponderously, its cloven hooves pounding like thunder, Faelan's eyes widened in horror as he glanced down, his worst fears confirmed. The creature had one thing on its brutal, primal mind; judging by how its massive shaft flicked and twitched, dribbling pre-ejaculate.

No, no, no! Faelan tried to plead, to beg, to scream in terror, but his throat locked, and he could scarcely breathe.

The shadows loomed large around him, each breath he took quickening with trepidation as the hulking form of the Minotaur moved closer. Fear coursed through him, sharp and electric, yet there was an undeniable thrill that fluttered like butterflies in his stomach. The beast's eyes glinted with something primal, something that ignited a strange self of warmth deep within him.

As the Minotaur grabbed him and roughly slammed him down on a crude table, on his back, Faelan bleated and trembled. The rough surface of the table pressed against his belly, sending jolts of discomfort through him, yet it was overshadowed by the overwhelming scent and presence of the Minotaur looming above. Faelan bleated in protest, instinctively attempting to squirm away, but the Minotaur's massive paw come down and clamped on the back of Faelan's neck, unyielding, firm and possessive, pinning him helplessly. Tremors coursed through his body, a mix of terror and an exhilarating rush that he couldn't comprehend.

The Minotaur's breath came heavy and primal, a low growl resonating from deep within his chest. Those fierce eyes bore into Faelan, stirring something deep within him—a blend of fear and a burgeoning desire that sent warmth flooding through him. It was as if the beast saw right through him, unearthing desires he had long buried underneath layers of denial at his true self.

“Please...” Faelan gasped the world escaping his lips as both a plea and a challenge. But deep within him, a quiet voice whispered to him, urging him to accept the inevitable, to surrender to this raw, animalistic power that stood behind him, panting and quivering.

With a sudden, swift motion, the Minotaur pressed his weight down on Faelan, pinning him to the table, that creaked under the strain. Panic flared in Faelan's mind, before the Minotaur's paw crushed down on Faelan's muzzle, right as the Minotaur's length thrust within him. Faelan's anguished cry was muffled, tears welling in his eyes. The overwhelming weight of the creature was both terrifying and strangely comforting as well, its bestial pants thundering in Faelan's ears as it withdrew and thrust again and again.

“Mmph!” Faelan grunted, bodily pushed forwards with each intense, powerful thrust of the Minotaur's hips.

It was brutal, rough, bestial...and Faelan squeezed his eyes closed, his hooflets gouging at the rough timber of the table, fighting his fear and the sickening pleasure that started to permeate his body. His own length began to firm, stimulated by the musk from the Minotaur, the brutal mating and the undeniable length and girth that began to throb within him.

As fear fought with rising pleasure, something else began to awaken. The Minotaur's grip, once constricting, felt like a shackle that bound him to the truth he had been too afraid to face. What if this was truly where he belonged? The thought sent ripples of warmth coursing through him, battling against his instinctual, fundamental dread that still lingered.

The Minotaur leaned closer, his breath hot against Faelan's fur, each exhalation a reminder of his strength and dominance. In that moment, Faelan felt his last resistance crumble, his will breaking, as he whimpered and convulsed, his hips striking the table with a painful thrust, his cervid length spraying his hot, salty seed over the underside of the table. His fear turned into something intoxicating, a heady mix of adrenaline, climax aftershocks and acceptance of his fate that enfolded him like a warm embrace.

I am a doe... Faelan's mind flickered, barely conscious, lost in the passion and the pure, feral-like pounding of the Minotaur against his rump. I know this to be true, its always been...

A shiver ran through him as the Minotaur's paws explored his body, tracing roughly, leaving lines of fire against his fur, his skin, or so it felt. Faelan's heart galloped, a wild beat that echoed in his ears, drowning out his trepidation. He was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the urge to fight, his natural instinct rebelling, and the dawning realisation that perhaps, this was exactly where he was meant to be. To accept his true nature, as a doe, as... submissive.

The primal intensity enveloped him, tearing away the shreds of his resistance. The primal, feral pounding turned from fear and pain, into electrifying, sensual pleasure. No one, had ever made Faelan feel this way. His inner self was a candle flame that burned brighter and brighter within. With a soft, trembling breath, he surrendered himself, mentally and physically, to the beast, read to embrace the depths of his submission and the unknown pleasures that awaited him.

As the Minotaur's powerful thrusts continued, each powerful push sent shock-waves through Faelan's body, resulting in waves of euphoria. Each bone shaking slap of the beasts hips, the way his length flicked and pulsed, drove Faelan's mind deeper into places he'd never imagined.

In the heat of the moment, Faelan's heart raced, and a flicker of realisation ignited within his fracturing mind. Is this what I've been craving? Seeking my pleasures with other males, never truly finding what I so wanted? The thought swept over him, striking at the core of his very being. It was as if this monster, this beast, was drawing out his hidden, secret desires, laying bare the truth that Faelan had buried deep within him.

As he squirmed beneath the weight of the beast, his early panic smothered by the pleasure, the warmth, something powerful, intoxicating, irresistible. Faelan's muffled bleat rang out as he reached climax again, more powerful and intense than the last, his body trembling, distantly aware of the Minotaur's deepening grunts and puffs of breath on his nape.

Every growl, every snort, every explosive exhalation as the Minotaur lunged, slamming himself inside Faelan's body, resonated deep from the Minotaur's chest. It was a primal, bestial sound—yet it filled Faelan's heart with a sense of warmth and comfort. Faelan squeezed his eyes shut, grappling with the overwhelming sensations inside him. He could feel every groove and crack in the rough timber beneath his fur, the scent of his own release, the musk and odour of the panting, straining beast who showed no sign of his own climax.

With each thrust, the fear and pleasure blurred further within Faelan. I shouldn't want this, Faelan thought, but the warmth pooling inside him told a different story. As the beast's musk enveloped him, it awoke the most primal of instincts within him—a realization he craved this surrender, this raw connection.

“Please,” he gasped, his words muffled by the Minotaur's paw on his muzzle, his plea intertwined with an undeniable longing.

With a surprised snort, the Minotaur paused, his length hilted in Faelan, and he leaned down, his lips brushing Faelan's sweat slick ear, as if sensing, or perhaps, scenting, the shift in Faelan's spirit. The sheer dominance of the creature loomed over him, yet it began to feel less like a threat and more like an embrace, an invitation to delve deeper into the uncharted territory of Faelan's own desires.

With a snort, the Minotaur resumed, and Faelan's resolve fractured completely. Each thrust became a declaration, a fierce assertion of the beast's power, but within that power, Faelan found release from the shackles he'd been bound by. He moaned, not from pain, but the overwhelming surges of pleasure coursing through him, and a gasp escaped his lips as he felt his own body responding in ways he had never truly allowed himself to feel before.

A shudder rippled through him, as he surrendered, fully embracing the tide of pleasure washing over him. In the depths of that acceptance, Faelan felt the last remnants of his fear slip away, replaced by the rush of freedom. I am a doe, he thought once more, but this time, it was not declaration of submission but an affirmation of his identity.

With each powerful thrust, Faelan's body surged forwards, the rough wood of the table scraping against his chest and belly. The sensations were overwhelming, each pounding against his hips lifted him off his hooves, the withdrawal letting him try to brace himself, before the next. The sensations were overwhelming—a heady mix of pain and pleasure intertwining as he felt the Minotaur's primal energy enveloping him completely. His own body betrayed him, the heat coiling tighter within him, Faelan helpless, powerless, utterly submitting to his dominant, assertive partners will. He had been so afraid of this moment, yet here, in the Minotaur's grasp, he found liberation.

With a final, desperate thrust, Faelan convulsed, his cries echoing throughout the chamber, a mixture of fear, pleasure and sheer exhilaration of acceptance. The intense climax of the Minotaur finally surged forth, burning like liquid fire within Faelan—only adding to the passion and pleasure he felt. It flooded him, filled him, overwhelmed him. His own length flicked and pulsed, but he had nothing left—the burning ache in his empty scrotum matched by the sensations that spread like fiery tendrils from his hindquarters.

As the Minotaur's thrusts slowed, Faelan felt the pressure against his neck and muzzle release, the creatures grip softening. In the afterglow, he lay there, heart racing, breathless but alive. He had traversed a chasm of fear into a realm of acceptance, but the warmth that spread through him was not just from the physical act, but the profound realisation that this was where he belonged.

I am a doe, he reaffirmed silently, embracing the truth of his submission and the freedom it brought his troubled spirit. In the presence of the beast, he had discovered not only his desires but the depths of his own identity, forever changed by the encounter that had begun in terror but ended in an embrace of unshackled liberation.

A broad, rough tongue dragged its way from Faelan's nape to the tip of his nose, the breath panting and hot.

“Buck... is mate, now...” Come the fractured words, broken by hot pants.

Faelan found he couldn't answer, he could only nervously smile, rolling his eyes upwards, his tail fluttering ever so weakly against the Minotaur's belly.

Faelan felt a strange warmth blossom within him as the Minotaur's words hung in the air, a mixture of disbelief and dawning realisation swirling in his chest. This claim, this primal bond, felt both exhilarating and terrifying, a paradox that sent shivers down his spine. For so long, he had fought against the truths of his desires, burying them beneath layers of fear and uncertainty. But now, with the weight of the Minotaur's body pinning him down, he felt those barriers shatter, replaced by an undeniable sense of belonging.

Is this truly what I yearned for? He wondered, his heart racing at the thought. The rawness of their connection awakened a part of him that had long been dormant, igniting a fierce longing to be seen, to be accepted for who and what he truly was, no longer living in fear of discovery, of judgement. In the presence of this magnificent beast, the chaos of his earlier fear began to settle, transforming into a profound sense of peace.

He dared to meet the Minotaur's gaze, and within those fierce eyes, he found not just dominance, but an unspoken promise of protection and understanding.

Yes, I am his mate, Faelan affirmed silently, feeling a rush of adrenaline mixed with warmth at the thought of being claimed so completely. The idea sent ripples of liberation coursing through him, freeing him from the shackles and constraints of his past life.

What had begun as terror had morphed into an exhilarating freedom, a chance to embrace the very essence of his being. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he relaxed against the massive Minotaur's form, allowing himself to truly be fully present in the moment. The blend of fear and exhilaration intertwined, creating an intoxicating sensation that left him breathless. With a flutter of his heart, he accepted that this was not merely submission; it was an awakening, a reclamation of his identity as doe.

Yes... yes I am... Faelan thought to himself.

END