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The sky that overlooked all of Gaul had been dormant; a faint gray haze washed over the land. The forests beneath were still: the fallen trees remained dead; axes were scattered on the settled dirt and leaves; even the branches were silent in the still wind.

However, a terrible uproar shattered the air's silence. Unlike the passive trees, men squabbled with each other and arms. A uniform century, having been ambushed after leaving the camp in search of wood, defended itself from an onslaught of rampant barbarians.

The century of soldiers had collected itself into a line, bearing their shields into a makeshift wall, one row covering their bodies and another covering their heads. In the meantime, distant barbarians tossed spears and arrows, which fell dead onto the wall, while closer brutes charged the shields.

When the first barbarian reached the soldiers, a Roman briefly tossed his shield from the wall in order to thrust his glistening Gladius into the barbarian's ribs. After the barbarian fell, thunderstruck and gasping, to the ground, the Roman returned the shield into the collective wall. Thus, the battle went on, one Roman dropped for every five barbarians.

In this procession, one soldier stood, distinguished by fortune or perhaps just by accident, leaning on his shield with a spear prepared in his other arm. He fixed his eyes on the open spaces between shields, storing his energy for the first sight of an enemy. He bore the name Marcus Pontius Merula.

While iron struck iron, the Roman soldiers raged on eagerly, watching enemies fall with ease. Some shouted mocking words to the weak spirited barbarians, others laughed or even let their guards down. However, one barbarian, having been hidden until now, burst into the battle, riding a swift horse and bearing a long blade.

He darted, not to the front, but to the unaware side of the wall of shields, turned his reigns, and flew behind the line of soldiers - where their rears were unguarded. Wielding his sword at his side, he cut the backs of the unsuspecting men, startling and wounding each down the line. This barbarian could've cut down the entire centurion, if it weren't for distinguished Pontius.

Pontius, bearing his spear and focused on any sight of an enemy, and standing near the attacked side of the procession, saw the charging horseman. With a nimble movement, he thrust his spear toward the charging horse's breast. When the spear pierced the horse, the unlucky rider flew from the stopped beast, dismounted.

However, before the falling rider reached the ground, his sword, still held in his hand, fell with him, finally cleaving the shoulder of brave Pontius. He fell, too, wounded along with the other soldiers who were cut down by the horseman. Pontius' shield fell, allowing the corner of the entire shield wall collapsed.

While Pontius writhed on the ground, the wild barbarians had lost what remained of their courage, turning from their arms and fleeing back into the denser woods. The procession, cheering and exalting, raced after the cowardly barbarians, eager to take more lives. Pontius and the other wounded remained bound to the ground with weakness.

Pontius, burning with jealousy, heard the gleeful scrapes and clangs of raging soldiers. Of the twelve fallen Romans, he moved the most, his desire for glory motivating him. He brought himself to his own feet, shaking and searching for his inner spirit. Blood dripped from his open shoulder as he mumbled: "Do they dare to feel the joy of battle without me?"

Pontius charged off to follow is comrades, who were out of sight in their distance. Here, some divine power took action upon the fortunate hero, whether it was a wandering nymph, an ancient spirit, or maybe even cupid himself. Thus, Pontius' course was mixed by the interfering magic, and instead of following his comrades, or even the enemies, he was deceived into leading himself far into the unknown woods.

He waddled, holding his wound, until he himself understood that he was lost, surrounded on all sides be dense trees and mist. His spirit had slowed, his steps stopped, and he stared toward the dim sky. Again, whatever invisible deity it was worked its magic, and Pontius swayed, his mind draining like his wound, and soon fell to the ground, unconscious.

In a painful dream, Pontius could feel himself being moved, floating, but not in air or in sea. Bristles brushed against his sore skin, the ground below him thumped, as if it were being slapped with metal, leaves being crushed with each thud. One side of him felt warm, while the other felt cold.

He came to the conclusion that he was being carried. Something bore him step by step in a heavenly embrace. A warm embrace. He wondered what deity could be stealing him away, and to where. His un-opening eyes wandered, questioning what first sight may bring. However, his mind faded once more, never seeing light, into the dark once more.

Pontius fluttered his eyes, taking in the dim light. He expected to find himself in Tartarus, under the judgement of Cheron, hoping that his body would soon be buried. However, the light in his eyes was much softer, and bore a green tone. He lay on a pillar of leather; rock walls covered with vines surrounding him on all sides at the end of a winding cave with no light of an exit visible.

A small pile of flames a few feet from him gave him light to see himself. His wounded arm had been washed and bandaged with spider webs, still aching and burning with pain. All his armor had disappeared, leaving him bare, buried under the thin pile of torn leathers. The crude blankets looked to be assembled from ravished tunics and forgotten togas, torn by either exposure or something more savage.

The room had a musky smell to it that the fire was not able to quench. He believed that the smell was just the essence of the cave, but then he noticed that even the rags that were blanketing him bore the unfamiliar odor.

Pontius tried to prop himself onto his injured arm, but fell back, searing with pain. He lay still, then lifted himself on his other arm, sitting up with his feet close to the fire. He noticed the plethora of small leaves and branches cooking upon the fire. He was content until he questioned his surroundings. He struggled to remember the moments before his slumber, just faintly understanding that there had been a battle.

Taps echoed through the cave, then thumps, and they grew louder until they struck fear into Pontius, who began to grab for his Gladius on his belt that wasn't there. A bulky figure appeared around a corner of the cave, coming closer and illuminating. Pontius pushed his back to the wall of the cave and watched as light slowly revealed the figure's identity.

Standing before Pontius was a six foot tall, bulging beast, bearing the head of a fearsome bull. His legs stood firm, bearing thick hooves, and his arms had thick, hairy hands. His chest was more bare, revealing large inner muscles, and his lower region was covered by only a small piece of tattered leather. Pontius mumbled in a panic : "M - Minotaur!"

Pontius shook as the beast stepped towards him, menacing. Desperate to protect himself, he quickly sought for a weapon, seeing a long enough branch planted in the fire. He leaped from the ground, grabbing the flaming bough with his un-wounded but inept arm, and took a wicked swing at the beast's shoulder.

The beast threw one enormous arm out in the path of Pontius' blow, stopping it without any effort. The block jarred Pontius, who tried to pull his arm back, only to find the large hairy hands squeezing his elbow. The beast calmly took the bough out of Pontius' hand and tossed it back into the fire. He then glared at the naked soldier, sighing through his big nostrils.

"Don't-do-that." He snarled at the man, letting go of his arm and walking past him to the back of the cave. Pontius heard him mumble "ungrateful" while he stomped away.

Pontius stood, astonished to still have his life, with his wounded arm hanging limp. He turned around to look at the beast. The Minotaur had sat in the farthest part of the cave, staring into the small fire. Among the faint cracklings of burning wood, Pontius heard a faint hum, radiating from where he assumed the cave opened up behind him.

"It's raining, - will get colder - come by fire." He spoke in intermittent growls. Pontius stared, feeling the dank cave air start to bite at his bare body. The beast gestured to the pile of torn leathers, looking impatient. Pontius stumbled forward slowly, gawking at the creature, and carefully let himself down on the softened ground.

He was stunned to see such a beast, which he only heard about from rumors and stories, acting so calm and sentient and not beating down waves of armed men. He sat awkwardly, only two feet from the beast, looking curiously at the Minotaur. The musk he noticed on the pile of leathers was similar to the musk the beast himself bore. Every part of the beast bulged, from head to toe, back to chest, tail to crotch. The beast would put even the most masculine of men to shame.

Pontius looked at himself in order to compare bodies, noticing again that he was completely bare, his own member hanging between his crossed legs. He broke the silence of the cave with soft words, "what happened to my armor?"

"It was bloody," He groaned, "left it - outside - rain will wash it." He kept his eyes on the fire. He turned his head to the naked soldier, "if you're cold - you sit on clothes."

Pontius looked at the ripped togas below him. He found one tattered into a long band and tied it around his waste. He threw another over his shoulders, still aware of the feral smell. A question floated in his mind, but he refused to ask it, being afraid of the answer, so he found another question to ask instead.

"You came from Crete?" He asked, wondering if questions, especially one this petty, would annoy the beast.

"No - I came - from over the Rhine." He breathed, shaking the flames.

Pontius had only heard stories about the atrocities that were found on the opposite side of the Rhine river. The brutes that had ambushed him were thought to be dogs compared to the wild barbarians out East.

"The men," the beast added, "drove me out."

"The Germans?" For Pontius, the word itself seemed almost forbidden to say.

"That's what you - call them." The beast sat stoically, staring distracted into the dancing flames.

Pontius could imagine the barbarians rallying to fight the beast, but at the same time, he didn't believe that the beast couldn't hold his own. "I'm assuming that you hit first?"

"No - I have no reason - to do that." The beast tossed a piece of wood from the ground into the shrinking flames. "No good - to kill."

"Then what made them drive you away?"

"I'm no killer - no - I was fond of - your kind. You men - are enticing."

Pontius sat questioning the beast in his own mind. He contemplated the beast's hospitality, too, and his bandaged wounds.

"But - when I show - affection - they just - attack. Not just one - but all of them. Those - savages"

Pontius glanced at the beast's lower region, which bulged impressively under the cloth, and he didn't doubt that any woman would fear the beast's advances.

"Even civilized men will turn angry when you rape their daughters." He spoke understandingly.

The beast roared with laughter. For the first time, Pontius saw the beast's muzzle contort into a pseudo smile. The large hairy fists pounded the ground with each chuckle.

The beast calmed himself down, "Daughters - were ugly - and fragile. I was fond - of the luscious - handsome men. They wriggled," the creature pretended to hold something in its hands and shake it, "so sweetly - I couldn't control - my fondness."

Pontius anxiously considered the beasts large muscles. How easy it would be for the beast to dominate another man, even a German brute. The Germans would've surely wanted to drive him away. Pontius again considered the beast's hospitality towards him: the mercy, the fire, his armor, the makeshift bandages, and especially the musky rags that were tied around his waist.

While the beast reminisced excitedly, Pontius was clenched once again with that certain fear, and that question he had earlier reared itself again. This time, he had the courage to ask it, fearing that he might have known the answer.

"So, w - why am I here with you? Why did you b - bring me here, alive?" Pontius shifted, fearing the answer.

"I was most fond," the beast grabbed Pontius' leg, firmly, "of the ones - who bore swords. They had the - best bodies."

Pontius shrieked, jumping away, but his leg was trapped, held by the beast's incredible arm. When he tried to pull himself free, he found his wounded arm, again, aching in pain, hindering his attempts at escape. The beast continued speaking to him.

"They always - want to run. They always - fight me." The creature held one of Pontius' legs with his arm, the other with his own leg. "But - I know - and they knew - that they would - be fond of me - too." He pushed Pontius down by his uninjured shoulder, and shoved his broad muzzle into Pontius' face.

Pontius stared, with crippling fear, into the beast's golden eyes. Hot breath blew into his nose, and the beast crept closer, forcing an open kiss onto the encumbered soldier. The beast's maw was rough but the long bovine tongue easily forced its way into Pontius' mouth, passionately sharing saliva and sweetly exchanging breath.

The beast wrapped a thick hand around Pontius makeshift loincloth and pulled it, undoing the weak knot, and revealing the soldier's length, hardening. The hairy hand slowly fondled the shaft until it hardened completely. Pontius shivered a little at the touch, wriggling under the beast's mighty weight.

Pontius had ben resisting the firm advances of the beast, but the spirits of passion were already possessing him, even with the lover unwanted. His body relaxed, no longer struggling against the beast's hand or tongue. And even, not noticeable to Pontius but still obvious to the beast, the soldier's tongue responded back to the Minotaur's strokes.

The beast, feeling Pontius' softer demeanor, seized the soldier's good arm by the hand and pulled it to his own loincloth. Pontius' hand, held limply open, was slid under the cloth, pressing against the beast's girth. It was larger than Pontius ever thought could be on any man, swelling within the fuzzy socket with the soft flesh exposed at the tip. Pontius, moved by passionate spirits and subdued obligation, softly felt the length with his fingers.

The beast pulled his muzzle away, leaving a trail of thick saliva between the two heads. Pontius' face remained an expression of apprehensive pleasure mixed with disbelief. The Minotaur straightened his back and slid the cloth from his waist, exhibiting himself to Pontius, who saw the half-bull's member loosely held in his hand, growing longer and more stiff.

"Rub it," the beast gently commanded, with a manly swagger and menace.

Pontius held a blank stare for a moment. He was hesitant, but the confusion of passion and obligation were known very well by him. He slid his hand to the tip of the beast's feral member, sliding as he went, and then returned to the base, coaxing more of his length out of its pouch. His hand became slick from the beast's member, causing the beast to groan with pleasure.

With the soldier's strokes, the Minotaur's breath became heavier, excited, and impassioned. His member was fully exposed and cooling in the dank cave air, so he sought to warm his length with fleshy passion. Without a warning, he interrupted Pontius, wrapping large arms around his chest, and pulled the bare soldier onto his hips. The beast, on his knees, fervently kissed the soldier once more, their lengths pressed against each other.

Pontius clung to the loving beast. The embrace warmed them both, but enraged a desire in the beast's heart, who could no longer wait to satisfy his throbbing member. He leaned back, resting his shoulders on the cave wall, and pulled the soldier up from his hips, so that his length hung ready under the man's spread legs.

Pontius felt the tip of the beast's impressive girth bear against his opening. Again, after having let himself relax, the soldier resisted, attempting to move from the beast's path. Pontius had never been a catamite, not even as a boy, and so his opening was completely unused, tight for the member of a normal man, and even tighter for the member of the bulging beast. However, the beast held Pontius tight against his chest, still, pressing into the man's tight anus, and fondly forced the soldier back into a kiss.

Pontius squeezed cathartically into the beast's chest while the bovine member slid painfully into his fresh opening. The soldier whimpered as he covered half the beast's length. The beast pulled himself completely out, letting the soldier breath, and then returned to the sweet hole. He repeated this two times until the soldier's whimpers rang more with affection than pain.

The half-bull thrust harder into the man's soft opening, pushing deeper and effecting a groan from the soldier, whose own member was throbbing hardly into the beast's chest fur. The minotaur breathed warm air down the man's neck with each thrust, sliding deeper each time.

Quickly, the beast was able to bury his whole length into the soldier's anus, and he began to stroke the man's hardened member with his hairy hand. Pontius held an exhausted smile on his face while he accepted each heavy thrust. His mind was overwhelmed with bizarre passion for the beast, and his member began to burn while his rear was pounded and his length was stroked.

The beast roared as he threw his final thrusts wildly into the man, bouncing the man's body on his length until he felt his seed shoot into the man's opening, filling it quickly. At the same time, Pontius let himself release on the beast's chest, soaking into the fur. The man panted with pleasure as the beast's thrusts slowed down, until finally stopping, with the man resting deeply on the minotaur's length.

The two caressed each other softly, the beast stroking Pontius' back and head with his bulky hands while the man rested his chin on the beasts shoulder. When the beast pulled his softened member out of the soldier, a portion of the fluous seed flowed out onto both their legs and onto the scraps of absorbant cloth and leather beneath them. The two fell back into the scented and shredded sheets, still wrapped around each other, fondling.

With fortune and slumber having brought the man and beast together in this cave, and with passion having bonded them in this uncommon union, slumber returned once again to bring rest to the exhausted beings.

With the passionate night having passed, Pontius stirred from slumber, moving calmly under the beasts heavy arms. He crawled away from the heavily sleeping minotaur and stood up, still feeling sticky around his backside and crotch. The fire had diminished into warm, black ash on a few rocks. After looking back on the unconcious beast, he traversed the uneven ground and exited the cave.

The forest around him was damp with previous rain. He found his armor, having been propped upon a large rock skirting the opening of the cave, and re-equipped it, avoiding the injured parts of his shoulder. The sky was bright blue with one stream of gray smoke contrasting; Pontius knew it would lead to his camp.

He started off in that direction, refusing to let himself look back at the cave's opening.