Pasiphae

Notes: The myth mentioned below is a real one – as is the description of the Roman forms of entertainment.

“Tell me, Ginevra, have you ever heard the story of Minos and Pasiphae?”

Ginny turned her head up slowly, struggling to look at the man stood before her through tear-swollen eyes. To her surprise, Voldemort was smiling; his thin lips stretched taunt in a fashion that made her shiver. The last time she had seen him smile like that was while he had murdered Harry.

Realising that he expected an answer, she shook her head – wincing at the pain the motion caused. She had lost track of the number of times that she had been hit over the head recently, although she did remember that the last time had been while Rodolphus Lestrange had been raping her. Of course how long ago that had been had long since slipped from her memory. Indeed, she had long since given up trying to keep track of how long she had been a captive. Time was all the same in the bowels of the house that Voldemort had claimed for his headquarters, and even now the only indication of what time it was that Ginny had was that it was dark in the courtyard.

“It’s a rather amusing tale,” Voldemort continued, stepping to one side. The movement revealed the circle of dark-robed figures that waited patiently around them. Ginny felt the tension wound tight in her body increase as she noted the cool figures of Draco Malfoy and his father stood among them. Something special was going to happen, she realised abruptly, and felt her anxiety levels increase. Whatever Voldemort was planning for her, it was not going to be a mere gang-rape at the hands of some of his minions – the Malfoy’s had stopped turning up to those weeks ago.

“Minos was a king of ancient Crete, son of a god, and married to Pasiphae, a renowned beauty and daughter of the sun-god Helios. Needless to say, perhaps, like most legendary kings, Minos had a complicated reign. One such complication was precisely whether or not he was actually the king of Crete or not.”

Ginny frowned, wondering why Voldemort seemed to be determined to give her a lecture on ancient geek mythology. When she had first been captured, it had not been uncommon for him to attempt to talk to her about ‘the good old days’, and it had been blatantly apparent that he had hoped some part of himself had still lingered in her – a part that would make it easier for him to sway her to his side and away from the resistance. After it had become apparent that she was far from likely to do so, he had simply handed her over to his Death Eaters for their enjoyment. That had been the beginning of Ginny’s true nightmare.

“To solve the dispute, Minos asked the sea god, Poseidon, to send a sign that he was truly the rightful king of Crete. Poseidon granted the request, sending a magnificent white bull to Minos, but only on the condition that it be sacrificed to him. Minos was so impressed with the animal that he found he could not do so, and instead substituted another animal. Naturally, Poseidon was angered, and in retaliation, cursed Minos’ wife. Pasiphae began to experience a terrible lust for the bull – a consuming and uncontrollable lust that urged her to mate with it.”

Voldemort paused, noting that Ginny’s bloodshot eyes were still dazed and confused. Stepping closer, he bent and slipped a finger under her chin so that she was forced to look at him. “She did so – enlisting the help of a craftsman who constructed a wooden cow that she could hide within. The bull mounted the construction – and Pasiphae in the process. The woman fell pregnant from the coupling. Do you know why I have told you this?”

Ginny moved to shake her head only to find that Voldemort’s grip on her chin was too tight to allow her the necessary room to do so. Instead, she mumbled, “No.”

He smiled again. “The Roman’s,” he said, seemingly randomly, “had an amusing custom of adopting the myths of other cultures for their entertainment. Prometheus would be chained to the ground and eaten by wild animals, Atys would be castrated, and Pasiphae would be mounted by a bull for their amusement. Criminals would be employed to play the part of the various legendary figures.” A fresh shiver ran through Ginny as he continued to smile at her. “Now do you understand?”

Abruptly, Ginny’s mind made the connection and she began to squirm. Everything suddenly made sense – from why the Malfoys were present to why she had been allowed outside into the fresh night air. When they had tied her face down over a table-like structure, she had merely assumed that it was because they planned to rape and sodomise her. Now she realised the truth. Voldemort planned to re-enact the Roman amusement - with her as the centrepiece.

A ripple of laughter was spreading out among the gathered Death Eaters. It nearly, but not quite, masked the sound of a large beast being led into the courtyard. Ginny continued to struggle and strained to look over her shoulder at the animal though with little success.

She need not have bothered. Voldemort had no intention of letting her miss the staggering sight. A nameless, faceless, Death Eater led it around in front of her and paused, allowing Ginny’s terrified eyes to skim over the massive animal. Indeed when she tried to look away, Voldemort grasped her hair and yanked her head up so that she could fully appreciate the quivering mass of sturdy muscle that was hidden beneath the white beast’s coat. This time, Ginny could not help but note the way the bull’s nostrils flared as it snorted, or how it shifted its huge weight from one side to the other. The width of its horns was staggering and, even more horrifically, Ginny realised the animal was already aroused.

“Oh Merlin, no, please!” she gasped, eying the bull’s penis. While it was perhaps only an inch or so thick, it was long – longer than she could ever have imagined. There was no way that it would fit inside her body without considerable bruising and tearing.

“Shh, now,” Voldemort said softly, stroking the hair away from her face even as tears began to appear in her eyes. “You don’t want to scare him, do you? Now, Ginevra, I am willing to give you a choice. There is a spell – one which will make you a near perfect Pasiphae for us. It will stir in you such lusts as she experienced and, furthermore, make your fortification with the bull pleasurable. If you wish, I can cast it on you. However, if I do so, then must swear an oath to cease your pathetic attempts to escape and remain with us, acting as a willing whore.”

Ginny’s eyes widened, and she felt the tears that had been welling in her eyes spill over and slip down her cheeks. Her mind rebelled, refusing to believe that he was offering her such a thing. It seemed insane, and yet his expression was perfectly serious.

“And if I don’t accept?” she asked quietly, brokenly.

Something flickered through his eyes and he leaned closer still. His hand came up, running through the loose hair around her face and pushing it back. “Think sensibly now, Ginevra. Imagine what that animal could do to you – imagine the pain. Only agree and I can assure you that you’ll survive the experience.”

Trembling, Ginny said, “What happens if I don’t accept?”

“One way or another you’ll be submitting to the animal’s attentions. If you don’t accept then you will undoubtedly end up nothing but a broken toy.” He cocked his head to one side and added, “Of course the Roman’s had another custom – if their actors survived then they might be offered their freedom. Perhaps, if you refuse my offer then I will permit you to go free…”

He trailed off to the sound of muttering in the circle around them. Some no doubt wondered what the delay in the beginning of the performance was while others had heard Voldemort’s offer. Ginny thought she heard a vaguely familiar voice ask when the show was going to start.

“Well, Ginerva?” Voldemort asked.

A panicky, sick sensation began to form in the pit of Ginny’s stomach. She glanced towards the bull and its raging erection, noting the way in which the beast was starting to grow impatient with being kept waiting. Already it seemed that she could feel the pain that the massive organ would cause her, and she realised abruptly that if she were to survive the experience without Voldemort’s aid then there was every chance that her body would be so frightfully ravaged that she would always suffer the consequences. Visions of a broken back – of dislocated hips and her sex torn and useless – came sharply to mind. There would be no one to help her either. The Order was all but destroyed and no one would be willing to take in a rebel when the consequences for harbouring one were so severe.

Shaking, vomit rising in her throat, Ginny did what she had to do and said, “Cast the spell.”

A few chuckles broke out in the crowd and Voldemort exclaimed, “Excellent!” He spun away from her, leaving her field of vision, and the next thing that Ginny knew, she could feel the tip of a wand pressing lightly against her pussy. Magic filtered out through her body, stroking every nerve-ending and bringing them to life. It seemed that some sort of hot liquid had been injected into her veins and Ginny abruptly found it difficult to breath. Her vision misted, and when it cleared, she discovered that she was staring intensely, lustfully at the enormous bull.

The thought of its cock penetrating her was no longer frightening – indeed it was exciting. It made her skin itch to be touched and she knew that there was a rush of wetness seeping from her core, readying her for the massive intrusion. She squirmed, groaning as her eyes ran over the strong form of the bull, tracing the thick muscles but always coming back to its cock. It was abruptly frustrating to find that her hands were still tied. She wanted them loose – to be loose – so that she could go to the beast and run them over his form. She wanted to curl her fingers around his length, and her mouth around the head.

She struggled fiercely, gasping as her breasts pressed and scraped against the coarse wood of the structure she was tied over. Her nipples were hard now – swollen and ripe, just like the lips of her cunt. The sensation of them rubbing against the uneven grain was enough to send sparks of desire flooding through her body. Small whimpers escaped her – growing into loud groans and before she quite knew what she was doing, she had murmured, “Please.”

Laughter and cheers rang out from those assembled. Voldemort nodded his head briefly and the Death Eater who had been holding the increasingly agitated bull led the animal around, out of Ginny’s sight. Flushing in shame, she cried out in protest. It did not matter than intellectually she knew that the last thing that she should be doing was begging them to allow the beast to rut with her, her body was desperate and she frighteningly aware that the urge to promise anything in return if they would just allow the bull to mount her was growing swiftly.

She twisted around - trying to see what was happening behind her but failing miserably. It seemed like an age since they had led the bull around and a suspicious part of Ginny’s mind was beginning to suspect that it had all been nothing but a cruel joke. Perhaps, instead of really allowing the animal to mount her they had cast the spell to stir her lust and humiliate her.

The tears that had formed in her eyes previously returned – through embarrassment and frustration. Suddenly, she hated her body for betraying her. She hated herself. After all, she had asked Voldemort for the lust that she was now feeling. When, if, the bull mounted her then it was entirely her fault.

She started as the bull snorted and a burst of hot, damp air drifted across her bare buttocks. It had not dawned on her that the bull was so close, and she could not suppress a cry of surprise when she felt its hot nose press against her bottom. Tension rolled through her body as a healthy dose of fear mixture with the anticipation that she was feeling.

The bull did not take much goading. The frame that Ginny was strapped to creaked noisily as it rose up, large hooves landing on either side of the redhead’s slender body. Immediately, she felt the head of the beast’s huge cock brushing against the plump lips of her cunt and once again let out a cry. It slid along the slick length of her slit, brushing against Ginny’s painfully sensitive clit and drawing a whimper from her. She threw her head back and groaned when it pressed against the region again – much to the amusement of the spectators.

Ginny slammed her eyes shut – blocking them out. Instead she concentrated on shifting her hips in order to try and aid the bull while silencing the horrified voice at the back of her mind – the one that was protesting even though her body seemed all too willing to give into the delicious sensation that the hot cock slipping and sliding against her body was causing. When the shaft eventually did nudge inside her channel, Ginny found herself bucking her hips and moaning as almost instantly she was too full.

There was nothing gentle about the manner in which the bull rutted with her – even the assorted Death Eaters who had taken her had never fucked her so hard. The impossibly long cock reamed her fiercely, pressing her into the wood beneath with bruising force as it seemed to want to burst through her cunt and out of her body again. Each rapid thrust made Ginny squeal in pain, but also in pleasure as the spell that Voldemort had placed on her ran wild.

The friction caused by each jerk of the enormous cock inside her was stunning, and Ginny soon felt her body begin to thrum with an approaching climax. She was bruised and battered, and there was a vague thought at the back of her mind that she might well never walk the same again but there was undeniable, wonderful, heart stopping pleasure in being fucked by the bull. She never wanted it to end.

A grunt erupted from the animal mounting her and it thrust even deeper into her. A torrent of cum erupted from the head of its cock, soaking the pulsing passage of her cunt and washing her womb. The rush of cum filling her triggered Ginny’s orgasm and she screamed, her tired pussy tightening around the huge penis, milking it. Creamy liquid flowed from Ginny’s body as the animal continued to hump her. There was simply too much drenching her swollen cunt for it all to fit so it ran down her inner thighs and legs. Ginny had never felt so dirty – so disgusted with herself – and yet at the same time she was deliciously sated.

The bull withdrew – the last remnants of his cum spurting across her backside. Slowly, Ginny became aware of her own harsh breathing, and the deep ache that filled her lower body. She opened her eyes and looked up – facing the spectators for the first time since she had been mounted. To her astonishment, they were still watching with bright fascinated eyes, and as she looked, one brought his hands together and began clapping. He was rapidly followed by another.

A hand touched her forehead, wiping away sweat drenched hair. Ginny looked up tiredly, meeting Voldemort’s eyes. She could not remember the last time that she had seen him looking so satisfied.

“Well done, Ginerva,” he intoned almost tenderly. “You’re quite the performer when you want to be. As a reward, tonight you will be moved to a bedroom and a house elf will attend you. We can’t have our new whore sleeping in the dungeons.”

Ginny breathed deeply, feeling tears rush into her eyes though she had no idea whether they were through astonishment, shame, or because of the oddly kind gesture.

Voldemort stroked her forehead again, and added with a sly smile, “You’ll need your rest, Ginevra, dear. After a performance like that you’ll be more in demand than ever before.”

END