The elevator doors open, and on the floor are the bodies of two fearless united forces soldiers.
Dirk Gordon looks up at Izzy, his guts sore. He is horrified that he was tried on like Cinderella’s slipper and discarded when he was found wanting. He crawls toward the door, leaving a trail of cum behind him. “Thank the maker,” he says, lowering his head to the cold ground. “We did not know,” he wails. “We did not know!” His guns are crushed like toys, and his armor is tattered.
Izzy bends down to help the fallen warrior, but before she can touch him, he waves her away furiously. She spills some of the milk shake she is carrying. The chocolate fluid splashes down on him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Go save yourself,” the man says with a distant look in his eyes. The chocolate dripping from his face.
The warlock companion no longer has the confidence she once had. She has a distant look in her eyes, a stare into the ether that binds the molecules of the world together. “The cat wasn’t lying… we were not prepared… why didn’t we prepare…?” she bemoans.
“Prepare for what?” Izzy says, concerned, her eyebrows doing a complicated dance as she looks the pair over. They don’t appear to be physically injured, but they are definitely emotionally scarred.
“The Minotaur… he is not what we expected. We were overwhelmed; he was insatiable. He did things… things… I felt… things….” Dirk Gordon says, having crawled halfway into the elevator. “Send us to medical,” he begs.
Izzy balances the chocolate concoction and hits the button. She watches the elevator doors close, leaving her alone in the hallway. She turns around and looks at the door at the far end. The large wall sconces burn brightly, illuminating the large doors. They stand closed and radiate a sense of evil.
The other door in the hallway sits open with a brick wedged to keep it from closing. The sound of grunting eminates from within. On the door in big letters is the word “Gym,” engraved in a brass plate.
Izzy, with great apprehension, puts on her best smile and moves closer. She mutters to herself, “Great, I can pop in and give the minotaur the drink and leave.”
Izzy looks into the gym. Lying on a slab of concrete with a thin black mat on top is the minotaur; he is radiating heat, and his eyes are glowing red. He lifts hundreds of lbs with rapid, clean thrusts.
‘He seemed like a nice guy… well, he is a Minotaur. He seemed like a nice minotaur at the competition,’ Izzy thinks as she looks back at the elevator, a button press and a short ride back to safety. She looks back. “Why did he hurt them?” Izzy mumbles to herself.
She steels her resolve and steps through the gym door. The first thing she notices is the large erection in the minotaur’s shorts.
The second is the minotaur has set the heavy bar in its holder.
The third is he is looking at Izzy. He stands up, hooves clicking on the ground as he does. He flexes his muscles and strikes a pose and looks at his body. He blows out steam in what Izzy thinks is admiration of himself.
Fourth is Izzy notices the custom-made basketball shorts grow tighter after he examines his body.
‘What a narcissist,’ Izzy sighs. The last thing she wants to deal with today is an egotistical monster. But as she watches him cycle through his poses, examining his gains, she thinks it’s called. She feels the familiar tingle in her belly.
She gets lost in a fantasy of her bent over the workout bar as the minotaur lifts the bar and her and uses her as part of his routine…
Izzy shakes her head, spilling a little more of the milkshake. She steps inside.
“Hello, the cat sent me with your milkshake,” Izzy says, looking at the obvious bulge in his shorts. The minotaur is seemingly ignoring her now, lifting a 150 lb hand weight and admiring his biceps. Then unexpectedly he finishes his set and moves quickly to her side, grabbing the 5-gallon pail-sized container and swallowing half of it in one go. He looks down his long nose at her, his snout covered in protein and chocolate.
She watches as his long, flexible tongue whips around and licks his face clean. ‘I should have had Jacob take care of me earlier,’ she thinks, trying to push the image of what that long tongue could do out of her mind.
Izzy watches as the 9-foot-tall minotaur drinks the second half of the protein shake. She swallows hard. “I, uh, should go.” She whispers.
Izzy sees a look of sadness growing on the minotaur’s face. He reaches out and brushes her cheek.
Her skin crawls, and then with a snap, she is overwhelmed by emotion. The loneliness of being the last of a kind. The ache of being so old and so alone, even if this building is filled with life.
She tears up. They land on the rubber gym floor. She hugs him. Her arms wrapped around his massive chest; he was warm and smells of earth.
The telepathic connection widens, and she is flooded with his history.
An ancient people from the isle of Crete were revered as gods but were simply a leftover from a time before the age of man; they fought and competed and dominated, but slowly humans grew more clever.
He was not the last born, but he is the last one left. All others have fallen to the blade of man. He was left in a labyrinth, eventually forgotten and left to the passage of time.
There is an image of a child with scales and large muscles. A feeling of hope.
Izzy breaks her hold on the minotaur.
The minotaur staggers a step.
Izzy steps back, afraid. ‘He should hate me.
He should hate us. We took everything from him.’
She looks away from the eyes of the mythical monster down at her feet, then over to his enormous hooves, then up his leg to his crotch. She blushes and looks away. ‘Gahhh, I need to spend more time away from the ranch…’
The Minotaur, offended by the mental contact, breathes out steam. He bends down and picks Izzy up. The telepathic link reconnects, and Izzy can see a deep hunger. a hunger longing to be filled. a burning desire to fill something. a desire to create life.
Izzy’s breath catches in her throat. “Are you asking me to have your baby?” She shudders at the thought. But the part of her that isn’t in control feels the tingle increase.
Izzy struggles. “I don’t really know you. Why don’t we start as friends?” she shouts. The telepathic link ripples with her fear. The minotaur sets her down and steps back.
She looks up at the minotaur. “It has been very nice to meet you, but all I was doing was dropping off a milkshake. I have to go,” Izzy says.
The Minotaur looks sad, then angry, then sad. He waves her away and goes back to lifting his weights.
Izzy stands in the elevator, scared and enthralled.
