"I know! I'll give you the minotaur's balls!" muses the torturous cowtaur.
The immense pain of Bessie standing upon your now crushed sac as the pump begins to suck your shattered masculinity out, is mind-splitting agony. Thankfully you black out quickly.
The last thing you remember hearing is the cowtaur chuckling ominously over the of the man-milker pump.
Darkness, a dreamless slumber envelopes you. A dull aching pain throughout your gut is all encompassing, an awful nauseous warm blanket of numbness and ache overwhelms all sensation. The timeless sleep is punctuated twice by a lance of agony straight to your core, no doubt a herald of phantom pains set to accompany your status a castrated man.
Your wrists are cold. A growing awareness of cool metal on your arms. Someone has placed a cool towel on your head.
"Time to wake up now" purrs a familiar voice.
Dull recollection slowly stirs. As your heavy sluggish eyelids open--Bessie the cowtaur, your captor, your mutilator, the one that used your testicles for a stair-stepping machine to squeeze them for more semen, is doting above you. Your head feels heavy and stiff, as your eyes look around you're still in the stone masonry of the Maze, but your lying on a soft bed with pink silk sheets. Your wrists are cold from the metal shackles chaining you to the posts of what must be Bessie's bed. Numbness and a large tented pink blanket, like some kind of theatrical curtain, obscures everything below your waist. Bessie grins wickedly at your curiosity.
"My poor little milk man, you're lucky that you're cute. In fact you should praise Hera that I fancy on you, because I think we're both going to have so much fun with my handiwork once your up and around."
She lifts and props you up on a pillow effortlessly--her immense strength tempered, almost motherly.
"Nice and comfortable. Now suckle" She commands while thrusting one of her immense teat bearing breasts in to your languid jaw. Completely at her mercy, you oblige. With almost no effort, her hot hearty milk fills you quickly. It's delicious, fatty and sweet. Her motherly action is almost enough to make you forget how much you despise Bessie for what she's done to you.
"Full already? Guess it's time for the grand reveal, my little cum-calf." Her glee is sincere, and sickening. Her hooves clack on the stone floor as she walks around to your unseen half.
"Your probably still all numb down here from my salve, but we'll have fun soon enough." Bessie remarks with a psychotic smile, and despite the sheet you can't help but notice how her bust seems to deform from contact with something unseen--she's conforming to lean over carefully, you feel her teats drag across distant numb skin. The thought catches in your mind like a stifled cough, 'No, she couldn't have...there's no way.' you think.
Her monstrous hoof capped hands reach out to either side of the flamboyant barrier. With a quick flourish she pulls the sheet away.
You balk. Your face grows red and you feel faint. Your legs are still there, numb and shackled to the other side of the bed. But your groin is difficult to process. In the shock, memory surges, reminding you of where once rested your normal human block and tackle. Then you came here, and Bessie caught you. Recollection of the first injection that took you to grapefruit sized nads. Then you goaded her into giving you the minotaur sized dose of fiery serum that swelled your testicles to watermelon size. Painful twinges at the memory of your crushing castration.
You finally realize what was pressing upon Bessie's breasts. Her immense boobs are are lightly pressing upon a pair of fleshy fire extinguishers bound in a silky leather bag--no its a massive pink scrotum--the minotaur's! Your eyes trace the edges of your new endowment. Its decidedly inhuman, smooth and wrinkle-less leathery and hairless, save for a short brown fuzz like massive peaches. Watermelon sized, just as you remember them, the minotaur's testicles are bull like--your new balls, rings the correction in your mind, they are long and almost cylindrical. They stretch away from your groin, each one slightly shaped like an american football but they are fatter and more ovoid near their ends. Mutated by Bessie's serum your new testicles and scrotum are larger than your human set. Apparently given time to adapt, the bovine sack has adapted to its contents and rests comfortably. If you were to stand--assuming you were strong enough to even lift your new bulk, the tail end of your balls would graze the floor on a warm day. Here in the bed, they rest on their long side, and their diameter is twice as big as your thighs. Its a volume equal to that of your own torso, but entirely devoted to churning out more man-milk for the devilish cowtaur.
Your eyes pull back to search for something much dearer. 'Where's my dick!' you think urgently. Perplexity contorts your face as your take in your manhood.