AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"It.”
TheMinotaur.
Calm down, she told herself. The shadowy figure wasn’t an "it.” The "Minotaur” was either Malcolm in a costume or one of his many compatriots. He seemed to have a bevy of play partners for his erotic adventures. Any one of them could have donned a cloak to frighten her, thatwasall.
She followed the cord a few more steps and the music grew louder. She was nearing the end. The thread led her through another turn in the maze and there she smelled that animal scent again. It was strong in her nostrils and strangely pleasant. A smell like raw nature, like a horse might smell after a long dustytrailride.
For all her foreboding, Mona couldn’t deny she was excited, even a little aroused. Malcolm was somewhere in this maze, and he wanted her to find him. Soon she would be safe in his arms, his cock lodged inside her right where it belonged. Once she found him, she would be fine. It was only a game, after all. Only a game of cat and mouse. She was the mouse, of course. She must be ready for Malcolm’spounce.
Step by dreadful step, Mona made her way through the maze. Rationally, she knew she’d only gone about forty feet at most. Yet it felt like a mile for all the twists and turns, all the darkness, and the surreality of it all. The music grew louder still—if it could be called music, this odd atonal chant. Malcolm was using it to scare her. She refused to let it work on her like that. She wasn’t a child to be frightened by costumes and lightingeffects.
A thought occurred to Mona out of nowhere, a thought and a question: Did her mother have this in mind when she’d told Mona to do anything to save thegallery?
Likelynot.
Mona pressed on. A breeze gusted through the corridor and blew out her candle. She was frightened at first, but she found another source of light at the end of the hall. She set the candle down and continued on, toward the flickering red light dancing on the wall. At the end of that hall she turned right and found herself at the mouth of a cave. Ten paces ahead a small wood fire burned in the center of a ring of stones. She saw more figures in cloaks around the fire and behind them a massive boulder, wide as a car, tall as a man. Mona’s head spun again, her eyes watered. What the hell had Malcolm put in her drink? A hallucinogenic? Dazed by the chanting, by the fire, by the drug in her blood, Mona stepped forward out of the cave mouth. The bowed heads of the cloaked figures raised and she saw they were women with sooty black painted across their eyes and temples like a bandit’s mask. She wanted to scream, but everything wentblack.
When she came to, she lay on the ground by the fire. It felt like warm and real earth to her, not the hardwood floor of the back room. The rational part of her brain unaffected by the drug knew she’d been transported somewhere after fainting. She wasn’t in the back room. That had been misdirection. She’d passed out—probably the drug’s doing—and she’d been driven into the woods where the scene would continue in the open. She saw the twinkling of stars overhead. A ring of trees, large and ancient. Oaks, perhaps? And she smelled wild grass, rich dark dirt,freshair.
But that made no sense either. She was warm, almost hot. Earlier, she’d had to wear a coat to the exhibit because of the chilly winterweather.
The coven of cloaked women stirred silently when Mona opened her eyes. They looked at each and nodded. Mona counted six of them, all of indeterminate age behind their sooty masks and hoods. They seemed to be playing the role of ancient Greek priestesses in this pantomime, and they certainly looked the part with their olive-toned complexions and black braids draped over their shoulders. At once, all six of them reached for her on the ground and lifted her bodily into the air, turning her to stand on her feet. They took the pins from her hair and let it fall in red waves around her shoulders. Fingers sought and found the buttons to Mona’s black blouse, the zipper to her red skirt, the hooks to the stockings she’d worn to the Degas exhibit in case she changed her mind about going to bed with Sebastian. It seemed they managed to strip her naked without touching her skin. Mona had anticipated being naked tonight, so she didn’t struggle. When they were done, Mona stood amid the women, her eyes to the ground. It felt so real, looked and smelled so real. She pawed at the dirt with her toe and it moved like soft earth, not dirt sprinkled across a finished floor. They’d taken her somewhere—they’d had to have. Hadn’t they? She heard an owl in the distance. A sound effect, a hallucination…orsomethingelse?
One woman seemed to be the leader, the eldest. By the firelight Mona could see her hands were those of an elderly woman. The high priestess? Whoever she was, she was holding a stone knife. Mona flinched from the sight of it flickering red in the firelight. She pulled back and away from it, but the cloaked women behind her grabbed her and held her in place, trapping her arms behind her back. The woman raised her hands. Her left was empty, but in her right she held aloft the stone knife. Without warning, she pricked at the center of her own left palm with the knife. Blood bubbled up from the wound. The knife disappeared into the folds of the cloak and the high priestess stepped toward Mona. She touched the blood in her palm delicately, brought her red fingers to Mona’s face and dabbed the blood across her eyelids and temples, giving Mona the same markings as the women, only in red, notblack.
Mona fainted again—from the shock of the blood or from the drug, she didn’t know. When she woke again from the brief faint, the women were dragging her toward the boulder. One side of the stone was curved and smooth, as if a thousand years of water had worn off its rough edges. Iron spikes had been driven deep into the sides of the boulder, and from them hung iron chains. The women lifted Mona off her feet. They pressed her back into the stone and held her down by her arms and legs. The high priestess bound her wrists to the boulder with the iron chains and drew another chain across her stomach, leaving only her legs free. The cloaked women released her all at once and formed a straight line facing her. Even without their hands, Mona stayed in place, the chains holding her fast to the boulder. Struggling proved useless and did nothing but abrade her back against the stone. Due to the irregular shape of the boulder, Mona’s body curved in an obscene arch, her breasts lifted high and her hips tiltedforward.
All at once the women moved. The six of them parted down the center, revealing the red-cloaked figure behind them, the figure she’d seen inthemaze.
It towered over the women, dwarfing them by several feet. Mona could not see its face hidden within the folds of the cloak, but she knew it stared at her. She wanted to scream but her voice was gone. She would faint again any moment. This time, she hoped she wouldn’t come to untilmorning.
But she didn’t faint. The figure stepped forward and she could hear its animal breathing now. Not a wolf or a bear or a dog, but certainly something large and lethal. She feared it. No amount of telling herself her senses were distorted by a drug in her drink could convince her not to fear this beast, theMinotaur.
The chanting of the women began again. Not Latin. Greek, perhaps? Some far more ancientlanguage?
The Minotaur stepped closer. This couldn’t be Malcolm, could it? Malcolm was tall, but not nearly this gargantuan. No human man was this tall, this broad, thismassive.
It stepped closer yet, so close she felt the heat radiating from it. Against the stone she shook and shivered. A hand extended—a human hand, thank God—from within the red cloak. It was huge, this hand, muscular and veined like Malcolm’s, but even larger. The hand touched her face gently, so gently. It stroked her quivering lips and dabbed at the tears on her cheek. The Minotaur seemed to be trying to soothe her and calm her. He—no longer "it,” for there was a man in there, no matter how distorted—caressed her hair, the line of her jaw, her ears. Her heart rate slowed. Her eyes fluttered. What was he doing to her? Hypnotizing her? She felt calmer than she ever had in her life. It was like a trance, like a waking sleep. Her body went slack against the boulder as if it were the softest of beds, not the hardest of stones. The man in the red cloak extended his other hand. He slid it behind her, cradling her head in his massive palm to protect it from the hard unforgiving rock she lay chainedagainst.
"Malcolm?” she whispered, hoping he would respond in some way, letting her know that somehow this was him even if the drug he’d given her had turned him into this funhouse mirror version of himself, so much larger than any normal man. Though he said nothing and did nothing to reveal himself, she sensed it was Malcolm. Something in the way his fingers touched her face told her it was him. She was not afraid anymore. They were playing at human sacrifice tonight, he the beast and she the offering. He the Minotaur, and she Dora. It was onlyanothergame.
The man stepped so close his cloak brushed her naked skin. She shivered at the contact, the soft prickle of the velvet on her bare legs, a sensation delicious to her heightened senses. As he positioned himself between her open thighs, she searched out any sign of his face within the hood of the cloak, but the cowl and the darkness obscured his features from her. Somehow, the hidden face was far more unsettling than the leather bull mask she’dpictured.
The enormous hand touching her face moved to her right breast. The Minotaur took the nipple in his fingers and pinched it, then pulled lightly on it. Yes, it was Malcolm, or some version of him. It had to be. This was how he touched her, possessively, without warning or apology. Her breast seemed so small in the massive hand that fondled it. She was grateful for the hand behind her head as she squirmed in her chains. He fondled her other breast next, groping it, squeezing and pawing at it. The rough treatment aroused her though she didn’t want it to. She extended a leg into the folds of his cloak and felt a rock hard male thigh. She raised her other leg and found another thigh. It was warm within his cloak. His skin was shockingly hot to the touch and in the cool night air she craved that heat. The man grunted as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and his hot breath blew over her face. The hand on her breast slipped between her legs. He probed with his fingers, seeking her wetness and finding it. He pushed his thumb and forefinger inside her. She moaned like an animal when he spread his fingers apart at the opening of her body, then did it again deeper. He was preparing her to receive his cock. She felt the organ now, massive as the rest of him. It pressed against her inner thigh, hotter even than the rest of his body, dripping fluid and hard as the stone behind her. She craved it terribly, even though its exaggerated sizescaredher.
He removed his hand and notched the tip of the organ at the slit of her vulva. It was too big to fit. It would tear her open if she took it. She shrank from it, but there was nowhere to hide or run. The man lowered his cloaked head to her chest and flicked his tongue across her nipple. It felt strange, not like Malcolm’s tongue or mouth on her. It was oddly cold, but not unpleasantly so. Over and over again he lapped at her nipple and licked the entire breast with long strokes. With each flick and lick of the tongue, the man’s massive member eased a little deeper into her hole. Mona rocked her hips to take even more of it. The Minotaur grunted again, an inhuman sound that would have scared her had she not been so lost in the pleasure of the penetration. Deep vaginal muscles groaned in protest as his great organ split her apart, pushing the walls open as it burrowed further into her. With her legs fastened tight around him, she anchored herself and worked her hips up and down. The pleasure was unholy. She went wild with it. He rose up and thrust into her. She cried out as he filled her completely, more completely than she’d ever been filled. She couldn’t bear it. She had to have it out of her. A spurt of his seed hit her cervix and she orgasmed suddenly from the incredible force and heat of it. He thrust again and the slick seed inside her eased his passage. The enormous organ moved far more easily inside her now that he’d ejaculated. And yet it seemed the fierce coupling had onlybegun.
His thrusts were slow and deliberate. He pulled out to the tip and entered her by inches. He was close to her, so close that she could raise her head from the stone and nuzzle it against his chest if she could somehow part the folds of the cloak. The coven of women still chanted though Mona barely heard it. The man said nothing. They copulated in total silence but for their breathing. Her thighs were damp and she felt more fluid dripping down the rock under her hips. Minutes passed. He moved faster inside her but not fast enough to bring her to a second orgasm. She sensed something building, something more than her own climax. The chanting grew louder, his thrusts harder and deeper. Even chained to the rock, Mona felt her body floating, weightless, unmoored. Again the colossal hand found her breasts and fondled them, pulling on the hardened points, squeezing them mercilessly. The hand was perfect in all ways but for its freakish size, and she couldn’t stop herself from arching against the huge palm. She was torn between her desire for his rough caresses and her need to shrink from this cloaked creature, run from it, hide. But where could she go? Even if she weren’t chained to the rock, the cock inside her speared her to the boulder as completely as an iron stake throughherbody.
The Minotaur—the man, Malcolm, whatever or whoever he was—lifted her back off the boulder and slipped his arm under her. They were sealed together at the loins. Another spurt of seed filled her and she orgasmed again. Only with Malcolm had she ever been able to feel a man coming inside her. It should be over now. No man could come twice inside a woman and continue to fuck her afterwards. It was unnatural. It wasn’t possible. Yet he continued to thrust into her hole. Her sex felt like an open wound, the tissue wet and raw and priedapart.
She needed ittostop.
She never wanted ittoend.
He took his hand out from behind her head and grasped her thigh. The other hand held the other thigh. He jerked her hips toward him, impaling her on him as he impaled himself into her. The chanting grew ever louder until it was all she could hear. It was louder than her breathing, louder than his, louder than their coupling, louder than her own cries as he rode her toward a final climax. She thrashed on the rock, turned her head and buried it against her arm, screamed as muscles inside her spread, twisted and rearranged themselves to accommodate that inhuman organ thrusting insideofher.
Would it ever end? Yes, it had to. She felt it nearing its end, speeding toward the final cataclysm. She tried to hasten the end with wild gyrations, and the cloaked man responded with faster thrusts. It was a primal union of bodies. There was nothing left of Mona—not her name, her past, her life in the outside world. There was no outside world. There was the joining of their bodies, the wetness, the rock behind her and the cloak shielding her and nothing else. The Minotaur penetrated every part of that devouring orifice. It was coming. She could feel it. It was coming. Almost there. It was coming. The final spasm of union. It was coming. The closing of the wound. It was coming. The sacrifice that brought them together. It was coming. It was coming. The man pounded into her depths. She looked up at the night sky and saw all the starsturnred.
