Edward Lee - The Minotauress

Dean pressed two fingers to her throat. "No, thank God. She's got a pulse."

Then Dean pushed the wet clots of hair out of her face. He gasped.

"Oh holy Christ," he guttered, his eyes wide as an owl's. "It's Arianne."

CHAPTER TEN

Pasiphae slipped through the teeming night, the cleansing rain running in rivulets down her stygian breasts. More rivulets tickled her underworld pussy, and summoned radiant sensations right up through her subcarnate guts. She passed through the trees, indeed, like smoke, yet any living thing she passed—bugs, tree frogs, small mammals—died in her poisoned wake.

She couldn't help it, her daedelic hand set an elegant finger into the groove of her cunt, and rubbed. Each further supernal step touched off effusive, drooling orgasms as she progressed back toward her son's beautifully foul demense.

Children for my child, she thought. Babies for my baby...

The wares of her orgasms slickened her long black legs. Desire filled her shadow-black tits, and her nipples stood out to delicious pinpoints.

She was winning, wasn't she? She was bringing recompense with a terrible, swift blow. Her eyes burned out into the night, and her smile felt like fire in her mouth.

Pasiphae was ecstatic, for tonight she had seen him.

Tonight she had seen the malefactor.

Oh, yes...

Moments later, she stood pretty and lissome at the gaping black mouth of the labyrinth. Its foulness wafted up strong as Pluto's breath of the excrement of eons. It was a rich perfume in her nostrils, and on her tongue, it tasted sweet as licking the skin of a sweetsop. Beyond the labyrinth's entry, she could hear the fervid grunts of her son in rut. This brought joy to her dead heart, such that she lost control. She sat down promptly in the wet detritus of the woods and masturbated to a frenzy, her black fingers blurring over the tender flesh of her black sex. When she came a final time, the sensations evacuated her. She leaned over and vomited in the same way a man might ejaculate, pumping up a bellyful of wonderful hatred and glorious despair onto the sopping ground. One plume after another, until her gut was empty.

She sighed in bliss.

Now there was room for more. Lots more.

Pashiphae couldn't wait to get her fill.

Yes, the malefactor had returned, the nemesis. And—

Tonight, she decided, I think we'll send him a little welcoming party.

««—»»

"Oh, the poor dear!" Shirley fretted.

"Arianne? Arianne?" Dean gently patted her cheek. "Can you hear me?"

They'd come back to the mansion and lain her across the tea-leaf-tan pleated flounce antique couch that most collectors would kill for. It had taken them two hours to creep back home in the blinding rain. Even now, the rain beat against the house in noisy sheets, and the thunder cracked in the sky. Once back, Dean and Ajax had hustled a very unconscious Arianne in the paneled parlor.

"Shit, maybe we should've taken her to the hospital," Dean suggested.

"In this weather?" Ajax reminded. "We'd crash before we got there."

Outside, the storm cracked and boomed. Dean looked down worriedly. "What do you think's wrong with her?"

"Well, just for starters, let's try severe malnutrition, dehydration, chronic substance withdrawal, and—oh—did I say severe malnutrition?"

"What should we do!" Dean yelled.

"Keep her warm. A warm bath would be good. Hell, I'd be happy to get her in the tub—"

"I'll do that," Dean insisted. "What else?"

"Some sustenance. Solid food would probably be too obstructive. Soup or something."

"I'll go make the poor dear some hot soup," Shirley volunteered and hurried away in her nightgown.

"She's shivering," Dean stammered. "I better go run a bath."

"On second thought," Ajax remembered. "That might not be such a good idea; they say you shouldn't take a bath during a lightning storm. If the lightning hits the house, it could electrocute anyone in the tub. Put a blanket over her for now."

Dean looked around frantically, saw no blankets, then yanked up the Herat 19th Century throw rug off the parlor floor and wrapped it around her. Ajax remarked, "You just wrapped a dirty wet junkie up in a piece of carpet that probably costs fifty grand."

"She's not a junkie! Don't call her that!" Dean objected. "She's a victim of society, taken advantage of by a hostile environment!"

"Whatever... "

"Arianne? Please, be all right!" Dean pleaded with the fates. He patted her cheek some more, hugged her in her new warm cloak of Persian carpet.

Eventually, her smudged eyes fluttered open. They shot wide.

"Dean?" she cried. "No, no, it can't be you. It's just another horrible dream—"

"It's me, I'm here! We're at my father's mansion! You're safe now!"

She exhaled long and hard, her eyes closed in relief. "You'd never believe it," she whispered thinly. "You'd never believe what I saw."

"The smoke-woman," Dean said abruptly. "And something—something... about the cattle."

Her little mouth fell open, as it had no doubt fallen open to admit hundreds—no, thousands—of penises. But there was no penis in wait this time. Dean recognized that she somehow knew what he meant.

"It was... the worst thing I've ever seen," she whimpered.

"What?" Dean begged. "What did you see?"

Her face went blank in the recollection. "A monster... "

"A monster? A monster with horns? "

"Yes... "

"Was it anywhere near the old mine shaft behind Stoddard's Mill?"

"Yes," her voice grated again like stones rubbing.

Big tits wobbling beneath the sheer nightgown, Shirley returned with a steaming bowl of chowder. When she leaned over, Ajax cringed at the sight of her state-of-the-art cleavage. "You should try some of this, honey," she offered to Arianne.

One whiff and Arianne made a face like she'd puke. "Get that shit away from me! It'll make me sick!"

Shirley recoiled. "But, honey, you need some nutrition."

"Fuck food! I need to cop! Somebody get me a piece of rock!"

Dean and Ajax exchanged raised glances. Dean held her hand and implored, "Arianne, you've got to straighten up. You've got to tell me what you saw."

Her small face quivered. She closed her eyes to force remembrance but could only continue to sob in response. At the same time, another crack of thunder exploded in the sky. The mansion shook, then—

"Great, that's just great," Ajax bellyached.

—the lights went out.

"Oh, dear!" Shirley exclaimed.

"Don't worry," Dean said. "The generator will kick on in a second... "

They stood in the dark. After several minutes, Dean said, "Damn it. I'll bet the generator's out of fuel. I better go check."

"Don't leave me alone in the dark!" Arianne pleaded.

"I'll go," Ajax volunteered. "Shirley, would you mind showing me where it is?"

"Oh, I'd be delighted!" Big tits wobbling beneath the sheer nightgown, Shirley retrieved some flashlights from an antique highboy, then she took Ajax' arm. "Right this way, young man," and she led him out of the dark parlor for the basement.

Dean switched on his flashlight, then briefly traversed the room lighting candles. He wanted to make Arianne at ease. She took his hand when he sat beside her on the couch. "Oh, Dean, I've missed you so much... "

Dean wanted to say that he missed her too... but he couldn't. I'm married, he reminded himself. I'm married to a loving woman. "Jesus, Arianne, how could you let yourself go like this?"

"I couldn't help it," she sniffled. "After you left, I had nothing to live for."

"Come on, Arianne. There are plenty of guys in town you could be happy with."

"No there aren't. The only real man in this town was you. The rest are just a bunch of little boys." More sniffles in the dark. "You're the only man to ever make me come."