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, this massive.
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 chained against.
"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 only another game.
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’d pictured.
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 size scared her.
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 only begun.
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 through her body.
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 pried apart.
She needed it to stop.